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[waterbeads1993]

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[splattermarx]

Gus Fink’s Charlie Fink Melted Ice Cream Collection

Untitled

[malfoys-demigod]

“Wear a jacket, it’s cold outside”

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: Just a quick fluff drabble where the reader’s out admiring the morning snow, but also at the same time not wanting to admit she’s cold and of need of a jacket

A/N: Hi all!! It has been a while since I wrote. Life has been so hectic for me, but ever since I watched Deadpool and Wolverine recently, the love I have for X-men came back and I really loved seeing tons of Wolverine fics pop up!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

There was always something magical about the first morning snow at the X Mansion that made Y/N feel like the happiest girl in the world.

There was that feeling of serenity and calm that comes from snowy environments which she loved feeling every winter. It would prompt nostalgic memories: childhood fun, holidays spent yearning for a white Christmas - it just made her happy.

So when the first snow arrived early in the morning, Y/N got up as fast as she could, slipping on her favorite winter boots as she made a dash out to the entrance of the X Mansion, only wearing her long-sleeved pajama top and jogging pants.

There it was.

A fresh blanket of snow, covering the whole landscape of the area, as more snow fell down gracefully from the sky. Y/N was enjoying the sound of silence - watching the snow flutter down like magical confetti, which felt so healing to her.

She watched as the trees were heavy with snow on its tips, smelling damp pine cones from a distance. She never felt so happy.

That was until she took a few steps outward from the driveway with her last step causing her to take a small slip into a soft blanket of snow. She was now laying on wet snow, laughing her ass off from being so reckless out of nowhere all alone. The gleaming snow around her was what made her choose to stay grounded on the floor, expanding her arms and legs as they made snow angel movements.

It was only a matter of time for Y/N to start experiencing the frost bitten feeling around her body, numbing her as she continued staying out in the snow without proper protecting from being frozen. Yet.. she didn’t exactly have plans on going back in to wear protective gear just yet.

Meanwhile back inside the X Mansion, Logan had just woken up from a surprisingly good sleep. He didn’t have any nightmares to fight off this time. He actually woke up peacefully.

He got up, wore his regular leather jacket, fixed himself up quickly, and took a look at his window, seeing white, as he discovered the first snow of the season.

What he then noticed after was Y/N, lying down on the carpet of snow, with a smile on her face. Logan swore he almost felt a smile on himself growing too fast for his liking. He always kept his relationship with Y/N to a friendly-teasing kind of thing going on, but deep down, he always wanted to see if he could have more than that with his colleague.

His face definitely returned to his typical serious form, as he took a closer look at Y/N… with tingling cold finger tips, shivering slightly. He wondered why she wasn’t returning yet inside to warm up, and a level of concern grew in him, picturing her as a poor, frost bitten kitten, who needed help.

He turned around and made his way outside at full speed.

The heavy crunches of the snow under Logan’s feet as he stomped towards her caused Y/N to sit up and turn around.

Logan huffed at the sight of his kitten, looking bitterly cold now as her arms were crossed tightly. “Kid, what the hell are you doing?”

She smiled childishly with pink spots on her cheeks, which Logan discretely found lovable. “Um, enjoying the first snow?”

Logan had a displeased look on his face, definitely due to her reply. “No shit, but ever thought of doing it with extra layers on? You’re gonna freeze yourself to death, bub. You don’t want the kids to wake up on the first day of snow and see their teacher frozen over, do ya?”

Y/N was too amused with the silly, impossible idea of turning into an iced sculpture to even notice the worried look Logan had on his face. “Oh come on, Lo,” she brushed it off, “I’m fine. A little cold won’t hurt me.”

Logan was about to protest until Y/N brought out a small sneeze. She pointed at him her best straight-face, wanting to speak up first after her ‘A little cold won’t hurt me’ statement.

“Shut up, Logan,” she commanded, “That was nothing. I’m fine.”

The secretly smitten man, rolled his eyes, not buying a single thing she said. “Alright, here we go” he said, pulling her up for her to stand on her feet as she whined, “Hey!”

“Wear a jacket, it’s cold outside.” He pleaded after she complained with her frowns.

“But I really just wanted to stay a few minutes longer then I’ll go back in,” she admitted, giving her best ���Puss-in-Boots adorable eyes’ that made Logan want to fold so damn easily. But he shook his head, removing his favorite leather jacket, that he would never just give to anyone. Her few minutes were definitely not few minutes and he knew that.

“Take it and wear it,” he surrendered.

Y/N lightly gasped, knowing very well that Logan and his leather jacket were famously inseparable. She was too flustered to say anything at the moment, so she took the jacket from him, mumbled a thank you, and started wearing it.

Logan had definitely taken a liking to what he was seeing. She looked so good in his jacket and he was captivated by how adorable she looked, with the jacket looking slightly oversized on her.

Y/N felt her heartbeat move faster when she taken a notice at Logan’s fitted black shirt, outlining the muscles that attracted her since the first day they met. She looked away, looking down at her shoes, hoping her cheeks weren’t pinker than they were earlier.

“You wanna join me for those last few minutes?” She asked teasingly with a small smile on her face. How could he say no to her?

He ‘nonchalantly’ huffed a ‘kay and sat down with her on the ground. She shifted a little closer to him, her head leaning on his shoulder. While her eyes were focused on the snow in front of her falling from a distance, his eyes were on her, wanting to make sure he saw her reaction to when the shoulder she was leaning on moved up, as Logan started wrapping his arm on her, getting them closer than how they were just a second ago.

Logan smirked to himself, seeing how red-faced Y/N was now, still focusing her attention on the snow, as she was avoiding eye contact with Logan, who was now hoping they spend more than a few minutes cozying up together before heading back in.

Maybe after that, he could treat her to hot chocolate, because of course, it was cold and he without a doubt thinks it’s the only nice thing to do afterwards…! *wink*

@snackthatsmilesbackchlldren @iluvloganhowlett (shoutout to you and your amazing fic so far! love seeing your works!)

[deadsetobsessions]

Woo! I’ve finally got time to write! Had to go to a wedding, suffered through eight whole hours of pure disorganized mess, and got mad about it. Emphasis on the disorganized part. So, I bring you: party planner!Danny Phantom.

——

If anyone was to see him now, they’d definitely think that it was odd that Danny was the one in the party planning field. They wouldn’t be surprised if it was Jazz, but Danny ‘wing it’ Fenton planning things? Never.

But here he was, clipboard in hand and checking off hors d’œuvres from the list.

“Anton, could you do a check of the sound system? Make sure everything’s working?”

“Got it.”

Danny lifted the buffet table, laden with heavy food, and used a bit of his ghostly strength to move it over.

“Perfect.”

He double checked the seating chart, and readjusted the miniature ice sculpture centerpieces he made for the party.

Wayne Manor was all lit up and perfectly dusted. Danny ran through his mental checklist. Tabled? Check. Dance floor clean and scuff free? Check. DJ booth and open bar running without issues? Check. Live band setting up with back up instruments and strings? Check. Decorations on point? Oh, he’ll have to get the team to readjust those.

Time to check-

“Danny! How’s it going?” Bruce Wayne beamed and slung an arm around his shoulder.

Danny smiled politely. “Mr. Wayne. Everything is going smoothly. Would you like to check the food the chefs have made?”

“Sure, sure! I definitely need to eat before I drink, haha!”

“That’s a good idea! Good thing you’re about to try a bunch of food.” Danny matched the billionaire’s energy. He’s going to get paid so good.

“So, Danny, are you going to college?”

Danny passed him a small sampler. “Ah, I can’t. Some stuff happened in high school and I don’t really have the grades or the money to.”

Plus, his credentials were in another plane of existence and he hadn’t figured out how to transfer those records yet.

“You could still attend college, I’m sure! Your parents might be able to help pay?” Bruce nommed on the food. He gave a thumbs up.

Danny sighed. “It’s not always an option. Plus, my parents are dead.”

In this universe. His own? Alive and kicking GIW ass.

“Oh, I see-”

“Father.”

“Woah!” Danny blinked, looking down at the baby Wayne the popped up next to his father’s elbow.

“Damian! What’s wrong, kiddo?”

Damian shot his father a flat glare and dragged the laughing billionaire away.

