#I intercept all calls and messages

[cultivating-wildflowers]

my villain origin story will be rooted in the incredible power I wield as the first point of contact for this office

[juneibyou]

i just have to be honest here your girlfriend needs to actually sit down and learn sometimes instead of just running away, doubling down, and changing aliases. i say this not out of malice or hate, but because i don't think she deserves any more bullshit. i hope that vid gets taken down because honestly that bitch who made it has no actual clue about the stuff she was even talking about, but still

see you in hotel california

yeah i think so too. i've been meaning to talk to her abt that at some point but i just haven't rly had the opportunity and i'm worried i don't know how to help even though i want to. (sorry honey if you're reading this i rly don't want it to feel like i'm talking behind your back I Am Just Very Bad At Starting Serious Conversations)

however with that out of the way this is jeffy right. like this is totally jeffy? nobody else that would know about this types like that this is 100% jeffy right. get over yourself man LOL all you do is flip-flop on "nope i'm done. okay NOW i'm done. nuh uh not saying whooooo [uses colour-coded text and gives five hints] not sayiiiing" this is why you're blocked by like 90% of all the coolest people on this website (and constantly pretending not to be really mad about it) you gotta sit down and learn some shit too

[yuwuta]

JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO

pairings. satoru gojo/reader

content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart

word count. 3k

notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳

“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?” 

Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he��s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you. 

Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him. 

He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.

“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.” 

This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever. 

There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.” 

It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension. 

You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure. 

But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work. 

“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.” 

You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.” 

“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.” 

“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?” 

You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses. 

“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft. 

“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.” 

“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”

“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”

You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.” 

And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,” you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.” 

“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”

He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint. 

He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch. 

He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you. 

You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek. 

He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.” 

“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”

Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.” 

“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.” 

“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.” 

“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.

“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.” 

“And park it where?” 

“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here. 

He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.” 

“Yours will be towed by then.” 

“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.” 

“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.” 

Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?” 

You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea. 

“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat. 

“What—really? Awesome! But, why—” 

Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?” 

“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.” 

“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!” 

You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”

“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”

Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people. 

Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights. 

Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.” 

(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).

Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.

He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice. 

He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room. 

Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the sparkle of the aquamarine against the halo of diamonds fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.

Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.

He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be. 

[incorrectbatfam]

How do you think the Batkids would react to Bruce pulling the classic 'calls every name before the kid he meant to yell at/for?'

Bruce: Cass?

Duke: *keeps using his phone*

Bruce: *waves his hand in front*

Bruce: Cass, I told you to pick up your laundry an hour ago.

Duke, confused: ???

———————

Steph: Here's the Croc file.

Bruce: Thanks, Carrie.

Steph: Still not my name but better than Jason.

———————

Bruce: Tim, your classmate is calling.

Damian: *scoffs*

Damian, going downstairs: *scoffs*

Damian, taking the phone: *scoffs*

[later]

Damian, venting: And then he called me by Drake's name! I have never felt more hurt and insulted by a family member in my life.

Steph: There, there. It's gonna be alright.

Duke: We're here for you. You're not alone and we'll get through this together.

———————

Bruce: Barbara, can you put this away please?

Bruce: *hands Cass a batarang*

Cass: ...

———————

Bruce: I emailed you the witness report.

Barbara: No you didn't.

Bruce: Yes, I did. Try refreshing your page.

Barbara: I don't see anything.

Bruce: Check your spambox.

Barbara: Still nothing.

Bruce: Damnit, we must have been intercepted by the Court of Owls. I had my suspicions they were tracking me this past month but now there's proof.

Harper: *clears her throat and holds up her phone*

Barbara: *glares at Bruce*

———————

Bruce: Thanks for collecting the evidence, Damian.

Harper: Okay, you're not even remotely close.

———————

Bruce: Don't forget to take the meat out the freezer, Steph.

Jason: That's it! I'm becoming a villain and it's all gonna be your fault!

Bruce: Huh?

Jason: You clearly can't even be bothered to remember me after I died! It's like the Big Bad Bat has better things to think of instead of all the friggin' kids he keeps adopting. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna do many crimes and then watch Titanic while eating a jar of pickles.

Jason: *storms out the room*

Jason: And scene.

———————

Bruce: Duke?

Cullen, the only one in the room: *sighs*

———————

Bruce: Dick, I need you to stay back at the harbor and look out for any stragglers.

Carrie, imitating Dick: Sure thing! I'll just cancel all my fancy dinner plans, drive all the way from Bludhaven, and pick up a shift I had requested to have off weeks ago. Anything for my amazing and precious batdad.

Bruce: Message received.

———————

Tim: Night, Dad.

Bruce: Goodnight, Cullen.

Tim, to himself: You matched the butts. You donned the mask. You chose this.

———————

Bruce: Hey, Jaylad—

Dick: ExCUSE ME?!?

Bruce: Sorry, Dick. Can you—

Dick: Sorry's not good enough anymore. Time to square up, old man.

Bruce: Here we go again.

[tetsumie]

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

genre: comfort

content: kuroo hasn't seen you in days and makes his way to your apartment to see what's going on with you

cw: reader has a depressive episode and displays depressive symptoms

a/n: hello! i tried writing something for my pookie wookie kuroo tetsuro also lwk very self indulgent.. love u all and tysm for the endless support and as always likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! i could not be here without you all <333

"hi! this is y/n l/n! sorry i couldn’t answer your phone call. i’m a bit busy right now but leave a message and i’ll call you back the first chance i get than-" kuroo hangs up the phone for nth time today and sighs. 

kuroo hasn't heard from you for the past few days and to be completely honest, it’s like you've completely vanished off the planet. your designated seat next to him in both chemistry and english lectures have remained empty for the past week and he can’t seem to get ahold of you at all. 

at first, he didn’t really worry much about it. he didn’t want to pry on why you weren’t coming to school. he understood everyone needed their space. but when he intercepted your friends one day and asked them how you were doing and they too were unsure as well, he knew there was something severely wrong. 

on the other hand, you’ve been home all week. 

you haven’t been in the best place for the past week. you feel like your body is slowly succumbing to the stress and your body is practically giving out on you, working overtime. motivating yourself to study and to work is already difficult enough as is but doing basic things such as getting out of bed and even taking a shower feels impossible. 

you feel stuck in this never ending loop of time where the same things just keep happening over and over. you wake up at the prime hour of 12 pm and realize you’ve missed all your morning classes but then immediately head back to bed. you fall asleep and then wake up at 2 pm and stare at the ceiling above you with no particular thought in mind. eventually, you find yourself scrolling through social media on your phone but then ditch it after a few minutes because a wave of social anxiety crashes into you. 

it doesn’t help that you’ve also been skipping meals and you’re starting to catch a cold. man, you haven’t even gotten out of bed, let alone left your bedroom. you can’t even get yourself to do the bare minimum right now and making yourself an actual meal is a bit too out of your comfort zone. 

and what makes this entire situation worse is the fact that you’ve been pushing everyone away, from your friends to family to the one and only kuroo tetsuro.

there was no justification behind why you were avoiding them. you just couldn’t allow yourself to let them see you in such a lethargic condition. it hurt your pride and in general, you hated having people worry for you. it made you feel, in a sense, hopeless. 

you just wanted to shut yourself off from the world. 

the week goes by in a flash and friday evening rolls around. your phone lights up again for the nth time. you see it flash white but you roll over away, not having the energy to grab it. doing anything especially talking to other people feels exhausting.

a few minutes later, someone's banging on the door. it sounded like the fbi was at your door with a search warrant as if you were harboring drugs. you don't answer the door, not feeling like leaving the comfort and safe haven of your bed.

but the banging doesn’t seem to stop and you're getting irritated so you’re forced to get out of bed and tell the person at the door to come at another time.

to your surprise, when you open the door, you find your boyfriend, kuroo, staring at you with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

“y/n, where have you been?” he begins the interrogation.

you mumble. “nowhere. been at home.”

he looks you up and down, taking in your disheveled state. your face is pale, the bags under your eyes seep deeply, giving away the countless sleepless nights you've had. your shoulders are slumped and the corners of your mouth turn down slightly, a subtle but constant frown. your hair is unkempt, reflecting the lack of energy to even try to care for yourself. an aura of exhaustion and hopelessness hangs around you, making it clear that you're struggling to find the strength to even function.

“then why haven’t you answered my calls?” he continues.

“i’ve just been preoccupied,” you lie and he catches on immediately.

no words are exchanged between the both of you for a few moments. you take his silence as your cue to end this awkward conversation and to send him on his way.

"i'm sure you have better things to do, just go-"

you're about to close the door on him until he says, "let me in."

you sigh again.

“can you come back later tetsu?” you don’t want to have him deal with you like this. he's seen more than enough of you in this condition.

his piercing gaze locks with your tired eyes and he feels his heart clench. the usual shimmer in your eyes gone and all he can see the numbness in your expression.

"no let me in," he states in a strict tone. "we have to talk."

with no choice, you open up the door entirely and kuroo takes a look at the state of your apartment. he would be lying if he wasn't caught by surprise. clothes are strewn across the couch and bowls of empty ramen are lying on the kitchen counter. your apartment is a mess.

putting his stuff down near the door, he begins to slowly pick up your clothes off the floor and tosses them into the laundry bin. seeing him make an attempt at cleaning your mess made you uncomfortable to the point your skin started to crawl.

"tetsuro, stop."

"no."

"please stop," you plead in desperation.

"y/n, i’m trying to help you!" he replies, his voice growing a little louder with irritation at your refusal.

“what if i don’t want your help?” you shoot back and his mouth closes shut. “i don’t want your help or your pity or condolences or whatever it is! just go home!”

although your mouth said one thing, your mind was trying to telepathically convey another.

please don’t leave me now. please stay.

you don’t say a word as you walk into your bedroom, closing the door behind you, hoping he'll leave on his own. the moment he hears the click of your bedroom door, kuroo begins to try to organize as much as he can in your living room. he takes out your old leftover foods and tidies up the kitchen. he starts working his way through the living room, silently sweeping the dust off the floor and reorganizing your items that were strewn on the floor.

as he’s silently working, he begins to hear sniffles and sobs coming from your room. dropping everything, he finds himself standing in front of your closed door, fist about to knock the door.

“love, can we talk?” he says out loud.

it's silence from the other end.

"y/n... please..." kuroo's voice cracks. "i just want to see you."

"door's open," your voice is muffled slightly through the door.

he opens the door and is greeted by you wrapped around in your comforter, looking away from the door. kuroo takes in the state of your room. the curtains are drawn out and there are tissues littering your night stand along with your computer lying in the corner with a pile of clothes in the corner waiting to be cleaned.

you were always so organized, what started this?

kuroo goes over to the other side of the bed and your face is huddled into your comforter. he crouches down and starts to stroke your hair with his hand.