Danny snorted and returned to his tasks. He has to check the speeches and the lighting. Hm… he doesn’t have time to adjust everything how he wants it.

Good thing he knew a guy that could stop time.

“Hey, Clockwork?”

——

“Father, I understand your inclination towards adopting poor black haired and blue eyed orphans, but I would like to remind you that I have far too many siblings to be adding yet another bumbling buffoon.”

“I was not considering that, Damian.”

Damian let go of his wrist with a grimace. “Denial is not becoming of a Wayne, Father.”

“Yeah, B. I could see you grab the adoption papers from all the way over here.” Tim adjusted his tie. “Anyways, Dick is on his way. He’s running a little late because of some stuff in Blüdhaven.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

——

“Batman.”

“Oracle.”

“Look at the footage of Wayne manor.” Oracle pulled up the video surveillance scattered through out the manor. Specifically, the ones of the west ballroom. Daniel Fenton stood in his spot, looking down at his clipboard but a second later, he's moved three inches to the left and the decorations had subtly been moved more aesthetic spots. "I think Danny might be a meta. We'll have to look into him."

Batman stood up, allowing the fondness he had for Danny as Bruce Wayne drain away. This is a potential threat, and Batman will treat him like one. (Danny will remember this.)

"Contact Flash. I need him to scan for any temporal disturbance."

"Understood."

——

"Brucie!" A socialite squealed as she came to bestow hugs upon a long suffering Bruce. "My god, this place is gorgeous! You must give me your planner's number. I could absolutely use some fresh eyes for the Annual Spring Party."

"Awe, Janine! I gotta keep some of the good things to myself!" Bruce whined, inwardly smirking as he saw his kids mock-gagging behind the lady's back. "What if your party's cooler than mine? What should I do then? You're already so gorgeous! Why, is that a Birkin?"

Janine lit up and all but forgot about getting Danny's contact information. Bruce patted his own back for a job well done, even if he had to listen to Janine's itemized list of random luxury goods she had to buy before being offered a bag.

He's a Wayne. The Gotham Hermes wished they could partner with the Waynes. Plus, he's pretty sure he's got at least three of those bags somewhere in the manor to bait out Selina.

Catching Danny sliding in between the servers and going towards the kitchen, Bruce quickly excused himself with a disarming himbo grin.

Time to subtly grill the kid.

——

"Hey, Timmy?"

"Hello, Dick," Tim smiled elegantly at the couple who's companies he was about to bring six feet underground and excused himself. "What's up?"

"Have you noticed that the ice sculptures haven't melted at all?"

Tim blinked, eyes sliding over to a harried Danny being followed by Bruce on a mission. Oof.

"Freeze?" He asked mildly, face innocent of any nefarious thoughts.

"That's what I'm thinking." Dick smiled sunnily, throwing an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Heard the guy's living out near Crime Alley. We should get Jay to check it out." Tim pretended to laugh, grinning as his brains made plans for a stakeout.

"Heard, my ass. You totally stalked him, didn't you?"

"Got proof?"

Dick snorted, removing his arm. "Nope. I'll let Jay know. You should probably help Danny out, though, he looks like he's about to lose his temper."

"Bruce is at it again." Tim sighed. "Yeah, okay."

[zweetpea]

Mrs. “Wayne”

Content warning: Swears, Arranged Marriage, talks of having an heir, Mentions of Bruce’s Affairs, Nightwing x Starfire mentioned

Based on this since no one else has done it (or at least not that I've seen...)

BTW guys if you want to write something based off something I write I ask that you tag me in it. (Unless it's like a broad thing... like if you see my post about Bruce bringing home a girl that he met and married that day then write a fic around that idea I ask that you credit me, but if you see my Yandere Bruce x reader and decide to make a "baby fever! Bruce x reader" that's more general so I don't think it would be fair of me to ask for credit.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Honey I know you're angry with us but it's what’s best for you. He's the richest man in the country." Your mother fixed your veil.

"He's a whore. And what's worse is that he doesn't even consider how it even affects his kids. I just picks up orphans off the street like they're lucky pennies or a 20 dollar bill for him." You grimaced.

"You know what a..." She sounded appalled. "20 dollar bill is? Oh how I've failed you as a mother."

"Don't be so dramatic." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you ready to go?" Your father entered into the private room. "You look beautiful Princess."

"Thanks dad."

"Come on." He grabbed your hand as you grabbed the bouquet. You wrapped your arm around his as you two walked down the isle to your soon-to-be husband, Bruce "Brucie" Wayne.

You looked down through the entire ceremony, up until the Vows. Brucie's were short and sweet. "We may not know each other too well but I swear to be loyal, thoughtful, and truthful through our entire marriage." At which you heard a faint snort from the front row. You slightly glance over and see a young man a few years younger than you trying to hold laughter, his white streak bobbing as he shook with laughter. Brucie's glaring at him.

You turned back to your inevitable spouse and said your vows. "I promise to stand by your side in all your endeavors, even if that means adopting 10 more orphans you pick up from the streets like they were stray cats." You said in a monotonous voice.

You two finish off the ceremony with the standard ceremonial officiator speach.

"Do you Bruce Wayne take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do."

He turns to me. "Do you-"

"I do." You cut him off. Surprising everyone with how forward that was. Some whispers were heard amongst the crowd, undoubtedly calling you a gold digger for being so eager to get this ceremony over with.

"Well at least she's eager! That's almost gotta ensure this marriage lasts right?" The officiator jokes to ease the tension. "If anyone objects to this marriage please speak now or forever hold your peace." The same young man who was laughing held up his hand but it was pushed down by a man about your age sitting next to him. "Then you may now kiss the bride."

You and your new husband shared a chaste kiss before you ran down the isle and out to the limo. And after a short drive you made it to the spot where you were scheduled to take your wedding photos and have the reception.

The reception was void of life, stuffy, like all those galas your parents forced you to attend. Hopefully this didn't end up like one of the incidents of Brucie flirting with milfs, sticking his tongue down a young squeezes throat, or twerking on ice sculptures.

Eventually Brucie takes you over to the loudest table in the place. "Wifey, these are my kids and co. Dick my oldest, the trouble maker who laughed during the ceremony is Jason, my oldest daughter Cass, the middles Stephanie and Tim, and Damian my youngest. Then there's Barbara Commissioner Gordons daughter, and our newest member of our family Duke."

"I'm the only blood child." Damian points out.

"Let's hope debauchery isn't hereditary."

Jason bursts out laughing at that. "I like her already."

"Really? Cause I had to hold your hand like a toddler during the ceremony to keep you from throwing a tantrum like a toddler." Dick points out.

"Can you blame me Dickie. She's your age. If anyone should be having a hissy fit it's you. Well you and maybe Babs."

"But we're not. So can't you be mature about this."

"I think Todd's lack of manners have become more acceptable considering what she said. Now it stands out less. Congrats Todd, you're now the family's second biggest embarrassment." Damian rolled his eyes.

"Haha" You laughed sarcastically. "What are you stray cats fighting over anyway that has you so rowdy? Someone throw out a can on anchovies?"

"No we're just excited to have a new Mom." Dick smiled at you.

"Oh looks like my new Father-in-law is calling me over for some business talk. I'll be back, Wifey. You just stay here and mingle." Your husband walks away and you turn back to the Brucie bunch.

"I know you guys probably don't like me or find it weird that I'm so close to your guys ages. Do me a favor and just put up with me for say five to ten years." They looked at you confused so you elaborate. "Brucie and I signed a prenup that if I asked for a divorce I'd get nothing. But give it a few years and he'll find a new fling. They'll get caught and he'll ask for a divorce to save his image. Don't worry I'll only ask for at most a million. Standard sum for a celebrity of his caliber."

Damian glares at you. "You skank."

"I'm being realistic. As a woman in high society you get to be a man's pretty young thing till you're 40. By then you've either started your own multi-million dollar business or you're the divorced crone who can't do any better. Most relationships of this caliber are shams held together by pool boys and secretaries. Or the few lucky ones that got married for love instead of PR."

"Bruce isn't like that." Tim defends.

"Oh please. I've seen him go to a date with a woman and leave with two completely different women than the woman he arrived with." You rolled your eyes

"Maybe when he was younger, but he's changed." Duke stood up to confront you.

"It's nothing personal kids, it's just business. I don't care if that's how he chooses to live his life. I won't be around much to see it anyway, I'm going to be rather busy." You shrugged, seemingly above it all.

"Busy with what?" Cass glared.

"Trading stocks and such, preparing for the inevitable divorce. Maybe I'll go sponsor some artists or a theatre production if I'm bored. I don't know, but what I can tell you is that it's coming." You turn around to walk away and see Brucie already flirting with another woman. "And from the looks of it, it's coming sooner than we could've ever guessed." You smirked, feeling vindicated. The rest of them looked on in horror.

After the reception you two left on a rather uneventful honeymoon. The private villa was garish and gaudy. It felt like a petty excuse to flaunt his wealth especially because you two spent the entire trip sleeping in different rooms. And on top of all that half way through he up and left you with his black card and flew back to the mansion to deal with an "emergency". Your best guess was a whiny sugar baby was getting pissy.

At the end of the trip you flew back and had to catch an uber home. None of them even came to pick you up from the airport. Though with how they reacted to your statements at the reception could you really blame them?

Regardless you practically snuck into the mansion with the help of Alfred who showed you to a small guest room on the first floor. It had a single queen sized bed without even a comforter, just a white duvet, and on either side of the bed were nightstands.

"Thank you Alfred." You nodded to.

"You're welcome." He bows. "If there's anything else you need please feel free to inform me immediately."

"Brucie left this with me in his vacation home, can you give this back to him and tell him I said thank you for the take out?" You handed over the black card.

"Take out?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. And for letting me use the Wayneflix account while I was there. If I may make a slight suggestion, give your regency era shows more attention. Thank you Alfred. I'll go unpack now."

"I've already taken the liberty of unpacking your clothes into the wardrobe and dresser." He revealed.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know you requested that I not but I felt I'd rather have your room ready for you than for you to stress when you arrived." He bowed.

"That's very sweet but I have a very particular system. My outfits all fit together in a specific way." You start to rearrange your clothes in the way you see fit.

"Might I learn how you like them so I can properly sort them next time?"

"No, it's okay. I can do my own laundry." You offered.

"Have you ever done your own laundry?" He raised an eyebrow accusingly.

"Well... no." You confessed. "But you already have like 14 other people's laundry to do. I don't want to be a bother. Besides I don't want you to waste a few weeks when it won't matter in a few years."

"So Master Damian has told me you've said. Nevertheless I'm willing to learn to do this if you are willing to learn how to do your own cooking and laundry."

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've met many people whom Master Wayne has brought into his life. You are the first who's actually wanted to fend for yourself. If you are running a long con into Master Wayne's pocket it's either the smartest or the dumbest plan I've ever seen concocted. Besides, many of the Wayne's don't currently reside here full time. Master Dick lives with his wife missus Koriand'r. Master Jason lives in a renovated greenhouse studio apartment. Miss Barbara and Miss Cassandra live as roommates. And Master Wayne lives in either his WayneTech or home Office. I have more than enough time to learn."

You genuinely smiled for the first time since you heard about the engagement. The two of you spent the rest of the day organizing clothes and making cookies.

"-And that is the difference between Light Academia and Pastel Academia.”

He looked stunned. "How do you keep all this straight?"

"It's just something I got into because I wanted to disassociate from my hopeless reality. I figured fake it till you make it right? Someday I could have a different, more quiet life. And finding subtle nuances between aesthetics is honestly fun. Like a game of spot the difference."

“Oh my! Look at the time! It’s already 4 o’clock!” Alfred looks stunned at the time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spend four hours talking about this.”

"It's quite alright Missus Wayne."

"I'll go bring these to Brucie. Might as well let him know that he's not getting any inheritance from a tragic accident that happened to me."

"Master Wayne cares for you. I hope you know that. It may not be in the most... romantic measure... but I swear that he was not lying on your wedding day when he said he'd remain faithful to you." Alfred tried to reassure.

"If you say so Alfred." You gave him a small smile.

Alfred looked at her sadly as she walked away. He wished there was more he could do to help you fit in around the manor. Someone as grounded as you would be a good addition in Brice's life, he just knew it!

Later in the Batcave, Alfred confronted Bruce

"Master Wayne I have an idea on how to keep your new wife busy."

"Why should I care about what's she's doing with her life? I have more important things to do than to worry about than some nepo-baby throwing a tantrum.

"Why should you care? How about the fact that you have never had a serious relationship and making this work is crucial for your public image? How about the fact that she has given up her entire life to cater towards your brash decision after one petty comment Mr. West made about your love life?" Alfred started listing off reasons; becoming more irate as he did. "How about the fact that if she's not kept busy during the day she'll eventually stumble upon the entrance of the Batcave?"

That peaked Bruce's interest. "I'm listening." He swivels around in his chair.

"Offer her a job as the family's social media manager." Alfred proposed.

"What? Why?" Bruce looked at him, skeptically.

"She's very knowledgeable about different aesthetics and trend. She could make this family look..." He tried to find a nice word to describe them.

"Normal?" Bruce interrupts with an almost bored look on his face.

"I was going to say civil but that works too." Alfred shrugged as Bruce groaned. "Don't take it the wrong way Master Wayne. I love this Family with all my heart but you cannot deny that they can be a bit rowdy at times."

"A bit is an understatement. It would look good for your PR... fine. Go ask her... but If it is not up to Wayne Enterprise standards you're firing her for me!"

So that's what you've been doing for the past few months.

"Jason, I'm telling you, motorcycles are out! Most girls aren't going for the bad boy vibe anymore! They're into Timothée Chalamet!" You argued over the phone with Jason, Bruce's most rebellious child, even more so than the 12 year old pain in the ass! "Fine, we'll talk later. I have an unexpected visitor anyway." You looked behind you as Bruce entered.

Bruce made a habit of being loud around the house for her. You knew he was being exceptionally weird but you didn't exactly know why. You didn't really care all that much either.

He came up behind you and started to massage your shoulders. "Jason giving you trouble again."

"...yeah." You said shrinking into yourself. The one thing you hadn't quite gotten used to was Bruce's attempts to flirt with you. You knew that he wanted to keep public image favorable, but it didn't make sense why he flirted with you behind closed doors.

He leaned down and started kissing your exposed shoulders in your off the shoulder sweater dress. You wriggled out and away from him in discomfort and he looked at you puzzled. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like you touching me." You confessed. "I don't- ...I don't see us that way... I'm sorry."

He sat on the edge of your desk. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that... we haven't done anything yet and-"

"And what? You think I'm a slut that's just going to put out for you?" You interrupted.

"No! I just meant that you were probably wanting me to... be more romantic... I thought you'd want me to instigate something..." He stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Well you thought wrong." You left your office angrily. You stomped out of there and went to the library. You looked over all the books they had. Classics like the Iliad and Crime and Punishment to so many romance novels. But one book in particular caught your interest. The History of Taxes.

"Who wants to read about taxes?" You cringed. The book looked relatively untouched. 'Typical,' you thought. 'Rich people can't even be bothered to try and read the books they have in their house.' She went to pull it out and found the bookshelf moving.

On the other side was the answer to one of the greatest mysteries she's had since she came to Gotham, "Who is Batman and Co?"

There it was! The Batcave and All it's glory...

Oh... the bags under his eye of sleepless nights, the flirty persona, the stomping around trying to make his presence known to you.

"Bruce Wayne is Batman..." No sooner had you said those words did you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world fade into darkness...

[fatehbaz]

Posted about British colonial officials in 1860s South India being fascinated by studying geology of Deccan Plateau as both a potential source of material wealth but also as more like intellectual curiosity that allowed them to consider "deep time" and the place of "civilization" in history. And someone shared post, commenting in tags something sort of like "interesting how British Empire could be so focused on rocks."

And really:

Both British imperial power and British popular imagination are tied to "ancient rocks"

British coal and coal-powered engines transformed global ecologies and societies with railroads and factories at the same time that British public became widely aware of dinosaurs, extinct Pleistocene megafauna, the vast scale of deep time, geology, and uniformitarian Earth systems. Then British anthropology, Egyptomania, archaeology, etc., were implicated in professionalization of sciences and ideas of primitivsm/racial hierarchy. Then British extraction of liquid fossil fuels instantiated expansion of petroleum products. Victorian popular culture had a penchant for contemplating death, decay, deep past, civilizational collapse, classical antiquity. So there's a simultaneous fixation on both temporality and materiality. Which both involve "earth."