"baby? talk to me, love. what's going on in that pretty head of yours huh?" he coos in hopes of getting you to open up.

refusing to look him in the eye, you mumble into your comforter loud enough for him to understand. "it's been getting bad again... it’s been bad all week and i'm just tired all the time."

he kisses the top of your head. "and that's okay. not everyday is supposed to be a great day. you're supposed to have good days and bad days."

you finally emerge from your cocoon and the sight he's greeted with break his heart into pieces. your face has a slight red flush tint with the remnants of your tear stains on your face. he sees how you're trying to maintain a steady face, trying your best not to fall apart in front of him.

no questions asked, he brings you into his chest and the tears you worked so hard to keep at bay come apart. you start sobbing into his chest. he strokes your back in a rhythmic up and down motion, adding the occasional kiss on the top of your head. he finds himself crawling into your bed with you on his lap as you continue to sob into his chest.

once your crying subsides a bit and your throat feels a bit sore from the crying, you look up at him and he gives that genuine small smile of his that you've grown to love so much.

"i love you, you know that right?" he reassures as your eyes meet.

your eyes shift from one eye to another and you look at him as if he hung the stars just for you.

"i know and i don't know why you love me. i don't deserve you. you deserve someone who's put together and on top of it and just perfect. hell, you could do so much better than me... i don't even know why you're still with me."

his heart cracks at the heartbreaking words, escaping your mouth. he feels so stupid. have you been feeling like this for all this time and haven't said a word to him? he should've done something.

"when we started dating, from that very moment, i knew i wanted all of you. i want everything. i want your bad days and your good days and your lazy days and your rotting in bed days. i want your good and bad. i want your highs and lows. y/n, i just want you." he kisses your cheek.

he continues to reassure you, "i want all of it. and i want to be there for you the entire time. i don't want you to have to hide yourself from me. i never wanted you to be perfect. i wanted you to be just you. that's who i fell in love with."

"i love you with all your 'imperfections' you know that right?" he does the air quotes around the word "imperfections."

"yeah but it's so hard for me to accept-," you start but he brings his pointer finger to your lips, telling you to stop your train of overthinking.

you both are enveloped in a comfortable silence with kuroo's reassuring words hanging in the air.

"i love you so much, you have no idea," you finally say, cuddled into his chest.

"oh yeah? i couldn't tell," he begins to tease. "tell me more actually."

you let out a chuckle, playfully slapping his arm, and that warm, sweet smile of his forms again on hisi lips.

"there's my gorgeous girl. oh how i've missed you."

"missed you too, tetsu."

© tetsumie 2024 all rights reserved

[mrmousetolliver]

Alan Mathison Turing

Alan Turing was  was an English mathematician, computer scientist, logician, cryptanalyst, philosopher and theoretical biologist and is widely considered to be the father of theoretical computer science. During the Second World War, Turing worked for the Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park, Britain's codebreaking centre that produced Ultra intelligence. He led Hut 8, the section responsible for German naval cryptanalysis. He devised techniques for speeding the breaking of German ciphers, including improvements to the pre-war Polish bomba method, an electromechanical machine that could find settings for the Enigma machine. Turing played a crucial role in cracking intercepted messages that enabled the Allies to defeat the Axis powers in many crucial engagements, including the Battle of the Atlantic. in 1952 when Turing was 39, he began a relationship with Arnold Murray, a 19 year old unemployed man. In January of 1952, Turings house was burgled, and Murray told Turing that he and the burglar were acquainted, and Turing called the police to report the crime. During the investigation, he acknowledged a sexual relationship with Murray and both men were charged with "gross indecency" under Section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act 1885. On the advice of his family and lawyer he pled guilty. In March of 1952 he was convicted and given a choice between imprisonment or probation with the condition that he undergo a hormonal treatment to reduce libido, aka as "chemical castration". Turing opted for probation and began the chemical treatments. Over the course of the following year he was injected with estrogen, causing impotence and for breast tissue to form. In a letter, Turing wrote that "no doubt I shall emerge from it all a different man, but quite who I've not found out".

On 8 June 1954, at his house at 43 Adlington Road, Wilmslow, Turing's housekeeper found him dead. A post mortem was held that evening which determined that he had died the previous day at the age of 41 with cyanide poisoning cited as the cause of death. When his body was discovered, an apple lay half-eaten beside his bed, and although the apple was not tested for cyanide, it was speculated that this was the means by which Turing had consumed a fatal dose. Many question whether his death was suicide or accidental but it is officially listed as suicide. In 2013, Queen Elizabeth II signed a pardon for Turings conviction of "gross indencency", with immediate effect. The Queen officially pronounced Turing pardoned in August 2014. The Queen's action is only the fourth royal pardon granted since the conclusion of the Second World War. Pardons are normally granted only when the person is technically innocent, and a request has been made by the family or other interested party; neither condition was met in regard to Turing's conviction. In September 2016, the government announced its intention to expand this retroactive exoneration to other men convicted of similar historical indecency offences, in what was described as an "Alan Turing law". The Alan Turing law is now an informal term for the law in the United Kingdom, contained in the Policing and Crime Act 2017, which serves as an amnesty law to retroactively pardon men who were cautioned or convicted under historical legislation that outlawed homosexual acts. The law applies in England and Wales.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Bad Feeling

Summary: Your once again pulled in by your boyfriend and his crazed ways.

Warnings: Stalking, Established relationship, Yandere Jonathan, use of fear toxin, Handcuffs, talk of crying and being scared of him, Talk of ownership, Unprotected sex, No use of Y/n or gendered pet names.

Word count: 2.5k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the DC/Marvel characters nor do I claim to own them.

Once upon a time, there was a troubled and obsessive man named Jonathan Crane, a master in the field of fear and terror. He had an unhealthy obsession with his partner, who he believed was perfect in every way. He would watch your every move, follow you everywhere you went, and even break into your home at night just to watch you sleep.

As time passed, Jonathan's obsession with you started to consume him. He wanted to keep you all to himself, like a collector who hoards precious treasures. He would watch your every move, every expression, and every breath, trying to understand your inner thoughts and desires. As you started to notice Jonathan's strange and obsessive behavior, you became increasingly uncomfortable. You tried to talk to him about it, but he was reluctant to listen, always insisting that his actions were only out of love and protection. He would gift you with flowers every day, but they felt more like shackles, binding you to him. As you tried to communicate your discomfort and set boundaries, Jonathan became defensive and refused to listen. He believed that his actions were for the sake of their love and safety. As you became more withdrawn Jonathan's obsession grew. To him, you were a possession and the idea of losing you was unbearable. His love had turned into possessiveness, and his protective gestures had become controlling.

As Jonathan's obsession intensified, his possessive nature escalated. He would install hidden cameras in your home, monitoring your every move and conversation. He would intercept your phone and text messages, always wanting to keep track of who you were talking to or where you were going. You continued to feel trapped and suffocated by Jonathan's actions. He would become aggressive and intimidating when you tried to go out with friends or family, always insisting on being by your side. You began to fear leaving your house as you knew he would be lurking, watching, and judging every move. Late one night, as you lie restless in bed, you hear a faint knock at your balcony window. You hesitantly walk over and see Jonathan standing there, his face illuminated by the moonlight. "My dearest," he whispers, "I couldn't bear the thought of spending another night apart from you. Please, let me in." Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched Jonathan through the glass. Despite your fear and unease, a part of you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of sympathy for him. He was your lover, after all, and you had shared so many moments together. "Jonathan," you whispered back, "I'm trying to sleep. Please, just…"

Jonathan smiles softly and his eyes gleam with determination, "My love, sleep can wait when our hearts are calling out to each other. Can't you feel it? Our connection is too powerful to ignore. Let me in, and I'll prove it to you. Together, we can conquer anything." He presses his fingers against the window pane as if to reach out and touch your face. Your resolve begins to waver as Jonathan's words and gestures soften your defenses. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you long for the comfort and security of his presence. "Alright," you whisper reluctantly, opening the window to let him in. As soon as you open the window, Jonathan steps through and takes you into a tight embrace. He holds you close, nuzzling his face into your hair. "My love, you're finally where you belong. Just let me be your protector, your guide. Let the rest of the world fade away. Just focus on us." His voice is soothing, and you find yourself being lulled into a sense of calmness, but a nagging feeling lingers in the back of your mind about the true nature of Jonathan's affection. Your emotions were mixed. You felt comfort in Jonathan's embrace, but there was also a subtle unease, an awareness that something was not quite right about this situation. But under Jonathan's spell, you found yourself relaxing into his hold, your breaths slowing down as your heart rate returned to normal.

His grip tightens around you, pulling you closer still. "Don't worry my dear, everything will be fine." He whispers softly into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. A smirk forms on his lips as he feels your body relax against him. He knows he has you now, completely under his control. He releases you slowly, giving you time to adjust before stepping back. "Now, let's get out of here and go back to my place now." You let out a shaky breath as Jonathan releases you. The words he whispers into your ear cause your heart to flutter, and a part of you wonders if you're overthinking the situation. "Go back to your place?" you echo. "But it's so late and I don't have anything packed," you say reluctantly. You feel a bit uneasy at the thought of going with Jonathan at this hour, but there's something strangely comforting about his presence. His eyes gleam with a wicked delight as he observes your hesitation. "Nonsense, my dear. We can pick up whatever you need in the morning. For tonight, all that matters is us." He extends a hand towards you, his fingers slightly curling, beckoning you to take it. "Come, let's go home." You felt a strange flutter in your stomach as Jonathan extended his hand towards you. His words were smooth and intoxicating, a part of you wanted to just give in to his every request. Hesitantly, you took his outstretched hand. You felt a slight jolt as your fingers touched his, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. The feeling was both thrilling and unsettling. Despite your reservations, you knew there was no turning back now. You were in too deep.

Once inside his apartment, Jonathan locks the door behind you. Turning to face you, he closes the distance between you with a few quick strides. His hands reach for your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You can almost hear the beating of his heart, fast and eager. "This is what you want, isn't it? To be held by someone who truly cares for you?" He asks, his voice low and seductive. Under Jonathan's spell, you found yourself melting into his embrace, your body pressed firmly against his. You couldn't deny the fact that you did want this, to be held by someone who truly cared for you. But something in the back of your mind kept whispering that this wasn't right. You tried to ignore it, to lose yourself in the moment, but the unease grew louder with each passing second. "Jonathan, I'm… I'm not sure…" you murmur, your voice was weak and unsure. Feeling your hesitation, Jonathan leans down, capturing your lips with his own in a passionate kiss. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting every inch of you. His hands roam freely over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and the swell of your breasts. He breaks the kiss only to trail soft kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Shh, don't think, just feel," he whispers huskily against your skin.

You moaned softly as Jonathan's lips met yours, the taste of his kiss sending shivers down your spine. His lips traveled down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps in their wake. As Jonathan continued to whisper to you, your resistance seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of desire and need. You felt yourself responding to his touch, to his words, unable to stop the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As much as you wanted to maintain control, you knew you were slipping into the abyss of Jonathan's control.