-

Consider:

Coal. How the mining of "ancient rock" (300-million-year-old Carboniferous) and coal-burning probably strongly propelled Britain (tied also to enclosure laws and Caribbean slave profits reinvested in ascendant financial/insurance institutions) to the "first" industrialization around 1830, helping cement its global hegemony and setting a blueprint for European/US industry. How burning that ancient rock "unlocked steam power" for Britain and facilitated the rapid expansion of railroad networks after the first public steam railway in 1825 (steam engines then let Britain reach and extract resources from hinterlands) while the rock also powered textile mills after the 1830s (putting poorer Britons to work in mills and factories while "Poor Laws" were put into effect outlawing "vagrancy" and "joblessness") which reshaped "the countryside" in Britain and reshaped global ecologies and labor regimes. Provincial realist novels and other literature reflect anxiety about this ecological/social transition. Even later Victorian novels and fin de siecle commentaries hint how coal and industrialization invoke temporality more directly, in that the engines and technologies provoke rhetoric and discourses about exponential growth, linear progress, and dazzling future horizons.

Fossils of Pleistocene megafauna: How an extinct Mastodon was displayed at Pall Mall in London in 1802. And how William Conybeare's discovery/description of coal-bearing rock in Britain led him to name "the Carboniferous period" in 1822, but it wasn't just coal power that this event inspired. in the very same year, Conybeare described the remains of extinct Pleistocene hyenas at Kirkdale Cave in Britain. The promotion of this discovery of Ice Age hyenas gave many Britons for the first time an awareness of deep past and obsession with Creatures. But the promotion also brought spectacle, public display, poetics, and marketing into natural history like "edu-tainment," a "poetics of popular science." This took place in the context of the rapid rise of British mass-market print media. Geological verse, Victorian novels, and cheap miscellanies reflect anxiety about this temporality and natural history.

Geology as a discipline: How the 1830 publishing of Lyell's monumentally significant Principles of Geology, directly inspired after he observed British ancient rock formations at Isle of Arran, completely changed European/US understanding of deep time and geology and the scale of Earth systems (uniformity principle), which made people wonder about linear notions of history and whether empires/societies can survive forever in such vast time scales.

Dinosaur fossils: How the "first dinosaur sculptures in the world" (dinosaur fossils reminiscent of ancient rock?) were reconstructed and put on display by Britain in 1854 at Crystal Palace in London following "the Great Exhibition," an event which set the model for future exhibitions and started the global craze for "world's fairs" and expositions showcasing imperial/industrial power for decades (the model for Chicago's Columbian Exposition of 1893, Paris event of 1900, St. Louis event of 1904, and beyond).

Soil mapping: How "ancient rock" was entangled with one of the most significant scientific projects of all-time, Britain's "The Great Trigonometric Survey of India" in 1802, undertaken to survey and record soil types across South Asia. After the resistance of the leaders of Mysore had finally been defeated, the subcontinent was vulnerable to consolidated British colonial power, and surveys were ordered immediately. The mapping of acreage for tax administration by the East India Company would remake societies with bordered property, contracted ownership, tax/wealth extraction. But the Survey also let Britain map soil for purposes of monoculture agriculture planning. Britain then used geology/soil as potential indicators of biological essentialism that equated "ancient" Gonds of India or "ancient" Aboriginal peoples of Australia with primitivism. Adventure stories and sportsmen's pulp magazines reflect anxiety about these cultural and geographical frontiers.

Diamonds: How the discovery of ancient rock (diamonds, from tens of millions of years old kimberlite) in the Kimberly (South Africa) rocketed Britain to more power when their colonial commissioners took possession in 1871, giving Britain a foothold and paving the way for Cecil Rhodes to amass astonishing wealth while completely remaking social institutions, labor regimes, and environments in southern Africa, giving Britain so much profit from diamonds that in 1882 Kimberly was only the second city on the whole planet to install electric street lighting.

Egyptomania: How British archaeologists digging around in ancient rock of their vassal/colony of Egypt, especially the tens of thousands of ancient Egyptian artifacts that they collected between 1880 and 1890, contributed to a craze for classical antiquity and a fixation on the ancient Mediterranean and mummies.

Victorian death fascination: How British archaeologists interacting with ancient rock in Southwest Asia (Mesopotamia, Levant) coupled with the Egyptomania also strongly influenced Late Victorian obsessions with death, decay, the occult, millennarian dates, and civilizational collapse which continued to influence culture, fashion, historicity, and narrativizing in Europe/US for years. Perhaps they wondered: "If Ur could fall, if Thebes could fall, if Mycenae could fall, if ROME could fall, then how could our civilization based in fair London survive such vast eons of time and such strong geological and environmental forces?"

Liquid fossil fuels: How "ancient rock" yielded liquid fossil that was extracted by British industrialsits when the first test oil wells were dug at "the Black Spot" in Borneo in 1896 which led to creation of Shell Oil company in 1897 led by a British director who was fascinated with ancient fossils. Followed then the global expansion of combustion engines, oil lubricants, and networks of imperial infrastructure to extract and refine oil. And how British tinkering with "ancient rock" of Persia and Southwest Asia led to the bolstering of a "Middle East" oil industry; the Anglo-Persian Oil Company was founded in 1909, giving Britain yet more geopolitical leverage in the region; the company would later become BP, one of the biggest and most profitable corporations to ever exist.

-

So the immaterial imaginaries of place/space and time (frontiers, the exotic/foreign, the tropical/Orient, ascent/decay, civilization/savagery, deep past/future horizons) justify or organize or pre-empt or service the material dispossession and accumulation.

British Empire transformed Earth and earth. Both materially/physically and immaterially/imaginatively.

[muiitoloko]

Hey! I have an idea fic? I just wanna see how you would want to write it, snape n fem reader are married, have kids and all- both professors in hogwarts and during the yule ball, they were listen as those catchers for the ones that sneaked off to, and minerva was with them and reminded them of when they were around 6th year, they were 'sneaking' off and minerva caught them- snape n reader embarassed lol, idk if you get it- but i hope you do write a fic inspired by thisss💕

Title: Some Things Never Change

Summary: As Severus and his wife patrol the corridors after the Yule Ball, an encounter with McGonagall reminds them of a long-forgotten, mischief-filled past.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your request; I hope you enjoy it.

Also read on Ao3

The Great Hall was dazzling, transformed for the Yule Ball with twinkling fairy lights and enchanted ice sculptures. The air was filled with the sweet notes of the band’s melody, and the laughter of students swirled around you like snowflakes caught in a winter breeze.

You stood near the edge of the ballroom, your arm linked with your husband's, as you leaned your head against his shoulder. Severus Snape remained as rigid as ever, his sharp profile set in an expression of detached boredom, but you knew better.

His dark eyes were fixated on the dance floor, watching—no, glowering—at a particular couple moving in perfect synchrony to the music.

Your fourteen-year-old daughter, Selina Snape, was dancing with none other than Harry bloody Potter.

You could practically hear the scowl forming on Severus’s face. His long fingers twitched slightly at his side, his posture even stiffer than usual. You had to bite back a smirk. Oh, he was not pleased at all.

You sighed dramatically, your fingers tightening around his arm as you swayed slightly. “Sev,” you murmured, tilting your face up toward him, “are you going to ask me to dance, or shall I continue to wither away in loneliness?”

“No,” came the flat reply.

You gasped theatrically, placing a hand on your chest as if wounded. “Not even a dance with your own wife? If I had known you would refuse, I would have accepted when Professor Riddle asked me earlier.”

Severus didn’t even blink. His expression remained as indifferent as ever, but you knew him too well. His jaw was tighter than usual. He might not like Tom Riddle, but tonight, there was someone he liked even less.

You followed his gaze and sighed.

Oh dear.

You knew this would happen. You had deliberately avoided telling Severus that Selina was coming to the ball with Harry because you knew exactly what his reaction would have been—an immediate, unequivocal no.

He had assumed she would come with Draco Malfoy, an acceptable if slightly arrogant choice in his mind. But now, here she was, dancing with James Potter’s son—smiling, laughing, looking far too comfortable in his arms.

Severus’s scowl deepened.

“She’s smiling,” he muttered, his baritone voice laced with quiet fury.

“Yes, well, people tend to smile when they’re enjoying themselves, Severus,” you teased, though you knew your words would do nothing to pacify him.

“With Potter,” he snapped. “With Potter’s spawn.”

You sighed, resting your head back against his shoulder. “He’s a nice boy.”

“He’s a Potter,” Severus growled.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Severus, not every Potter is your sworn enemy.”

He turned his head slowly to look at you, his black eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You didn’t tell me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

You swallowed, schooling your features into the most innocent expression you could manage. “Tell you what?”

His glare intensified. “That she was coming with him.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough for his glare to turn deadly.

“And why, pray tell, did you conveniently forget to mention that our daughter would be spending her evening with that—” he cut himself off, inhaling sharply through his nose as if struggling to find an insult severe enough.

Because you knew what would have happened had you told him. Selina would have been forbidden from going with Harry. The wards around the dungeons would have been reinforced, and she would have been forced to attend with someone he deemed acceptable—most likely under his watchful, overbearing gaze.

You sighed, placing a soothing hand on his arm. “Severus, Selina is fourteen. She’s intelligent, she’s strong-willed—wonder where she got that from—and she can make her own choices. You have to trust her.”

His eyes flickered back to the dance floor, and his fingers clenched at his sides. “She is fourteen. And she is dancing with Potter.”

You suppressed a laugh. Oh, he was seething.

“She looks happy,” you pointed out softly.

“She looks infatuated.”

You grinned. “Are you worried she’s going to run off and marry him tonight?”

Severus gave you a withering look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then what is the problem?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “The problem, dear wife, is that he is the son of James Potter—”

“And Lily,” you reminded him gently.

Severus flinched ever so slightly at the name.

You softened, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You can’t hold James’s sins against Harry forever, Sev. He’s a good boy. And he’s treating our daughter with kindness.”

Severus said nothing. He only stared, his gaze unreadable.

You knew what he was thinking. It should have been Draco, someone acceptable, someone he approved of; but fate was fickle, and Selina Snape had inherited her mother's ability to make her own choices—choices that Severus couldn't always control.

And that terrified him.

You leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, murmuring, “You trust her, don’t you?”

He remained stiff for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. “I do.”

“Then trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

He was silent. Then—

“I still don’t like it.”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “No, I imagine you wouldn’t.”

For a moment, he simply watched, his dark eyes never leaving his daughter. Selina's face was bright with laughter as Harry spun her beneath his arm, her dress swirling around her. She looked happy; she looked free.

And Severus looked deeply unimpressed.

You knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation. Oh, no. This was just the beginning.

But for now, Severus merely exhaled, rolling his shoulders stiffly. “Fine,” he muttered, voice clipped. “But if he so much as breathes the wrong way, I will hex him into next week.”

You smirked, squeezing his arm as you rested against him again.

“Of course, dear.”

The Yule Ball had finally come to an end, and the castle was beginning to settle into an eerie, post-festivity stillness. You and Severus, as part of your usual duties as professors, wandered through the corridors to ensure that no students had snuck off for secret trysts. You had no illusions—there were certainly students hidden away in dark corners, wrapped up in teenage romance and poor decision-making. And you had no doubt that Severus was particularly eager to catch them in the act.

The air was crisp with the lingering chill of winter, the stone corridors illuminated by flickering torchlight as your robes swayed with each step. Severus walked beside you, his arms crossed over his chest, his black eyes scanning every shadow with his usual sharp vigilance. His lips were pressed into a thin, disapproving line, as if the very idea of students engaging in hormonal idiocy disgusted him to his core.

“I don’t understand why Albus insists on holding these ridiculous events,” Severus muttered, his deep voice echoing softly through the empty hallways. “It only encourages foolish behavior.”

You smirked, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Oh, Severus, let the children have a little fun. Not everyone has spent their teenage years brooding in the dungeons like you.”

His glare was immediate. “Fun,” he scoffed, sneering as he turned a corner. “Fun leads to rule-breaking, which leads to detentions that I have to supervise.”

You chuckled, enjoying his perpetual irritation. Before you could tease him further, another presence emerged from a corridor ahead of you. Minerva McGonagall, dressed in her formal emerald robes, approached with the air of someone who had also been searching for errant students. She greeted you both with a knowing look.

“Ah, Severus, I suspected I’d find you prowling the halls, eager to ruin some poor student’s evening,” Minerva said with an amused smile.

Severus gave her a flat look. “I am merely ensuring that the Yule Ball does not become an excuse for debauchery.”

Minerva chuckled, then turned to you. “And you, my dear, how are you faring? I imagine it’s been a long night.”

You smiled, rolling your shoulders slightly. “It has, but I suppose it’s nothing compared to what we’ll have to endure when the next generation of students arrives.”

Minerva hummed in agreement, her sharp eyes twinkling with amusement. “Speaking of which, I do believe your daughter enjoyed herself this evening.”

Severus tensed immediately, his scowl deepening. “Yes,” he said curtly. “Far too much.”

Minerva bit back a chuckle. “Ah, so you’ve accepted young Mr. Potter as Selina’s companion for the evening, then?”

“I have accepted nothing,” Severus snapped. “I am merely tolerating it.”

Minerva laughed lightly, shaking her head as the three of you continued walking together. The conversation turned to other things—students’ behavior, the decorations of the Great Hall, and a few amusing tales of ball mishaps—until Severus suddenly stopped in his tracks.

His eyes narrowed at an alcove just ahead, where the sound of hurried shuffling and muffled whispers betrayed the presence of students attempting to remain hidden. With a dramatic sweep of his robes, Severus stormed toward the alcove hiding the culprits.

Two students—one Ravenclaw, one Hufflepuff—gasped in shock, their faces flushing as they immediately scrambled to adjust their clothes. The girl hastily fixed the laces of her dress robes, while the boy looked as if he wished he could disappear entirely.

Severus loomed over them, his glare venomous. “Ten points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,” he announced icily. “Each. And detention.”

The students paled but nodded meekly, knowing better than to argue.

Severus’ sneer deepened. “Now, get out of my sight before I reconsider my mercy.”

The pair hurried away, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape. Once they were gone, Severus exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Brainless, hormonal teenagers,” he muttered darkly.

Minerva hummed in amusement, crossing her arms as she leaned against the nearby wall. “That alcove,” she mused thoughtfully. “I remember catching two students in that very spot once. Oh, what a sight it was—robes in disarray, guilty expressions, and the absolute terror in their eyes when I found them.”

You, who had been listening with mild amusement, suddenly froze as realization hit you like a lightning bolt.

Severus, who had been scowling, also tensed slightly—though, as always, he was far better at masking his emotions than you were.

Minerva turned her gaze toward you both, her lips twitching. “Oh,” she mused, “I do believe it was the two of you.”

Your cheeks burned. Severus’ jaw tightened.

Minerva smirked, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Ah, yes. You were both sixth-years, if I recall correctly. I remember how Severus had the audacity to try and claim that he was merely ‘helping you with an advanced spell.’”

Severus made a sound suspiciously close to a scoff, crossing his arms as his dark eyes flicked anywhere but toward Minerva. “It was a valid excuse.”

Minerva arched a brow, clearly not buying it. “Yes, of course. Helping your dear wife ‘study’—in a secluded alcove—past curfew.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Minerva, must we?”

Minerva chuckled, thoroughly enjoying your embarrassment. “Oh, I think it’s only fair. Here you both are now, patrolling the very same halls you once tried to sneak around. My, how times have changed.”

You huffed, looking at Severus, who was maintaining his usual unruffled expression—except for the slight, telltale tension in his shoulders. You could tell he was mortified, but, of course, he would rather die than admit it.

Minerva sighed, shaking her head. “Ah, young love.”

Severus exhaled sharply, glancing toward you at last. His black eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, something softened in them.

Times had changed indeed. Back then, you had been reckless teenagers, hiding away from professors who would separate you if caught. Now, you were married, walking these same halls as Hogwarts professors—together.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against Severus’ hand briefly. He allowed the touch, though he rolled his eyes slightly before turning away.