Feeling your surrender, Jonathan lifts you up effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. He lays you down gently on the bed, his gaze devouring every curve of your body. He strips off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. His eyes never leave yours as he unbuttons his pants, letting them fall to the floor along with his underwear. "I've waited so long for this moment," he confesses, his voice thick with lust. Your breath hitches as Jonathan strips down to his most exposed, his body a vision of toned muscle and desire. You feel a stirring deep within you, as Jonathan confesses his longing for this moment. But despite the overwhelming desire that's flooding your senses, there is still a part of you that feels uneasy, a nagging doubt that won't let go of you. You try to push it aside, trying to focus on the burning need for affection and love that Jonathan is giving you. Standing at the edge of the bed, Jonathan looks down at you with a predatory grin. His member stands erect, throbbing with need. He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. His hands roam over your body, pinching and teasing your nipples until they harden. "Let me show you how much I care for you," he growls, leaning down to capture your nipple between his teeth, biting gently.

A sharp intake of breath escapes from your lips as Jonathan teases your sensitive nipples, the sensation causing a surge of pleasure to ripple through your body. You arch your back, pushing yourself further into his grasp, craving more of his touch. His bite sends a shockwave of pleasure-pain coursing through you, making your toes curl. You can't help but moan loudly, lost in the haze of desire that's consuming you. Hearing your moans, Jonathan smirks, pleased by the effect he's having on you. He continues his assault on your chest, alternating between licking, sucking, and biting your nipples until they're red and swollen. One hand trails down your body, finding the hem of your clothes. He slips his hand underneath, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh, inching higher and higher until he reaches your own excitement. "You're already so ready for me. Tell me how much you want this." His other hand moves to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp for air.

"Yes, Jonathan!" you cry out, your body trembling with need as his fingers dance across your sensitive flesh. The combination of his touch and the pressure on your throat sends you spiraling, your head spinning with a dizzying mix of pleasure and submission. "Please, I want you so badly. I need you inside me." Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of his touch, desperate for the release that only he can provide. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you surrender completely to his control, your very existence narrowing down to nothing more than a vessel for his desires. You know this is wrong, but you can't bring yourself to care anymore. All that matters is satisfying the hunger that Jonathan has ignited within you. With a satisfied smirk, Jonathan removes his hand from your throat, allowing you to breathe more easily. His fingers continue their exploration of your body, dipping lower to tease at your entrance before sliding back up to touch more. He watches your reactions closely, taking pleasure in your cries and moans. "You're such a good pet, always wanting more," he purrs, his voice dripping with lust.

With a swift movement, Jonathan produces a small vial from his pocket. It's filled with a clear liquid - the infamous fear toxin he uses in his experiments. He uncorks it, bringing it close to your nose. The scent is potent, making your head spin even more. Without warning, he pours some of the liquid onto his finger, rubbing it onto your nipples, enhancing the sensitivity even further. Then, without another word, he takes hold of your wrists, securing them above your head with a pair of handcuffs. He wants you helpless, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy. Your eyes widen in shock and fear as you realize what Jonathan has done. The fear toxin begins to take effect, amplifying all your emotions and sensations tenfold. Your nipples feel like they're on fire, the slightest brush against them sending jolts of painful pleasure straight to your growing arousal. And now, with your wrists cuffed above your head, you're completely at Jonathan's mercy, unable to escape his twisted games. Panic starts to set in, but it's quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming urge to please him, to do anything he says. You whimper, tears streaming down your face, torn between the terror of being trapped and the sickening realization that you crave his touch more than ever.

Satisfied with your reaction, Jonathan leans down, his hot breath fanning over your flushed skin. "That's it, my dear, let it all out. Show me how much you enjoy this," he whispers, his voice laced with both cruelty and pleasure. He lowers himself between your legs, his member throbbing with anticipation. With a single thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. You scream out in ecstasy, your entire body shaking from the force of it. The feeling of Jonathan entering you is indescribable, a perfect storm of pain and pleasure that leaves you writhing beneath him. Each thrust is deeper, harder, and more intense than the last. The fear toxin amplifies everything, turning each touch into agony and bliss, driving you closer to the edge with every passing second. You scream louder, your voice raw from the intensity of your pleasure, your body convulsing under Jonathan's relentless assault.

Driven by your screams, Jonathan picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic and powerful. He leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, silencing your cries momentarily. His free hand travels down your body, exploring every curve and crevice, igniting new sensations wherever he touches. He pulls back from the kiss, his breath ragged against your ear. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his voice a low growl. "I… I'm yours, Jonathan," you manage to choke out between sobs and moans, your mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations. "Only yours." The words taste bitter on your tongue, but you know they're true. In this moment, you belong to him completely, your body and soul his to command. As the fear toxin courses through your veins, you find yourself craving his dominance, needing it like air as your fear creeps in that he'll leave you. You surrender to him fully, your cries of pleasure echoing through the room as he claims you as his own. "Please."

Jonathan's eyes gleam with triumph at your submission. He pounds into you mercilessly, each thrust hitting a spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "That's right, give yourself to me completely," he snarls, his grip on your hips tightening. "You're mine, and I'll use you however I want." With a final, brutal thrust, Jonathan reaches his climax, filling you with his seed. He collapses on top of you, his weight crushing, but you welcome it, craving the physical proof of his possession. As the waves of pleasure slowly recede, Jonathan rolls off you and leans down, kissing you softly, almost tenderly. "Good pet," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "You did so well today." leaving you spent and shaking on the bed. He gazes down at you with a mix of satisfaction and something darker, more primal. "Rest now, pet. We have much more fun ahead of us."

[screamingfromuz]

I finally figured out why the response from the global left made me so angry.

Jewish leftist, including myself, never hesitated to condemn the Israeli government and Israeli citizens for their treatment of Palestinians. for example- I know were I was in Huwara. I was calling out the brutality of the pogrom done by right wings extremeness, criticizing it, calling for punishment of the terrorists, warning that this escalation of violence would do nothing but continue the violence. we did not try and justify it as a neutral response for the murder of two people, no, I knew that this kind of behavior has no excuse.

and we did the same every single time. the Israeli left always knew where it was when the Palestinians were the victims of violence, we often stood right there next to them.

and the leftist of the world loved it. held us up to prove that they are right, "you see? even they agree! free Palestine!"

and we expected the same. we expected that if the horrors will come to us, the global left will support us. We knew that they struggle since Israeli missiles hit while Hamas/Hezbollah/Jihad missiles get intercepted by a system that costs millions to operate. but surely, they kept saying that they would have spoken out if the Jews are in danger, they will stand with us in our grief.

and then came October 7th.

and we were shown once again that we are nothing but a token.

people celebrated the attack, and even those who did notת hesitated to condemn it. It was people being butchered in their own homes, a fucking war crime! all while they were hurling hundreds of missiles at civilian targets! at homes, at playground, at hospitals!

and yet, if it was not celebrating, the global left was silent.

I read a colon by a Danna Frank she described how an Israeli women who study in Yell was shaken and crying the entire day, and no one asked for her well being. Frank herself received messages from friends abroad during that day, and one of them asked after the well being of Palestinian waiters in Ramallah and offered them prayers and not ask after her own fucking sake. Seeds for Peace, that always had what to say at the beginning of any Israeli operation, stayed quiet for days, when they did post something, it was to call against violence from both sides, not even mentioning the massacre. and there are so many more instances.

It hurt so much because it was a betrayal. a prof that we are only cared for when we are either a token or dead.

We stood up again and again and again for the rights of others, against our own deeds, and when it was our people left dead on the ground, the quiet was disturbed only by the sounds of celebration.

We should have known

The Israeli left and the Jewish left stand alone in the global stage.

We now know who are allies are.

[moonstruckme]

hey :)) first off, i love the hozier caption in your bio. second, I’ve been reading so many of your fics recently and i think you’re sooo talented! i wanna be like you when I grow up (im 20 almost 21 lol)

anyways, I’ve never really requested anything but i wanna give it a try. I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader fic or a just remus x reader fic where’s she’s driving and accidentally hits an animal and is really upset about it but they’re there to help to her move it and comfort her.

i just hit a cat and im not taking it well. we think it was just a stray cause I left my number with it in case but no one has called. my family kinda, but not really, made fun of me for being so sad about it and i kinda just need something with the guys being so affectionate and loving with her after everything.

it’s totally okay if youre not up to it! I understand that it’s such a hard topic so I won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable writing in this.

thank you again and im sooo looking forward to youre future work!! you’re talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before (lady gaga)

Mwah mwah mwah <3<3

-aves

(sorry this is so long)

Hi sweetheart, thank you so much! (Is your username a Lizzy McAlpine reference? I love that) I'm really sorry you went through this, I've been fortunate enough to have never hit an animal but I've seen it happen and it's so horrible, I'm really sorry you've been dealing with this :(( I think you did the right thing by leaving your number with it, and I hope the weight of that trauma and grief is starting to lift off you my love. Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of killing an animal, reader feeling guilty

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

James hears the door and is up instantly, bounding down the hall to greet you and Sirius. 

“Hello!” he calls ahead, eager for company after being left alone in your flat for over a half hour. “You guys took your time today, I thought even Remus might beat you home. Was traffic a riot, or…”

Sirius is looking at him with panic in his blue-gray eyes, clearly trying to convey one of those telepathic messages James has never been great at interpreting, and you…you’re looking at nothing. Your gaze is distant as you work off your shoe, the area around your eyes puffy and gray with smudged mascara. 

“Hey,” James breathes, then feels stupid. It sounds like he’s accusing you of something. He tries again. “Is everything okay?” 

Sirius gives him a look that says What do you think? and crouches beside you to help with a stubborn knot in your shoelace. Your hands are trembling, James notices. Dread settles like a stone in his stomach.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius murmurs to you, fingers gentle as they intercept your own, but the alarm doesn’t leave his expression as he watches your face. Ah. As much as it kills James to see you upset, Sirius will have no idea what to do with you in this state. Tears have always set him on edge. 

James squats, joining the two of you on the floor. “Hi, sweetheart.” He does his best to keep his own anxiety out of his voice as his hand finds your ankle, fingers wrapping around the bit of skin between the hem of your jeans and your socks. “Has something happened?” 

Your eyes meet his already full of tears, and James braces himself. Sirius does too, by the look of it, his shoulders tensing as he watches your face like you’re about to crumble away to nothing right here on their doormat. 

“I—” That’s all you get out before you have to bite down on your lip to keep from crying. A tiny whimper escapes, and spider web cracks spread across James’ heart. A sluggish tear leaks from your right eye. 

“It’s okay,” he swears, though he has no way of knowing it. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to quell the sobs that shake your frame even with no air to feed them. “Oh, honey.” James leans forward, wrapping you in an awkward but very heartfelt hug, your knees between his chest and yours but your head crossing the distance to wet his shoulder with your tears. 

A sympathetic pressure builds in James’ sinuses, but he does his best to breathe through it. Stability tends to help you more than sympathy in these situations, and since Remus isn’t home yet, it’s left to James to be the reasonable one (Sirius would have all sorts of jokes to make about that, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling up to them either). 

He gives you a few moments of reprieve, a few passes of his palm up and down your spine, before trying again. “What’s going on?” he asks, gently as he can. “You guys are scaring me. Sirius?” 

Sirius’ brow pinches like he almost doesn’t want to say it either, and the anticipation in James’ chest heavies. “We were driving home,” he says slowly, keeping a wary eye on you lest he worsen your upset, “and a rabbit ran in front of the car.” 