“I suggest we continue our patrol before any more students make regrettable decisions,” he muttered.

Minerva smirked. “Indeed. Though, if you ever catch another pair of students in that alcove, do try to remember—history has a way of repeating itself.”

With a final amused glance at the two of you, Minerva strode off down another corridor, leaving you alone with Severus.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, you turned to him, still blushing. “Well. That was mortifying.”

Severus merely sniffed. “I fail to see the humor in it.”

You smirked. “Of course you do. Because you weren’t the one caught babbling excuses about ‘advanced spellwork.’”

He shot you a glare but said nothing.

You laughed, linking your arm with his as you both continued down the corridor. “Come on, Severus,” you teased. “Let’s go ruin some more students’ nights.”

You had only taken a few steps before Severus’s hand suddenly grasped your wrist, pulling you swiftly into the darkened space. A startled laugh bubbled from your lips as your back met his firm chest, his long fingers sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face up toward him.

"Severus," you breathed, still laughing softly, "what on earth—"

He cut you off with a kiss—slow and deliberate, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that contradicted the usual sharpness of his demeanor. His back pressed against the cold stone wall, anchoring you to him as his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you even closer. The warmth of him, the intoxicating scent of potions and parchment that always clung to his robes, surrounded you.

Your fingers curled into the front of his coat as he deepened the kiss, his long, aristocratic nose brushing against your cheek. His lips moved with a slow, maddening precision, as if he were savoring the taste of you, indulging in something long overdue.

You broke the kiss with a quiet, breathless chuckle, your forehead resting against his chest. "What are you doing?" you murmured against the fabric of his robes, your voice filled with amusement.

Severus smirked, his deep black eyes gleaming with something dangerous, something utterly enthralling. "I’m merely showing you what I would have done," he murmured, voice thick with promise, "if Minerva hadn’t interrupted us all those years ago."

His fingers trailed up your throat, tilting your chin so he could claim your lips again—this time firmer, hungrier. His long, elegant fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place as his mouth dominated yours, his tongue sweeping over yours in a slow, intoxicating dance.

A shiver ran down your spine, the heat between your bodies making the cool air of the castle seem distant, inconsequential. Your hands fisted in his robes, pressing yourself against him as you let out a soft moan against his lips.

But then, with a playful glint in your eye, you pulled back just enough to whisper teasingly, "I really shouldn’t let you kiss me like this… after all, you didn’t even dance with me at the ball."

Severus let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and sinful. "Dancing is a frivolous display," he murmured against your lips, "this, however…" His hand slid down the curve of your waist, gripping you possessively. "This is far more productive."

You gasped as he suddenly turned you, pressing you back against the wall, his body pinning you effortlessly. The cool stone sent a contrast of sensation along your overheated skin, making you arch into him instinctively. He took the opportunity to press his knee between your legs, parting them just enough that the pressure sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

"Severus," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his long black hair, pulling him down for another kiss, this one hot and desperate.

"Tell me," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and dripping with dark amusement, "would you rather have had a waltz with me in front of the entire school… or this?" His hips rolled forward just enough to make his point, and you inhaled sharply, nails digging into his shoulders.

"I—I suppose this," you admitted, barely able to form the words as he pressed slow, teasing kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

He smirked against your skin. "I thought so."

His hands found the fabric of your dress, fingers slipping beneath it to trace the bare skin of your thighs, making you tremble. He had always been a man of precision, of control, but here, now, with you in his arms, he was all consuming.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr, “let me see what you’re wearing under that dress—”

A throat cleared behind you.

You felt a familiar rush of dread, like ice-cold water had been poured down your spine. Snape, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch—he merely turned his head ever so slowly, like a predator disturbed mid-hunt.

And there, standing in the dimly lit corridor, arms crossed and expression poised somewhere between knowing amusement and mild exasperation, was Minerva.

Oh, Merlin.

For a brief, horrifying second, you felt like you were sixteen again, caught in this very same alcove by the very same woman, only this time, instead of a sharp reprimand and a week’s worth of detention, Minerva was smiling.

“Well, well,” she mused, her Scottish brogue rich with humor. “Some things never change.”

Your face burned, and you immediately made to step back, but Severus’s grip remained firm on your waist, his fingers tightening deliberately as his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but was far too amused to be innocent.

And then— then—he had the audacity to say:

“I was merely teaching her an advanced spell.”

Your mouth fell open.

Minerva laughed.

“Oh, Severus,” she said, shaking her head in amusement, “you used that exact excuse eighteen years ago. Do you expect me to believe it now?”

Snape’s obsidian eyes gleamed with mischief, his expression unreadable save for the slight twitch of his lips. “You believed it then,” he murmured silkily.

Minerva outright chuckled, clearly entertained beyond measure. “No, Severus, I did not.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m going to die of embarrassment,” you muttered.

Minerva gave you a conspiratorial look before glancing back at Severus, whose fingers had yet to leave your waist. “Do try to behave yourselves,” she said, the twinkle in her eyes unmistakable as she turned on her heel and walked away.

You let out a breath of relief, but before you could step back fully, Severus’s grip tightened, pulling you flush against him once more.

“An advanced spell?” you hissed, incredulous. “Again?”

His smirk was almost imperceptible, but you knew it was there. “It worked last time, didn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at your lips. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly, his long, dark hair falling around his angular face as he studied you with that piercing gaze. “I always enjoy getting away with things,” he murmured, his deep voice a sinful caress against your ear.

Then, before you could protest, he kissed you again.

It was slow at first, a deliberate press of his lips against yours, as if savoring the moment. But then—Merlin’s bloody beard—he deepened it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with the perfect mix of dominance and precision.

You melted against him, grasping at the front of his robes as his hands wandered lower, tracing over your hips, pressing possessively into the curve of your backside.

“You were saying?” he murmured between kisses, his tone full of smug amusement.

You barely managed a breathless, “You’re incorrigible.”

He hummed, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat. “You wouldn’t have married me otherwise.”

His hands slid over the fabric of your dress, tugging lightly at the material. “Now,” he whispered, lips brushing over your skin, “where were we?”

You smirked, reaching up to pull him back into another kiss.

“Somewhere between history repeating itself and me still not getting that damn dance.”

His chuckle was dark, amused, wicked.

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he purred.

And oh, did he ever.

The heavy wooden door to your quarters creaked open, and you stepped inside with Severus at your side, both of you still recovering from your rather eventful evening. Your lips were tingling from stolen kisses in the alcove, and the warmth of Severus’s hand against your waist lingered as if branded onto your skin.

But whatever lingering tension and playful desire had followed you back to your rooms vanished the moment you saw Selina.

There she was—already tucked under your covers, clad in her night robes, arms crossed over her chest, looking entirely too comfortable in your bed.

She raised an unimpressed brow as she stared at the both of you. “You took long enough.”

Severus stopped dead in his tracks, his black eyes narrowing at his daughter. “What,” he drawled slowly, his deep baritone laced with irritation, “are you doing here?”

Selina sat up slightly, wrinkling her nose at her father as though he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. She had his exact scowl, his exact disapproving glare—his exact mannerisms.

“I needed to talk to Mum,” she said simply.

Severus’s frown deepened. “You have your own room,” he reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest. “In the Slytherin common room.”

Selina huffed, brushing some of her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Yes, but I wanted to talk to Mum here. You wouldn’t understand—it’s girl talk.”

Severus’s lips parted slightly in offense, his expression flickering between disbelief and indignation. “Girl talk?” he repeated, his voice utterly unimpressed.

“Yes, girl talk,” Selina replied, tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes—so much like his—flashing with amusement. “Which means, Dad, that you need to leave.”

Severus stiffened, his expression utterly scandalized. “Excuse me?”

Selina sat up straighter in bed and waved a dismissive hand toward the door. “Go on. Shoo.”

For a moment, Severus looked at you, waiting—no, demanding—that you intervene.

You merely shrugged.

“Selina, you shouldn’t be in here,” he pressed, his irritation growing. “Your dormitory—”

“Dad,” Selina interrupted, rolling her eyes, “just go.”

Severus bristled. It was his bedroom, his quarters; and his own daughter had just exiled him from his own domain. “I will not be thrown out of my own—”

Selina flicked her wand.

The bedroom door slammed shut in his face.

A thud sounded from the other side of the door, followed by the very audible sound of Severus’s furious inhale.

There was a long pause.

And then—“SELINA EILEEN SNAPE, YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW.”

You let out a breathless chuckle, unable to hold back your amusement, as Selina merely smirked and settled back into the pillows. “Honestly,” she muttered, pulling the blankets around her. “He should’ve seen that coming.”

You giggled, shaking your head as you sat down beside her. “He’ll sulk for hours now,” you warned.

“Let him.” Selina smirked, brushing some hair out of her face. “It’s girl talk, Mum. He wouldn’t understand.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you adjusted the pillows behind you. “Alright, then,” you said, turning toward her fully, “what’s so important that you had to banish your father from his own bedroom?”

Selina hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the sleeve of her night robe. “I just…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip before exhaling heavily. “I wanted to talk about boys.”

Oh. That explained a lot.

You resisted the urge to smirk. “Boys, huh?”

Selina groaned, tilting her head back against the pillow. “Yes.”

“Wouldn’t your dorm mates be more helpful?” you teased.

She shot you a look that was so Severus. “I don’t want their advice,” she muttered. “I want yours.”

Something warm spread through your chest at that. You softened, placing a hand on hers. “Alright,” you murmured. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Selina hesitated, her expression shifting to something more vulnerable. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” she muttered, fidgeting. “It’s just—feelings.”

Ah. Feelings. Now it made sense.

You had seen the way she had looked at Harry Potter tonight. The way she had smiled when he took her hand. The way her eyes had lit up when he made her laugh. She liked him.

And, knowing your husband, that was precisely why she had waited until Severus was gone before bringing this up.

“You mean Harry,” you said gently.

Selina flushed a shade of red that rivaled the Gryffindor banners.

“I don’t know,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s just—he’s nice. And he’s funny. And he doesn’t treat me like some stuck-up Slytherin, and I just—I don’t know.”

You chuckled softly, brushing a hand over her hair. “That sounds like a crush, sweetheart.”

Selina let out a dramatic whine. “Ugh, don’t say it like that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I know it’s embarrassing, but trust me, it’s normal.”

Selina peeked up at you from behind her hands. “You really think so?”

“Of course,” you said, squeezing her hand. “It’s part of growing up.”

She huffed, staring up at the ceiling. “Dad’s going to murder him.”

You sighed. “Your father will learn to cope.”

Selina snorted. “Yeah, sure. I give it a week before he starts hexing Harry’s cauldron in class.”

You couldn’t deny that was a possibility.

You shifted slightly, adjusting the blankets around her. “Have you told Harry how you feel?”

Selina gave you an exasperated look. “Mum.”

You chuckled. “Alright, alright. But if you like him, and he likes you, then what’s stopping you?”

Selina frowned, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. “I just… I don’t know. What if I do tell him, and then he thinks I’m weird? Or what if it ruins things? Or what if—”

“Selina,” you interrupted gently, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “You’re overthinking.”

She bit her lip, glancing at you. “…You think so?”

“I know so,” you smiled. “Sometimes, you just have to be brave.”

Selina exhaled, flopping back against the pillow. “Merlin’s beard, I hate feelings.”

You laughed, smoothing a hand over her hair. “They’re messy, I know.”

She groaned again, but then—softly—“Did you ever feel like this? When you met Dad?”

You felt a different kind of warmth spread through your chest at that.

You smiled softly. “Yes, love,” you murmured, stroking her hair. “I did.”

Selina peeked up at you. “…And what happened?”

You smirked slightly. “Well, your father was exceptionally oblivious.”

Selina cackled.

“Of course he was,” she snorted. “That sounds exactly like him.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “But eventually, we figured it out.”

Selina hummed, turning onto her side. “So you think… I should just go for it?”

“I think,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “that you should trust yourself.”

Selina exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before shifting to sit up. “I’ll think about it,” she muttered, though there was something resolved in her tone, as if she had already made up her mind. She threw back the covers, the cool air making her shiver slightly as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Thanks, Mum. I needed that.”

You smiled warmly, watching as she stretched before smoothing her night robes. “Always, love.”

Selina ran a hand through her long dark hair, then turned toward the door. “I should probably get back to my dormitory before someone notices I’m gone.”

You chuckled softly and nodded. “Good idea.”

With that, Selina padded toward the door and pulled it open—only to come face-to-face with Severus Snape, standing like a looming gargoyle in the dimly lit corridor, his black robes billowing slightly in the faint draft. His expression was unreadable, but the way his dark eyes bore into hers made it perfectly clear that he had been waiting.

Selina didn’t even flinch.

She made a move to step past him, but Severus moved just as quickly, his long fingers curling around the collar of her robes and tugging her back with a firm, practiced ease, as though she were still five years old and attempting to sneak biscuits from the kitchen.

You barely contained your amusement as father and daughter stood face to face, identical scowls twisting their sharp features, arms crossing in unison as they glared at each other. It was like watching two mirrors battle for dominance.

Selina tilted her head slightly. “Really, Dad?”

Severus arched a brow, unimpressed. “Really, Selina.”

A heavy silence settled between them, neither Snape willing to be the first to break. You watched, amused, as they stood locked in an unspoken war, dark eyes burning into one another, expressions perfectly identical in their stubbornness.

Finally, it was Severus who made the first move. He drew himself up, his baritone voice thick with irritation. “Would you care to explain,” he drawled, his tone dangerously smooth, “what exactly was so pressing that it required you to exile me from my own quarters?”

Selina let out a long-suffering sigh. “I already told you. It was girl talk.”

Severus’s expression did not change. “That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

Severus’s nostrils flared slightly. “You slammed the door in my face.”

“You weren’t getting the hint.”

“I was being forcibly removed from my own room.”

Selina shrugged. “And?”

Severus exhaled slowly, clearly mustering every ounce of patience he had left. “What,” he bit out, “did you need to discuss with your mother that was so dire it warranted banishing me?”

Selina stared at him for a long moment, her lips twitching. Then, with all the grace of a true Slytherin, she played her ace.

She sighed, tilting her head slightly. “It was about menstruation, Dad.”

Severus’s face barely changed, but the subtle tightening of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly at his sides—oh, she had him.

You covered your mouth with your hand to hide your smirk.

Selina, sensing victory, leaned in just a little. “You know,” she continued, voice smooth as silk, “girl stuff. Cramps. Heavy flow. That sort of thing.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, Dad, it’s not that complicated.”

Severus blinked once, slow and deliberate.

You swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

Selina arched an eyebrow at her father, her dark eyes flashing with something far too mischievous for Severus’s liking. She tilted her head ever so slightly, her expression the perfect mirror of his own when he was preparing to deliver a particularly scathing remark.

“Would you like me to elaborate?” she asked, her voice syrupy sweet. “I could go into detail about the heavy flow this month. It’s quite the inconvenience, really—”

“Enough.” Severus’s baritone was a sharp blade cutting through the air, his patience now thoroughly frayed. His long fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening, the vein in his temple pulsing dangerously. “Leave. Now.”

Selina barely concealed her amusement as she slid past him, her night robes whispering against the stone floor. “As you wish, Dad,” she drawled, her smirk widening as she breezed past him, her voice laced with far too much satisfaction.

You watched the exchange, biting your lip to keep from laughing outright. This was a battle Severus had never stood a chance of winning.

Severus exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “That girl,” he muttered, voice thick with exasperation.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you moved toward him. “You walked right into that one, you know.”

Severus shot you a withering glare, though there was no real heat behind it. “Do not encourage her,” he warned, his deep voice laced with irritation. “She is insufferable enough as it is.”

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest. “She’s your daughter, Severus.”

Severus inhaled deeply, clearly resisting the urge to argue that particular point. Instead, he turned on his heel, his black robes billowing behind him as he strode toward his desk, his long fingers rubbing at his temple as though warding off an impending headache. “That much is painfully obvious.”

Meanwhile, Selina strolled through the dungeon corridors, taking her time as she made her way back to the Slytherin common room. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the cold stone walls, but she moved with ease, completely at home in the dimly lit passageways.