Relief nearly chokes James at the same time as a sympathetic sorrow takes ahold of him. He pets the back of your head. You tremble with the force of your crying, leaning into his touch greedily. 

“She was driving?” he asks quietly, though he’s nearly sure. If your reaction isn’t enough to go off of, he already knows that you usually pick Sirius up from work and drive the both of you home. 

Sirius nods. 

“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do,” he murmurs to you, cupping the back of your neck to encourage you to look up at him. You do, sniffling as your lip quivers, and James uses his thumb to brush a wet streak of mascara from your blotchy cheek. 

“It must have been so scared.” Your voice breaks on the last word and James’ heart along with it, leaving a throbbing wound in the center of his chest. 

“I doubt it had time to be scared, honey,” he tries to reassure you, but his own voice is fraught. He looks to Sirius. “Did you…do you know if it…passed?” 

Sirius is half hiding behind his hair, a sure tell of his disquiet, and it brushes his shirt collar when he nods again. “We weren’t sure at first, so I got out to move it off the road. It was dead.” He winces at his wording, and you bite down on your lip harshly. His tone softens as he addresses you. “I really don’t think it felt any pain.”

You look nowhere near ready to believe him, and James is preparing to offer to make you a cup of tea and let you sort out your grief at your own pace when the front door opens again, stopping when it hits Sirius’ side. 

“Oh.” Remus pokes his head through. “Hello. Why are we all sitting on the floor?” 

Sirius scoots the rest of the way out of the door’s path before deciding to stand instead. He speaks to Remus in a low voice while James runs a hand up and down your side in an attempt to soothe you. He locks eyes with Remus over your shoulder, watching as the taller boy’s gaze takes on the weight of understanding. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Remus wraps Sirius in a half-hug, kissing his surprised boyfriend on the temple before stooping beside you. “That must have been awful to have to see. Let’s get you up, yeah?” He wraps a spindly hand around your forearm, more encouragement than anything, and James grips your other hand as he stands to pull you up with him. 

Neither of them seem quite willing to break contact with you, walking you over to the couch like a newborn fawn despite your murmured I’m okay. Sirius follows close behind. The both of you look like you’re perching rather than sitting, unable to completely relax even now that you’re home. 

“It must have been quite a scare,” Remus sympathizes, sitting on the edge of his favored armchair. 

“A bit,” Sirius mutters, and your throat bobs. 

Remus cocks his head. “What’re you thinking, darling?” 

James almost wants to look away at the rawness in your expression as you raise your eyes to meet Remus’. “I just…I can’t believe I killed it. I’ve never” —your voice pitches, and you swallow again— “I’ve never killed anything before.”

 “It was an accident,” James tells you, beseeching. 

“You couldn’t have stopped,” Sirius says. His voice has an odd, desperate quality to it, and James sees Remus notice it at the same time as he does, both boys leaning forward to see Sirius better. For the first time, James notices—had he missed it before, or has it only just started?—that Sirius is trembling slightly too. James’ free hand twitches instinctively toward him, but his dark-haired boyfriend is only touchy when he’s in a good mood. He’s not keen on physical comfort; no matter how many years James has worked on him, Sirius has always preferred to keep his struggles internal. “Or avoided it,” he goes on. “It happened too fast.” 

Remus nods at you. “As awful as it is, these things happen sometimes. Hopefully,” he adds when another tear slips down your cheek, “never again to you, but selfish as it is, I’m glad you didn’t slam on the brakes or anything else that could have gotten you and Sirius hurt instead.” 

You glance at Sirius, and he gives you a weak smile, taking your hand and squeezing gently. 

“Nothing you could have done,” he whispers. 

Your lips tremble again. James watches as panic flashes in Sirius’ eyes, but he keeps it together. “I’m really sorry,” you tell him, voice wavering. “I shouldn’t have made you take care of the bunny by yourself.” 

James' chest aches as Sirius takes a steadying breath. “You were frazzled. Understandably upset,” he corrects himself, squeezing your hand again. This time you squeeze back. “It was a one-man job anyway.” 

You make a soft sound, leaning your head on his shoulder, and James has the sense something has settled a bit in each of you. He raises your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of yours as Remus’ eyebrows furrow. 

“Have you had a chance to wash your hands, love?” he asks Sirius, who blinks.

“No. I forgot.” 

Despite the heavy atmosphere, James actually feels the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips as he watches Remus forcibly quell his horror. “Right, then. Why don’t we go do that in the kitchen now, and I’ll make us all some tea.” 

“Good idea,” James says heartily, swiping his thumb back and forth over his own kiss on your hand. “Hey, could we take out the good cookies as well?” 

Remus hums what James chooses to interpret as assent, shepherding Sirius into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” you say to James once the other two are out of hearing. 

He looks down at you. “What for, sweetheart?” 

You shrug, your shoulders remaining just a tad too high after the motion. You’ve stopped crying, and James is grateful, but he doesn’t think this shameful look is a vast improvement. “I feel like I’m being dramatic. And Sirius is the one who had to see it. He had to drive home too, I was too upset.” 

James’ battered, broken heart wells for the both of you. He forgoes his attentions to your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead to tuck you against his side. “You’re not being dramatic,” he promises, “okay? You and Sirius were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you both had to witness something awful.” Your head sinks onto his shoulder, and he rubs your upper arm. “I think it’s alright to be sad for a while. For yourselves, and for the bunny. Just, don’t torment yourself, alright?” He withdraws enough to see your face, and you tilt your gaze up to his. “Please. You don’t deserve the guilt.” 

Your eyes cast down, contemplative and a bit shy, a moment before your head comes back to its spot on his shoulder. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

“No thanks necessary, babe. You can cry all night if you need to, I’ll be right here. Just do me a favor,” he lowers his voice, glancing toward the kitchen, “let me sit between you and Sirius if you do. Many more tears and I think he’ll have a heart attack.”

[dedalvs]

Hey! I'm David Peterson, and a few years ago, I wrote a book called Create Your Own Secret Language. It's a book that introduces middle grade readers to codes, ciphers, and elementary language creation. The age range is like 10-14, but skews a little bit older, as the work gets pretty complicated pretty quick. I think 12-13 is the best age range.

Anyway, I decided to look at the Amazon page for it a bit ago, and it's rated fairly well (4.5 at the moment), but there are some 1 star reviews, and I'm always curious about those. Usually they're way off, or thought the book was going to be something different (e.g. "This book doesn't teach you a thing about computer coding!"), but every so often there's some truth in there. (Oh, one not 1 star but lower rated review said they gave it to their 2nd grader, but they found it too complicated. I appreciate a review like that, because I am not at all surprised—I think it is too complicated for a 2nd grader—and I think a review like that is much more effective than a simple 10+ age range on the book.) The first 1 star rating I came to, though, was this:

Now calling a completely mild description of a teenage girl who has a crush on another girl controversial is something I take exception to, but I don't want to pile on this person. Instead I wanted to share how this section came to be in the book.

The book is essentially divided into four parts. The first three parts deal with different ciphers or codes that become more complicated, while the last part describes elementary language creation. The first three sections are each built around a message that the reader can decode, but with language creation, the possibilities are too numerous and too complicated, so there isn't an example to decode, or anything. It would've been too difficult.

For what the messages to decode are about, though, I could do, potentially, anything, so at first I thought to tie them into a world of anthropomorphic animals (an ongoing series of battles between cats and mice), with messages that are being intercepted and decoded. My editor rejected that. Then I redid it so that each section had an individual story that had to do with some famous work of literature. My editor rejected that as well. He explained that it needed to be something that was relevant to kids of the target age range. I was kind of at a loss, for a bit, but then I thought of a story of kids sending secret messages about their uncle who eats too many onions. I shared that, my editor loved it, and I was like, all right. I can do this.

The tough part for me in coming up with mini-stories to plan these coded messages around was coming up with a reason for them to be secret. That's the whole point of a code/cipher: A message you want to be sure no one else but the intended recipient can read in case the message is intercepted. With the first one, two kids are poking gentle fun at a family member, so they want to be sure no one else can read what they're writing. For the last one, a boy is confessing to a diary, because he feels bad that he allowed his cat to escape, but no one knows he did it (he does find the cat again). For the other, I was trying to think of plausible message-sending scenarios for a preteen/teen, and I thought of how we used to write notes in, honestly, 4th and 5th grade, but I aged it up a bit, and decided to have a story about a girl writing a note to her friend because she has a crush on another girl, and wants her friend's opinion/help.

Here's where the point of sharing this comes in. As I had originally written it, the girl's note to her friend was not just telling her friend about her crush, it was also a coming out note, and she was concerned what her parents would react poorly.

Anyway, I sent that off with the rest of my draft, and I got a bunch of comments back on the whole draft (as expected), but my editor also commented on that story, in particular. Specifically, he noted that not every LGBTQ+ story has to be a coming out story, the part about potential friction between her and her parents because of it was a little heavy for the book, and, in general, not every coming out story has to be traumatic.

That was all he said, but I immediately recognized the, in hindsight, obvious truth of all three points, and I was completely embarrassed. I changed it immediately, so that the story beats are that it's a crush, she's not sure if it'll be reciprocated, and she's also very busy with school and band and feels like this will be adding even more busy-ness to her daily life as a student/teen. Then I apologized for making such a blunder. My editor was very good about it—after all, that's what drafts and editors are for—and that was a relief, but I'm still embarrassed that I didn't think of it first.

But, of course, this is not my lived experience, not being a member of the LGBTQ+ community. This is the very reason why you have sensitivity readers—to provide a vantage point you're blind to. In this case, I was very fortunate to have an editor who was thinking ahead, and I'm very grateful that he was there to catch it. That editor, by the way, is Justin Krasner.

One reason I wanted to share this, though, is that while it always is a bit of a difficult thing to speak up, because there might be a negative reaction, sometimes there is no pushback at all. Indeed, sometimes the one being called out is grateful, because we all have blindspots due to our own lived experiences. You can't live every life. For that reason, your own experience will end up being valuable to someone at some point in time for no other reason than that you lived it and they didn't. And, by the by, this is also true for the present, because the lives we've lived cause us to see what's going on right before our eyes in different lights.

Anyway, this is a story that wouldn't have come out otherwise, so I wanted to be sure to let everyone know that Justin Krasner ensured that my book was a better book. An editor's job is often silent and thankless, so on Thanksgiving, I wanted to say thank you, Justin. <3

[elryuse]

Obsessive Yandere noona Taeyeon who’s 15 years older than the male reader? Everything about him, his look, smell, taste, and feel just drive/ her senses into overdrive. He is like her fountain of youth.

HER FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

YANDERE TAEYEON X YOUNGER MALE READER

Taeyeon, a woman of quiet strength, had weathered life's storms with grace and resilience. At 29, she'd been left to navigate the treacherous waters of life alone, a victim of love's betrayal. Her husband, the man she had trusted with her heart, had abandoned her, leaving her to bear the weight of shattered dreams and a broken heart.

The pain of his departure was compounded by the loss of her child, a young soul who had chosen a different path. The world, once vibrant and full of promise, now seemed bleak and unforgiving. Taeyeon retreated into a shell of solitude, her spirit dimmed by the weight of loneliness.

Years passed, and Taeyeon, now in her forties, had learned to live with the scars of the past. She had built a life for herself, a life filled with quiet dignity and understated beauty. But deep down, a part of her yearned for connection, for love.

Then, Y/N entered her life, a young man of 25, brimming with youthful energy and unbridled optimism. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a reminder that life could still hold joy and wonder.

Y/N was drawn to Taeyeon's quiet strength, her wisdom, and her unwavering spirit. He saw beyond her years, beyond the pain she had endured. He saw a woman of depth and beauty, a woman who deserved to be loved.

As their friendship blossomed, so too did Taeyeon's obsession. She found herself consumed by his every word, his every gesture, his every breath. She craved his attention, his affection, his love. The more she got to know him, the more she wanted him, the more she needed him.

Her obsession grew into a dark, possessive love, a love that was all-consuming and destructive. She began to monitor his every move, to control his every action. She would follow him, unseen, a shadow lurking in the darkness. She would intercept his messages, read his emails, and listen to his phone calls.

She became a master of manipulation, using her charm and intelligence to control those around him. She would sow seeds of doubt, spread rumors, and sabotage his relationships. All in the name of love, a twisted, distorted love that knew no bounds.

Y/N, oblivious to her obsession, continued to see the best in her. He was drawn to her kindness, her intelligence, and her unwavering support. He had no idea that the woman he admired was capable of such darkness.

As their relationship deepened, so too did Taeyeon's obsession. She became increasingly possessive, jealous, and controlling. She would lash out at anyone who dared to threaten her claim on Y/N, her jealousy a consuming fire.

One day, Taeyeon crossed a line. She confronted a young woman who had dared to flirt with Y/N. The confrontation turned violent, a terrifying display of Taeyeon's dark side. The young woman was left shaken, traumatized by the encounter.

Y/N, horrified by Taeyeon's behavior, confronted her. He demanded to know what had happened, what had turned her into a monster. Taeyeon, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and madness, confessed her obsession.

Y/N was stunned, his heart heavy with sorrow. He had loved her, truly loved her. But now, he saw the darkness that consumed her, the monster she had become.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just love you so much."

Y/N, his heart aching, turned away. He couldn't help her. He couldn't save her. He could only hope that she would find the help she needed, that she would break free from the darkness that had consumed her.

Taeyeon was left alone, a prisoner of her own obsession. She had lost everything she had ever loved, her sanity, her soul. The love she had craved had turned into a nightmare, a haunting reminder of the destructive power of desire.

Y/N had managed to distance himself from Taeyeon, but the damage had been done. The once vibrant and hopeful young man was now haunted by the darkness that had consumed her. He had learned a hard lesson about the destructive power of obsession, a lesson he would never forget.

Meanwhile, Taeyeon, left alone with her twisted desires, descended deeper into madness. Her obsession with Y/N had become all-consuming, a force that threatened to obliterate her sanity. She would stalk him, monitor his every move, and interfere in his life, always lurking in the shadows, a malevolent presence.

One day, Taeyeon decided to take matters into her own hands. She orchestrated a series of events, a carefully crafted plan to bring Y/N back to her. She staged a kidnapping, a terrifying ordeal that left Y/N traumatized and shaken.

When Y/N woke up, he found himself trapped in a secluded cabin, a prisoner of Taeyeon's twisted love. She had created a world for them, a world where they were alone, where she could control every aspect of his life.

"Welcome back, my love," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "We're finally together."

Y/N, terrified and confused, struggled to break free from her clutches. He knew that he had to escape, to break free from her grasp before it was too late. But Taeyeon was always one step ahead, anticipating his every move.

She would manipulate his emotions, playing on his fears and insecurities. She would shower him with affection, only to withdraw it just as quickly, leaving him feeling lost and alone. She would gaslight him, convincing him that his perceptions were flawed, that his reality was a mere illusion.

Y/N, caught in her web of deceit, began to doubt his own sanity. He questioned his perception of reality, his sense of self. The line between truth and illusion blurred, and he found himself trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

As time passed, Y/N's spirit began to break. The constant manipulation, the psychological torture, had taken its toll. He was a mere shell of his former self, a shadow of the vibrant young man he once was.

But even in the darkest of times, a flicker of hope remained. A spark of defiance, a refusal to succumb to despair. He knew that he had to fight, to break free from Taeyeon's clutches, no matter the cost.

With renewed determination, Y/N began to plot his escape. He bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when the opportunity arose, he seized it, breaking free from Taeyeon's grasp.

The escape was a harrowing ordeal, a battle of wills that pushed both Y/N and Taeyeon to their limits. In the end, Y/N emerged victorious, but the experience had left him scarred, both physically and emotionally.

Taeyeon, defeated and broken, was left to confront the consequences of her actions. She had lost everything she had ever loved, her sanity, her soul. The love she had craved had turned into a nightmare, a haunting reminder of the destructive power of obsession.

Y/N had escaped the clutches of Taeyeon's obsession, but he knew that the danger was far from over. She was a woman capable of great evil, a force of nature that could not be easily contained. He had to be vigilant, always looking over his shoulder, always ready to defend himself.

He moved to a new city, a place where he could start anew, a place where Taeyeon wouldn't find him. He changed his appearance, his habits, his entire identity. He thought he had successfully erased his past, his connection to the woman who had nearly destroyed him.

But Taeyeon was always watching. She had a network of spies, a watchful eye that extended far beyond her reach. She knew where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. She was always one step ahead, always lurking in the shadows.

One day, as Y/N was walking down the street, he felt a familiar gaze upon him. He turned around, but saw nothing. Yet, he knew she was there, watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And strike she did. She orchestrated a series of events, a carefully planned scheme to lure him back into her web. She used his friends, his family, his past to manipulate him, to draw him closer to her.

Y/N, caught in her intricate web of deceit, found himself drawn back to her. He was helpless, a puppet on a string, dancing to her tune. She had him exactly where she wanted him, a captive in her twisted world.

Taeyeon, with a cruel smile, watched as Y/N succumbed to her will. She had won. She had him. And she would never let him go.

A few years later...

Taeyeon sat beside Y/N, her fingers gently tracing the contours of his face. A soft, sinister smile played on her lips as she admired her captive. Y/N, once a vibrant soul, now lay before her, a mere shell of his former self. His eyes, once filled with life and hope, were now dull and lifeless, a vacant stare fixed on the ceiling.

A chilling silence filled the room, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock. Taeyeon leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. She began to sing a haunting lullaby, a melody that seemed to seep into his soul.

"Hush now, my love, close your weary eyes," she crooned, her voice a soothing poison. "The world outside is cruel, filled with lies."

Y/N's body trembled involuntarily, his eyes slowly fluttering shut. Taeyeon continued to sing, her voice growing louder, more insistent.

"Sleep now, my love, let me cradle your dreams. I'll protect you forever, it seems."

Tears, silent and solitary, trickled down Y/N's cheeks. He was trapped, a prisoner in his own mind, a victim of a love gone awry. Taeyeon, the once-loving woman, had transformed into a monstrous figure, a harbinger of darkness.

As the sun began to rise, casting long shadows across the room, Taeyeon tightened her grip on Y/N. Her love, a twisted and destructive force, had consumed them both. And in the end, only darkness remained.

- The End -

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Mike Schmidt, Hobie Brown, Miles-42 x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive Content with Miguel, A Little Bit of Angst with Miles

Summary: How would the boys treat you on your birthday?

A/N: In honor of my birthday (WOO)!

Word Count: 1.7K (Unedited)

Miguel O'Hara

You hang out with him in his office at HQ all day. He has your favorite food delivered to base, and you spend the whole day talking his ear off as he works. Today is the only day he doesn't mind people coming in and out of his office, as long as they do so to wish you a happy birthday.

He has LYLA keep you company, finding her only a tad bit less annoying, even as she randomly breaks out into happy birthday and makes birthday memes pop up on his screen like a virus. He only wants to strangle her when she keeps making birthday sex jokes and hinting a little too much at the gifts waiting for you at home.

When the two of you do make it home, you're excited to see the pile of gifts overflowing in the living room. Some of them are from the spiders in HQ, but more than one is from Miguel. You guys get take out, and spend the rest of the night opening gifts. You guys laugh at the ones from the younger spider-people, and try not to cringe at the more questionable ones (a difference in universe maybe?).

When the two of you finish going through the gifts and ate all the food, Miguel pulls you up off the floor. He gives you a cheeky smile, leading you towards the bedroom for one last birthday present. Huh, I guess LYLA was right about the birthday sex.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

As much as he wants to, he can't ask to go on leave in advance. Even if he did send in the request, it would be hastily denied. Going on leave because of a singular day and for a non-emergency cause? The higher ups would laugh in his face. So, his only hope is to not be deployed during that time.

If he is deployed during that time, he'll keep his eye on the clock, counting down the seconds until it hits midnight in your timezone. Then, at exactly zero hundred hours, your phone will light up with a message from Simon. It's a simple "Happy birthday. Miss you." text, but it makes you smile nonetheless. If you're lucky, you might get a voice message from all of 141 wishing you a happy birthday, horrible, off-key singing from Soap included! And if you're really lucky, you might even get a call if Simon's in a good, secure location where he knows his cellular usage can't be tracked or intercepted.

He already got a gift for you in advance. He'll tell you where he hid it, or tell you to keep an ear out for the doorbell. If he hid it, you rush over to the hiding spot, setting your phone up to record a video for him. You make a big show of it to keep him entertained, and at the end of the video you thank him repeatedly for the gift, adding in that you miss him and you'll see him when he comes back home. When he gets gifts delivered to you, it's usually flowers and maybe something extra like an Amazon package. You put your new flowers in the nicest vase you have, sending Simon a picture and heart emojis.

If-by the grace of god- he's home on your birthday, you get spoiled silly. Today is all about you and what you want to do. Breakfast in bed? Okay, waffles or pancakes? Movie night? Okay, it's your pick. Drinks at the pub? Let's stop to get a pack first. Simon does prefer to stay in with you on your birthday, but again, if you want to have a night out on the town, he's happy to follow along. Though, if you do stay home, don't look in the fridge! You don't want to risk taking a peak at the cake he bought, do you?

Mike Schmidt

Called out of work the day before. He wakes up super early, slipping out of bed to wake up Abby. She complains a little, and you have to pretend you weren't awake the second Mike got out of bed and you have to stifle your laughter at her grumbling out in the hall. The smell of breakfast is strong, and you wait a good 11 minutes (it would be too perfect if it was an even number), before slipping out of bed. You act all surprised when you walk into the kitchen, catching them making you breakfast. They instantly drag you into a chair, making you sit as they plate your food and slide over your coffee. You have to fight your tears when Abby gives you a hand drawn birthday card. Just for that, she can steal a bit of your bacon.

The three of you just spend the day at home. You draw with Abby, thanking her for all the birthday drawings. The three of you make a mess in the kitchen as you make the birthday cake, and somehow frosting gets stuck in all of your hair. You sing happy birthday after dinner, which of course is your favorite meal, and the three of you settle onto the couch to watch TV. You allow Abby to stay up until she falls asleep on the sofa.

Once she's gone to bed, Mike pulls you close to his side, pressing a kiss to your lips and muttering another happy birthday. You smile at him, and it grows wider when he pulls your gift from his pocket. The two of you are silent as you open it, and you gasp when you see what's inside. You thank him with a million smooches on his face, that makes him chuckle. Then, when it gets too late and the both of you remember he has work tomorrow, you retreat back to the bedroom for some much needed rest. Clean up is for another day.

Hobie Brown

Is it really a surprise that he forgets it's your birthday? Hey, in his defense, time and dates are just a social construct made to control the natural world!

He only remembers when one of his (current) band mates or a Spider in the society ask him what he has planned for your birthday. He knows he's fucked the second they ask him. He has nothing planned, he has yet to say happy birthday to you despite talking to you just this morning, and to top it all off, he has only just realized you were hinting about it throughout your morning conversation. And do you want to know what he said in response to your, Hobie, baby, do you think something important is happening today? Trust me, you don't because his answer may or may not have been, Unless 10 Downing is fist bumping a wrecking ball today, then no. Yeah, did he mention he was fucked?

So, in true Hobie fashion, he's gonna think quick and get himself out of trouble. What could he use as the perfect excuse for completely forgetting your birthday? Make it seem intentional! And how do you make it seem intentional? Throwing a totally killer surprise party that would give the PM a heart attack! He recruits the help of his band mates and Gwen, setting up your favorite venue that the band played in for a previous gig. He gets you a cake, a funny card, and some random trinkets he sees along the way. He'll have the band play anything you request or the night. Oh, don't forget your own friends! He'll let them know before he picks you up.

He's totally casual when he returns to the flat, all nonchalant as he tells you to get dressed up. When you ask why, he just shrugs and says riot. You stare at him like you expect him to say something extra, but you sigh when he doesn't. With your back turned to him, he allows himself to briefly flicker red. When he gets you to the venue, you're happily surprised, bumping into him and teasing that you thought he forgot. He chuckles nervously in response, finally wishing you a happy birthday. At the end of the night, after you got the celebration you deserved and the two of you lay at home in a half-awake state, he admits the truth to you when you're too sleepy to get mad at him. Hey, real men admit to their mistakes and fear the wrath of their partners.

Miles 42

He does the thing. You know, the obnoxious thing where you show up to school, and then suddenly you have a brightly colored birthday stash over your shoulder and a gift bag attached to 50 different HAPPY BIRTHDAY balloons? Yeah, he does that shit, and he does it with PRIDE. He will be damned if you aren't walking the halls and a stranger randomly yells out a birthday greeting to you in passing. You better hope you don't have any classes with him, because every class you guys share, he's making them sing happy birthday. Even if you get embarrassed and melt into your chair. At lunch, he's already got a birthday cupcake waiting for you and he did, in fact, skip the last period just so he could go get your favorite takeout to make sure it's still hot.

Rio definitely invited you over for dinner, and he spends the whole meal telling his Ma all about the things he did for you today. It makes her laugh, and she playfully swats the back of his head when you whine about how embarrassed you were all day.

When dinner is done, Miles drags you out of his house and walks you down to the familiar streets to the car lot. He helps you in, and you gasp when you see the inside of the car. He has candles placed carefully around, and a cake sits in the back seat with plastic forks and more gifts. Your smile is goofy as he quietly sings happy birthday to you, and you blow out the candle as he whoops and hollers playfully. The two of you dig into the cake, having quiet conversation until you feel like you'll throw up from all the sugar.

But as you're about to open the last of your gifts, his phone begins to ring. Looks like your birthday wish didn’t come true after all.

[bucchiboo]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part Three

Of bar fights and ice blocks

Words: 4.3

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: slow burn to the point we might just be embers, eventual smut but next chapter I promise, teeny bit of blood, quite a lot of masculine nonsense, Joel is hot but remains grumpy

When you were in eighth grade you fell madly in love with Johnny Hocart. He was a theatre kid, wildly charismatic for a 14 year old boy, and smart enough to recognise that you had a crush on him and use you for it. You’d signed up to help out with the school play that year, Johnny being the lead in Death of a Salesman the only motivation for your sudden interest in the arts, and he turned you into his roadie almost immediately. You used your own money to fetch him chocolate from the vending machine, you carried his water bottle around behind him on the off chance he might be thirsty. The afternoon you applied his eyeliner for him, on tippy toes and terrified to topple over and take his eye out in the process, fuelled your first fumbled attempt at an orgasm (you wouldn’t get it right until eleventh grade, but you had fun figuring it out). He made you feel something heavy and relentless and heated in your chest, something that unfurled its wings and beat against your rib cage when he walked into view. The little shit let you dote on him hand and foot right up until the wrap party when he stuck his hand up Donna D’Marco’s skirt and spent the rest of the year bragging about it. You were crushed by it, the weight of the humiliation heavy on your shoulders, slumping you forward and folding you into yourself. You vowed to never forget it. But you had, until you met Joel.

Sitting in the mess hall you wondered what happened to Johnny Hocart on outbreak day. You liked the idea that he hadn’t died immediately, that he’d lived in fear for a few months before getting shot by a raider, or maybe that he’d been traded to a slaver and collapsed one day from exhaustion, from malnutrition. You hated to think of him as a clicker, because even though he was a dick no one deserved that, but at the same time you liked the kind of dramatic irony of him as a bloater, overblown as his ego had been.

You chewed your sandwich, one eye on the door, waiting for Marla and definitely not waiting for Joel. You thought instead about the clients you had booked in for the afternoon, and how you were going to finally sort out Peter Fletcher’s tennis elbow so that he could comfortably hold his rifle, and why didn’t they call it rifle elbow since that sounded so much cooler, and you considered all of this while you kept your head down, and very purposefully didn’t think about the hazel flecks in Joel’s eyes as he gazed up at you, one hand cupping and lifting his muscle while you stood square between his knees.

He’d been grumpy and dismissive, you reminded yourself, and the minute he’d felt some relief he had just up and left. You conveniently forgot the part where you had essentially ushered him out the door, suddenly keen to exorcise your living space of him. You weren’t even sure exactly what that was about, except that you had felt the first flutterings of a wing against your ribs, had recognised the feeling as something dangerous and done your best to quash it.

You were contemplating this when a shadow appeared at your table, and you startled.

‘Shit, sorry, just me,’ Ray said, and you craned your neck up to regard him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pulling at the chair opposite you, and you nodded while you tried to calm your heart. You could see something was up.

‘You ok?’ you asked, when he was finished apologising.

‘Me and my stupid glorious brain,’ he said, and you were tempted not to let him go on any further. ‘I intercepted a message that read like it was raiders, something about a big stash, an old pharmacy that hadn’t been hit yet. Coordinates, too.’

‘That’s great,’ you said, watching his face carefully, studying the lines across his forehead, his furrowed brow, decoding Jackson’s best decoder. ‘It’s not great,’ you concluded.

‘They called in a bunch of patrols to go check it out,’ he said, and suddenly you imagined Joel on the back of a horse, leaning to the left to try and protect his right side, gun strapped to his back and his neck muscles straining under the ache of it. You grimaced. ‘Marla’s was one of them,’ Ray finished, oblivious to your sudden turmoil.

It was a poorly kept secret that Ray was in love with Marla. Poorly kept in that the only person who didn’t seem to know was her. You suspected Ray would have happily stayed put in Chicago were it not for Marla going arse over tit for the idea of living on a ranch. She had barely had to convince him to come with you both, such that he had offered to trade and borrow to get the supplies you’d need, parting with his mother’s wedding ring that he wore on a chain around his neck in the process. You weren’t even sure if Marla noticed, as it had been lost in the service of gaining three passable sleeping bags, and Marla had wrapped her arms around Ray’s neck and kissed behind his ear when he presented them to you, and you had seen in that moment that for Ray it had been enough.

You could tell Jackson hadn’t been what he expected, not least of all now having to share Marla with an entire town.

‘Ray, you did a good thing,’ you said, reaching out and putting your hand on his bicep. He nodded his head, slowly.

‘You heading to the Bison tonight?’ he asked, and you scrambled quickly to come up with an excuse.

‘I was going to check on Maria,’ you replied, grateful for your guilt reminding you that you’d still not caught up with her. ‘It’s been a while since I saw her, and she’s due soon-ish I think. I was going to take her some dinner.’

He looked at you, his mouth downturned and his brows saddled over his eyes, and you felt yourself retracting from his sadness, from his regret. Johnny Hocart had painted your face in similar colours.

‘Yeah, ok,’ you said. You tried hard not to show on your face that the idea was making your skeleton want to crawl out of your mouth and try its luck on the road. But you could see Ray was struggling, that he was bouncing his leg up and down under the table. ‘Marla’s a fighter,’ you said. He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head.

‘Bison. Tonight,’ he said, with finality.

You didn’t ask if he knew who else was going on the expedition. You reminded yourself you didn’t care, taking a big swig of water to drown the butterflies.

—

Propped up at a table off to the side, you had a clear view of the bar on your right and the door on your left. You were sitting with Ray and his friend that you didn’t know, and you were trying to participate in conversation but your guts were churning. As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself scanning the crowd for threats. Someone smashed a glass over by the jukebox and you felt yourself startle, nearly knocking your own drink off the table. Over by the bar Chloe Bennett, owner of lumbar back problems and occasional sciatica, demonstrated how much her yelping laugh sounded like a woman being stabbed to death with her own stiletto, and you wanted very much to push your chair back and leg it, but Ray kept glancing at you to check you were ok, and his friend Simon seemed quite nice generally speaking, and if nothing else you might be able to drum up some more business out of him.

‘So you don’t charge anything?’ Simon was asking. Simon and Ray worked the radio together most days, Ray listening in to the white noise for any sign of covert communication, and Simon dutifully twisting the knobs beside him. Some part of you registered that he was conventionally attractive, and you wondered if the way he was leaning in to you as you chatted was what passed for flirting in an apocalypse, but also you were watching Ray scanning for Marla, trying to telepathically tell him it would be ok.

‘I mean, we don’t have money,’ you answered Simon.

‘You don’t barter then?’

‘I’m grateful to be here. My home is payment. My safety is payment.’

‘I don’t buy it,’ he said, and he was grinning and you knew that it was playful, but also you felt a wrinkle of frustration in the folds of your skin.

‘You don’t agree?’ Simon shrugged at you in response, and for a reason still not clear to you it made you want to slap him a little bit. You turned to Ray for help, but Ray was looking at the door, and when you looked too you saw Tommy and Joel had just walked in.

‘Fuck,’ Ray said, and you scanned his face for anxiety but found only awe. ‘They are so cool.’

Simon nodded in agreement, and you scoffed in surprise.

‘Are they?’ you asked, and your companions turned to you, confused, and Ray even slightly betrayed.

‘Tommy basically keeps this place going, him and Maria,’ Simon informed you as if this was news.

‘Peak Mama and Daddy Jackson,’ Ray chimed in.

‘Joel. He’s just…’ All three of you turned to watch him approach the bar, nodding to the bartender, who had started pouring him a whiskey the moment he walked in, and slid it over to him.

You weren’t sure how you wanted Simon to finish that sentence. Your eyes kept being drawn to Joel, the broadness of him, the salt and pepper in his hair in stark contrast to his strength, the power under his muscles and behind his eyes. You felt warm in your palms where you had held him, flexed your fingers to try and get the heat out.

You let the conversation move on without you, staring down at your drink, tracing the droplets of condensation first from the body of the glass and then down to the tabletop. If you hadn’t rushed him out would he have let you keep massaging him? Would you have peeled his shirt from his body and explored the planes of his skin? You wiped the water away before it could damage the wood.

‘They’re heading out tomorrow, first light,’ you heard Ray saying, and suddenly your attention snapped back to the present. ‘So I want to be on the radio early, before they go. See if we can find the signal again, make sure the raiders aren’t going in first.’

‘You said you thought they were further out,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That it was bouncing off the mountain.’

‘I know but we’re a day behind.’

‘That’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘Not on horseback,’ Ray reasoned.

‘We don’t know if they have horses,’ Simon replied. He held his hands palm up on the table, in appeasement, you realised.

‘We don’t know that they don’t, either. We’re sending seven of our people out there…’ your stomach lurched at seven, and your eyes flicked again to Tommy and Joel, and you wondered if tonight was last drinks for them, not knowing if they would both make it back, a time for two brothers to come together before heading back into war. ‘…including Marla, and I just want to-‘

‘What does Marla have to do with it?’ Simon asked, and you decided then he was either an idiot or heartless, and neither option was preferable. You exhaled slowly through your teeth, and watched Ray for his reaction, and wondered if either of them would notice if you just slipped away into the crowd.

You watched Ray gather himself. ‘Marla is a good shot,’ he said, eventually.

You could feel Simon preparing to argue but suddenly there was yelling, actual yelling not imaginary traumatised-by-the-end-of-the-world yelling, and all three of you turned to the bar.

Jacob and another man you didn’t recognise were standing at the other end of the bar, pointing fingers at Joel and Tommy. Joel had already stepped around his little brother, squaring off with them, and you could see that his body was braced, a tightly wound spring in a flannel shirt and jeans. You picked your glass up off the table and cradled it to your chest, as if that would solve it.

You didn’t know Jacob. He was one of the men who had already decided he didn’t own muscles, or feel pain. You knew that he was younger than the men he was squaring off with, that he was full of bravado and empty of brains, the type to shoot first and think later, and it wasn’t lost on you that back in the day he would have made the type of cop that was the subject of several enquires and a few unflattering news items, who would have been shunted off to be the deputy of a shithole town that’s biggest crime wave was when a couple of cookbooks went missing from the local library, a town that he nevertheless tortured until he retired.

Jacob was currently yelling so hard spittle was flying across the bar, and you could make out the carotid artery along his red neck.

‘All well and good for you two,’ he was saying. ‘Sitting back while the real men go out and defend this town.’ Joel was moving forward towards him, despite Tommy pulling on his sleeve to bring him back, and everyone in the bar was now frozen, watching. Jacob continued, because he was as dumb as he was hateful. ‘Oh I’m on the fucking town council, that means I get to decide who lives and who dies without having to put my own arse on the line. Fuckin’ weak, pathetic-‘

‘Lower your voice,’ Joel said, completely calm and also utterly terrifying. Jacob laughed, actually laughed, in Joel’s face.

‘Fuck off old man,’ he spat, taking another step towards Joel, who wouldn’t back down. ‘You don’t get a say either, ridin your little brother’s dick all the way to retirement.’

‘It’s men and women,’ Joel continued, undeterred and still deathly calm. One afternoon on the road you’d come across a snake on the path, big and brown and poised with its head up, watching you. It had taken you ten minutes to back away from it, so sure it was about to lunge. Watching Joel now, inching forward towards Jacob, you had the same feeling. Jacob wasn’t following Joel, made too stupid by his misplaced entitlement, his anger and his impotent fury. ‘We are sending the real men and women to defend this town, and Tommy and I’ll be here to keep it safe while you’re gone.’

You exhaled for the first time all day, the tension you didn’t even know you were carrying with you suddenly releasing. But Jacob was more angry now, and Tommy was backing up Joel and squaring off too, and you felt the heat in the room ratchet up.

‘I’m having a baby, you fuck,’ Tommy said, and Joel raised his hand to calm him. Tommy immediately settled back behind his bigger brother.

‘Not to say we ain’t grateful,’ Joel continued, but Jacob had noticed that the whole bar was watching, that Joel was about to talk him out of an argument, that he was about to be alpha’d by a man twice his age. He took three steps forward toward Joel, who had already reached back to push Tommy out of the way, and Jacob’s arm was swinging just a fraction slower than Joel’s, who clocked the younger man hard in the jaw and sent him spinning, landing hard on the top of the bar and shattering glasses and bottles underneath him. He was only down for a second before he was back up and swinging, landing a blow on Joel’s eye socket before he and Tommy had him by the back of the collar. You realised you had stood up and had moved towards them only when you were close enough to hear Joel grunt ‘a fuckin bar fight, really? You that fuckin clichè?’

Jacob just grunted, his airway constricted by his shirt that Joel was now using as a vice, and even in the middle of the violence you could see he was careful not to compress harder than he needed to, holding him sturdy but without gripping so hard as to injure.

The four men headed for the door, Joel pushing Jacob through first and then following, using the momentum to swing the younger man out and down the stairs and into the dirt below. His friend rushed to him, pulling him up and away, and as you followed them out you heard Jacob spitting threats of his return. Joel was puffed, leant against the railing to catch his breath. He turned to his brother, checked on him, and then to you, where his eyebrows shot up and you realised he was seeing you only now. Your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what you were doing there, either.

‘You’re hurt,’ you said after a moment, gesturing to his fist. You could see a scrape of blood pooling on the knuckle.

‘Ain’t broken,’ he said. Turning to Tommy he more or less ignored you. ‘You ok?’ he asked. Tommy nodded, before he also nodded to Joel’s fist.

‘Take him to ours,’ he said to you. ‘We got ice in the freezer. Time to work some more miracles.’

You were alarmed, pretty much constantly, but especially so when Tommy turned back to go inside.

‘You’re not coming?’ you asked, and you hated that your panic had carried through into your voice.

‘Gotta make it right here,’ he said, without turning around.

—

The walk to Maria’s was three minutes at most and still you would have flayed your own skin clean off not to have to do it. You could feel the wings now, beating hard against your rib cage, and you swallowed only to taste acid on the back of your tongue. Joel was silent, but it was the type of silence that belies being pissed off, a general curmudgeon-ing, that set you on edge.

You thought again back to your teacher. When the clients in pain, keep them talking.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ you asked, into the darkness in front of you instead of looking at Joel’s face.

‘Thought it wasn’t my shoulder,’ he said, and it took a second for you to realise he was teasing you, not goading. ‘S’ok, I hear it’s all connected,’ he pretend to console you, and you squawked out a surprised laugh, wondering if you’d ever, up until this moment, made a sound like that before.

At no point had you considered that Joel Miller could be funny. Now, though, you discovered you had even less of an idea of how to talk to him.

‘You’re not going out on the run?’ you asked, and you hoped not to sound too relieved, too hopeful.

‘Got things to look out for at home,’ he said, and you stayed quiet in the hope that he would keep talking. ‘Ellie and me, we had a rough time of it…she’s been quiet. Thought best to…’ he trailed off.

‘Maria said you went to Salt Lake?’ you asked, and because you were still unable to look at him you didn’t see him flinch. ‘Why did you have to go there?’ you continued on.

‘Didn’t realise Maria liked to gossip so much,’ he said, and you heard it then, the hardness of it.

You rushed to defend her. ‘I was just curious,’ you started, and Joel stopped you, stopped walking altogether. You turned back to him.

‘Dangerous thing,’ he said, and you wanted to tell him that you knew that, that you weren’t normally like that, that you were clever and you had survived this long because if it, but he was already turning up the path to Maria and Tommy’s place, and all you could do was trail behind him, like a fucking lap dog, worried he’d lock you out if you took too long to get inside.

From the couch Maria called for Tommy, and when Joel responded she pulled herself up to stand. You were surprised by how big she’d gotten, trying to remember the last time you’d seen a pregnant woman. Let alone a pregnant woman about to pop.

‘I know, I’m huge,’ she said, when she saw you staring and you snapped your eyes back to her face.

‘Radiant,’ you said, and she snorted.

‘Thank you for lying,’ she replied, and you felt the warmth of genuine affection between the two of you, thought for a moment of sunshine on your skin, of your sister.

‘Tommy said you had ice,’ Joel cut in, and Maria noticed Joel’s hand, her face hardening.

‘They started it,’ Joel said, and you nodded behind him to confirm that this was indeed true. You saw the suspicion in her eyes, the way she was careful with him, and you stepped forward, taking his elbow.

‘I’ll sort it,’ you said, smiling with what you hoped was confidence. Joel looked down at your hand on his arm, then up to your face, where you ignored his obvious indignation at being herded like a child. ‘On we go,’ you said, feeling like a deranged grade school teacher, trying to get her class of unruly six year olds through to 3 pm unscathed. You didn’t see the bemused look on Maria’s face as you pushed Joel down the hallway, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway.

Once again you found yourself crammed into a kitchen with Joel. Sitting him at the table you put some ice in a cloth then plopped down into the chair beside him and held out your hand. He stared at you, unmoving.

‘I can do this,’ he said, and you were tired then, having dealt with quite a lot of male bullshit in just the last two hours, and so you groaned and pulled his hand to you, holding him firm by the wrist lest he try and patriarchy his way out again.

‘I can do it better,’ you said simply, and he huffed out a laugh.

‘Now that I don’t deny,’ he said, and it was quiet, just barely muttered between the two of you, and when you looked up into his eyes you found that they were crinkled with something like amusement, something like affection.

You looked down, flexed his fingers for him, heard him hold his breath when you inspected the knuckle.

‘They teach you this in school, too?’ he asked, and you heard again that he was ribbing you. You decided it was a good sign.

‘No this is purely growing up with a daredevil older sister,’ you replied.

‘Family resemblance, then,’ he replied and you looked up at him sharply, angry for a second that he was calling you meek, that he was deriding you for a perfectly normal reaction to the collapse of society, but you saw nothing on his face that belied any aggression. If anything, you saw warmth.

‘This sore?’ you asked, just gently wresting a fingertip on the bone. His hands were big, with thick and powerful fingers, and you were doing your absolute best not to consider what they could do to you, if you let them.

‘S’alright,’ he murmured. For a moment you saw outside yourself, watched you hunched over inspecting the paw of a lion, a little mouse reaching in to extract a thorn.

‘Here?’ you said, hushed under the light of Maria’s kitchen. You pressed down slightly, on exactly the same spot, and heard his breath stutter. You realised the makeshift ice pack was too bulky to fit between his knuckles, so you opened it and took a block out, resolutely not looking up into his face.

‘Tell me if this is too cold,’ you said, holding the block between your fingers and running it gently over his skin.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed, gently. You kept the ice moving, your eyes watching his hand for any sign of a tremble, but he stayed resolute under your touch.

The heat of his skin started to melt it, cold water running down and snaking under his palm, between his fingers. It washed away the blood, so that you could see only scratches, surface abrasions, from where knuckle met jaw. You watched the pink of it, mixing with the water, little rivers of something precious, something Joel. You were aware only of your finger tips, the push of wings against your chest present but forgotten, as you witnessed him, his essence. As you gazed down on the thing that made him, that kept him, the life in his veins. As the block melted down to just a wafer, as it healed, sealed over the hurt, you lifted it to your mouth to taste it, wanting the iron and the tang of it, the sharpness of the cold mixed with the heat of him, of your open mouth.

You heard his breath hitch. Your eyes flew open, not having realised you’d closed them, and landed on his face, where you gasped when you saw the look of pure wanting, of pure desire, painted pink and red over his features. You dropped his hand in your panic, your face burning, your legs moving before your brain had even taken a moment to collect itself.

‘Thanks Maria I gotta go think Joel will be fine I hope you’re ok will drop some food around you’re the most beautiful pregnant lady I’ve ever seen take care bye’ you vomited, gathering your coat tight around your shoulders and wanting but not wanting, terrified but hoping, to hear footsteps down the hall behind you. You wrenched the door open, felt the welcome rush of cool on your face, already halfway down the porch before you heard it slam shut behind you.

You sprinted, shuffling over ice but not slowing, back to your home. As you went you followed the wall, wondering how it could have made you feel safe now that you were trapped behind it, wondering how you could possibly live with the snake poised to lunge at you, how you could outrun it when it had taken up home inside your belly, beside your breath.

Tag list (just learned what these are, lemme know if you want me to add you)

@orcasoul

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Koby

The school you went to was fine, but like any school, I guess bullying and vandalism was prevalent. Anyone who showed weakness was a victim of bullying. Not that you were particularly affected, but many of your friends were. 

However, instead of bullying, you had nightmares. Even though you tried to maintain sleep hygiene and not stress so much. Even though you weren't always good at it as a student. 

You were done after all the lectures and especially the classes you had to attend. Some lectures didn't matter, but not here. 

You walked down the school hallway, looking forward to a hot shower and a warm bed. You'd had more than enough for one day, and you hoped that the nightmares would be avoided today. But you didn't have much hope. 

You were coming down the stairs when you noticed Alvida open the trophy cabinet and slam the sharp-tipped baseball bat into them with force. You were about to go back and take it the other way when Buggy appeared. 

Together they then started looting the trophy case making plans on what to sell, what to blame on the others, etc. The last thing they gave away was a pink teddy bear like a school mascot or protector. 

"This is what they call a protector? It's like a kindergarten one," they giggled and kicked the teddy bear among themselves. 

Buggy finally picked it up and threw it to Alvida, who hit it with a bat. The teddy bear landed right in front of you. You watched it the whole time, unable to walk away and let it go. 

Instead, you picked up the teddy bear from the ground. You felt sorry for him. Even though it was a thing, it didn't deserve to be treated like that. 

"Hey, give it back!" Buggy shouted at you, going to pick it up so he could throw it again. 

'When pigs can fly, you morons," you retorted, and you and the teddy bear took off running. You didn't understand why it mattered to them, but they ran after you. 

You ran through the hallway, wanting to cut your way through the teacher's lounge where the teachers had their offices and the principal had his office. You ran past the principal's door, which opened wide a second later, knocking Buggy to the ground. Alvida was lucky and dodged. 

"What's all the noise?" Principal Garp asked, measuring everyone with his gaze "Buggy and Alvida that doesn't surprise me," he said sternly. 

Then Garp duly chastised the two scolds and they had to clean and repair the trophy case as punishment. As for you, he left the teddy bear with you.

"Keep it. You deserve it. Koby here is a protector, but it takes him a little while to get the message," he said, and with those words, he walked you out, in case the two of them wanted revenge. 

In the safety of your home, you sowed the bear, as his head had been blown off in the encounter. You guessed that for that. It could have been either the shards from the splinter or Alvida's bat. Now he looked like he had a little scar there. 

When you put him back together, the bear looked all right. He had nice pink soft fur, a blue scarf around his neck along with his white school uniform and big round glasses. He looked pretty cute like that.

Eventually, you fell asleep with him in the chair where you still had your studies on the table. You dreamed about how things would turn out if Principal Garp intercepted you. 

You ran down the hallway and the two of them chased you. Eventually, you find yourself trapped. In your dream, however, both Alvida and Buggy looked much scarier than in real life. Instead of a baseball bat, Alvida had a spiked metal club, and Buggy was swinging throwing knives at you. 

You were cowering in the corner when a young man with pink hair and round glasses saved you from them. He overpowered them like nothing, but he immediately became nervous when he turned to you. It was like he didn't know if he'd done it right if you were okay or something. 

At one point, he had no idea what he should do next before he decided to take you in your dream to some better place where no nightmares couldn't bother you. 

You had no idea how relieved you were when your nightmares ended. How many other things you now had energy for. Not to mention studying, which you were much better at because you could focus better and your brain had the power to take in new information. 

The worst part was that there were more bullies at school than Buggy and Alvida. There was Kuro, Arlong and others. You were easy prey for all of them. 

They especially wanted to get back at you when you got Buggy and Alvida in trouble. But they didn't do anything to you. They didn't stand a chance. 

You had no idea that a guy with pink hair and round glasses was protecting you from them behind your back. And he was getting stronger and stronger with each victory. 

Moreover, he was more than determined to properly protect you from the nightmares in your dreams and those who would harm you in the real world. 

Thanks to his help, you were able to study in peace and the dark circles under your eyes disappeared and your grades went up. You felt like you were finally starting to thrive. 

But Alvida and Buggy were not going to give up. You got them in trouble with your trick on the principal, and you pissed them off. What did you allow yourself to do to them?

That's why they're working together on a plan to get back at you. They wanted to make you look bad and ridiculous so that you'd remember and preferably get expelled from school. That would have been the ultimate highlight. 

They were both watching you, waiting for the perfect moment of revenge. They knew when your class was over when you were most likely to be at your most vulnerable, and when they could make the most of their revenge. 

They waited for the same time as when you caught them that time you took a long walk home from school. They waited for you by the stairs so you didn't see them until the last minute. 

It wasn't until you came down the last step that they appeared beside you, each on one side. You could tell by their expressions what was going on, and rather than ask them any questions, you took off running. 

It was like a scene from your nightmare. You ran through the teacher's area, but this time you were unlucky and all the doors stayed closed. 

Just like in the nightmare, you reached a dead end and were trapped. Buggy had a pocket knife with him, which he threatened you with, and Alvida's bat was a terror in itself. You thought it was the end of you. 

The bullies started to reach for you when Buggy's legs were knocked off and he fell to the ground, the knife falling from his hand. Your rescuer then confronted Alvida, who was also momentarily stunned. 

"Koby?" you gasped in amazement when you saw your pink-haired protector. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, concern in his voice as he crouched down beside you. He reached out his hand to you, but then paused, as if hesitant to touch your skin or not. 

"Yeah, thanks to you," you replied with relief and smiled at him. You heard Buggy and Alvida groan and slowly got to their feet. 

"We should go," you said, taking his hand. Together, you and Koby took off running. At first, you could hear them behind you, trying to catch up. Then only curses were heard, and finally nothing. 

But you didn't stop there. You ran away from that school until you ran to a small square where you finally stopped at a fountain. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked again, worriedly, as you caught your breath. 

"I am, thanks, Koby. I don't know what I'd do without you," you smiled at him, meaning your words sincerely. 

"It was nothing," Koby blushed and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm your protector, after all."  You loved those reactions from him. 

"But it is. Thank you," you said, cupping his face and kissing him on the lips as thanks. Koby was completely taken aback by the gesture and blushed even more. 

"I didn't do that much again," he muttered as you pulled away. He felt like the luckiest protector in the world at that moment.

Sleep Protector Masterlist

One Piece Masterlist

This chapter is for @manachiichan

[girlactionfigure]

A very powerful message from Hillel Fuld:  I really don’t think you understand the absolute miracles that we witnessed last night here in Israel. In fact, I am sure you don’t. Let’s break this down. Israel has three air defense systems, each one of them a technological wonder and that’s not me saying it. That’s Dr. Gold who basically invented the Iron Dome who told me that. The level and sophistication of the Iron Dome is simply unparalleled. But the Iron Dome only knows how to detonate short range rockets or missiles within a 70 km range, give or take.  Then Israel has the David’s Sling system. That knows how to deal with mid range missiles up to approximately 300 km.  Then we have the Arrow system that literally detonates missiles that can fly outside of the earth’s atmosphere. That has a range of about 2,400 km!! 🤯 Last night, as Iran rained down ballistic missiles on Israel, all three defense systems were activated and implemented to perfection. The chances of all of these incredibly complex systems working in unison as flawlessly as they did last night, are basically non existent. If one thing went wrong, if one of those ballistic missiles hit an apartment building, a shopping center, or an army base, we would now be burying hundreds of Israelis.  And all of that is not even the biggest miracle.  A few hours ago, I got a WhatsApp message from a good friend who is a senior executive at Microsoft and who wasn’t exactly a God fearing Jew. Until yesterday.  Here is what he wrote me.  “If you’re looking for miracles man - last night I started believing. Missiles hit all around me but none of them hit my house or any house, for that matter.” He elaborated some more and shared info about the missiles that he watched land just meters away from very strategic places in Israel, to say the least.  Each one of those defense systems is, in and of itself, pretty miraculous, but what is even more insane is the low casualty numbers from the rockets and missiles that we’re NOT intercepted.  Where did those missiles go? I’ll tell you where. They landed in sand, in water, and in “Empty spaces”.  Have you been to Israel? It’s a microscopic country. What empty spaces? Where are these empty spaces? 🤷‍♂️ How have hundreds of Iranian ballistic missiles all either get detonated by miraculous systems or totally miss their mark and land in empty spaces causing zero casualties and minimal damage?!   How?? Listen, I get it. This thought process begs the question, where was God during the horrible terrorist attack yesterday? Where was He on October 7th? Where was He during the holocaust?  All valid questions that require a very serious nuanced conversation.  But if you know anything about what had to happen last night and throughout this war in general, for such a low number of casualties, you’ll know that what we witnessed last night was the equivalent of God splitting the sea right before our eyes.  Guess what. When God split the sea, there were those who didn’t believe it was a miracle and didn’t jump in. And there are also those who feel the need to explain it naturally. Ok, that’s fine.  You don’t want to call yesterday an act of God? That’s your choice, but like my Microsoft friend, if you look at these events objectively, you’d have a really hard time seeing those hundreds of deadly missiles land in empty spaces and not see the hand of God.  Last night was an incredible display of the collaboration between two of the powers that protect the Jewish people: The IDF and Hashem.  Last night will go down in history right alongside many of Israel’s accomplishments in this war including the beepers and the unprecedented low ratio between combatant and civilian, as a military operation the likes of which the world has never seen. Ever! Last night will be analyzed by military strategists and experts for generations.  Last night, we witnessed history.  Last night we witnessed open miracles.  Last night, we witnessed God in all His glory watching over His children.