As she passed by her father’s classroom, she glanced at the door, her smirk deepening. He was probably still fuming, still pacing in his quarters, grumbling to himself about how utterly impossible she was. The thought sent a wave of satisfaction through her.

Reaching the entrance to the common room, she murmured the password, stepping inside as the heavy stone door slid open. The familiar green glow of the lake filtered through the high windows, casting an eerie luminescence over the room. Most of her housemates had already retired for the night, but Selina paid them no mind as she made her way toward her dormitory, still thoroughly pleased with herself.

Her father may have been Elusive, Mysterious, Fearsome Potions Master of Hogwarts, but to her, he was simply Dad. And tonight, she had won.

Back in his quarters, Severus let out a deep, exhausted sigh as he collapsed into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose once more.

“I am doomed,” he muttered.

You chuckled, moving behind him to press your hands against his tense shoulders. “You raised her,” you reminded him, kneading the knots beneath your fingers. “You made her.”

Severus groaned, closing his eyes as he let his head fall back against the chair. “A grave mistake.”

You smirked, leaning down to brush a kiss against his temple. “You love her.”

Severus huffed, though there was the slightest hint of reluctant fondness in his voice. “…Unfortunately.”

[darksilvania]

MOAICE [Moa + Moai +Ice] Ice The Moa Pokemon -Evolves from EISCUE with an Ice Stone Abilities: Ice Face Dex: "Its large ice head resembles ancient monoliths from a distant land, this mysterious connection is still being investigated by researchers. Despite its large size and having to carry its large ice head around, it moves remarkably fast thanks to its long and strong legs.” Moveset: -Glacial Wreck >Ice type / pwr 130 / acc 90 / pp 5 "The user tackles its opponent with its giant ice head, this causes its ice head to break” >This move can’t be used if the pokemon doesn’t have its ice head >This move may leave the opponent frozen -Icicle Crash -Ice Spinner -Snowscape

I had a dumb idea for an EISCUE evolution and had to see it through, this came to me when I was thinking "What would happen if we could sculpt the ice block on EISCUE's head into another shape and things just kept going from there

MOAICE, as the name suggests, its based on the Moa, an extinct giant flightless bird from New Zealand mixed with the Moai, the giant monolithic sculptures from Rapa Nui / Eastern Island

[raishifts]

Glacier piece inspired by "Ice Sculptures" by kayitlar on Ao3 bc the IDEA IS SO GOOOOODDDDDDDDDD

[nanamiskentos]

GOJO SATORU + being the birthday boy! sfw! just pure silly stuff

absolutely the type of guy to plan his own surprise birthday party 😭 pretends that he has no idea about this party even though the invitations all came from his email. has an ice sculpture of him at the party bc why not? u only live once!

you joked that for his birthday, he could ask for birthday wishes and coupons. you expected it to be really silly shit like a full fireworks show for him, sweets and bakery treats, compliments from everyone. you were oddly touched and heartstruck when he just asked for you to wake up by his side, and give him a kiss <3

you offer to bake a cake for him, but it kinda ends up....ugly. he's just happy eating the batter. doesn't gaf about salmonella

didn't bother with utensils for the cake, just ended up digging in with his hands...

had a countdown on the fridge until his birthday. you thought a heartfelt gift would be something sentimental. i mean, he's absurdly rich and wealthy so this would be cute right? you filled a box with keepsake mementos and candid photos of him. ticket stubs from your first date, his hand written notes etc. he actually teared up when he opened it 😚

also teared up when all the students and teachers wrote him a card and paragraphs for him. pretended that he was tough and that he wasn't crying but kind of soaked through his blindfold. you even got utahime to write something semi nice that went along the lines of that she's glad he's not dead. gojo says its the nicest thing she's said in years.

the two of you decide to make a time capsule for future you to find, including a photo of the two of you standing on the shoreline of the beach as the sun sets.

megumi's gift was a pinata shaped like gojo. he isn't sure whether to be offended or not but he was happy to beat his paper mache variant up with a baseball bat until all the sweets came out.

opens gift wrapping REALLY carefully and slowly and it kinda pisses everyone off.

turns out the cake batter caught up to him, and he spends a good hour incapacitated and curled up with you on the couch trying to pretend like raw bacteria aren't eating him up

ends the day quietly with you, just eating takeout in your apartment. and frankly, there's no place he'd rather be. content and in your arms as the day ends <3 the world that gojo lives in is fraught with danger, and he's glad to have made it another year around the sun, just to see the light shine in your eyes 💙

[sirxlla]

A Little R & R

----------------------------------------------------

Warnings: NSFW, Fluff

Prompt: Downtime with Buck (request by anon)

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

(Now proofread and the endings not so rushed imo)

-With that said it's all under the cut-

You had begged him for months to take a vacation, it wasnt hard to get him to say yes but for him to actually do it? That was a pain in the ass and eventually you got tired of it and with how close you were to Bobby you went in, requested the days off for him. Bobby told him about his days off with a knowing smirk.

Suprisingly now you had him sleeping in in the first day. God, did he snore like a firetruck when he was tired, this was long time rest he needed so desperately. God, did he look like an angel all wrapped up, naked in those white sheets.

Your hands traced up his naked back causing him to gently stir. You lips left light little butterfly kisses down his spine which made his lips twich up into a smirk as he let out a mumble. Butterfly kisses turned to hickies and open mouthed kisses after he turned over.

"You think you can go another round after last night?" Evan asked with a cocky tone.

"I wasn't the one who couldn't hold out last night, Baby." You gently smacked his chest with a smile before climbing ontop of him, straddling his naked waist.

"Smartass." He squeezed your ass as that killer smile he had just got even wider and brighter. You leaned down and peck his lips slowly before pulling away just to do it over and over again just as languid as the last.

In your mind this man was the living and breathing and bodyment of a Michelangelo sculpture, His hands hands found themselves on your cheeks as he chased every kiss you'd give him.

It was still dark in the room so the only thing you could see you were a few shadows it was intimate and passionate but so slow and so meaningful. You sat up and gently pushed the sheets down off his hips. He was hard, he woke up that way and any thought of that going away went very far away after you kissed him.

Since the both of you were naked and already halfway there Buck's hand guided himself into you, not a kiss was interrupted. Sex with him always was so...so familiar but never got boring or old.

Of course the language and tired sex completely started to vanish the more energy he had as the week passed. The two of you tried to make cookies, which seems pretty straightforward considering the fact that he has been baking quite a bit because he got back in the kick of it.

After y'all got the dough mixed into the bowls and had started making the icing he smeared icing all over your breasts with that horny and playful look in his eye. You let out a gasp and shoved icing down his pants with a laugh. Quickly he took your shirt off and started licking at every little tiny bit of sugar on your chest, he laid you down on that kitchen table causing the bowl of cookie mix to fall on the floor but it didnt catch the attention of either of you.

"Wait, I have an idea..." He pulled your panties and sleep shorts off of you so slowly.

"Close your eyes...Come on, close em." A mischievous look was gracing his eyes.

You closed your eyes and your mind filled with nerves and anticipation which just had your body on fire, there was a need for him...I mean there always was but this was much more primal and lust filled.

Evan slowly poured the cool icing over your skin. You wanted to open your eyes but you knew what it was and it was more fun this way for him and you. He had control and you got to be submissive for a while, a win win. Buck's mouth trailed over every bit of icing that was poured over your body. He started with your neck then moved down to your shoulder... he knew that's not where you wanted him to go immediately but he wanted you to wait a little longer.

A needy sound of plea escaped your lips, you were whiney but just not enough. He needed you to be filled with complete desire, your body demand for him and only him.

His lips moved lower, this time they found themselves on your stomach, sucking and lapping at the icing below them. You back was arching your stomach twords his mouth, he wanted you to reliquish control to him just for a while...

As sticky as it was he took his clothes off as to not get them covered in the icing the two of you had already made a mess of and since you hadnt fully reliquished control he decided he needed a few things.

"Stay where you are, dont move. I mean it." He said before he walked himself into the next room when he came in you could hear a bit of metal clinking.

"You know the safe word?" He asked and you nodded.

"Words, Baby...You gotta use your words."

"Yes." You were excited and your eyes were still closed.

"And what would it be?"

"Grapefruit for stop, Pineapple for no." You were smiling, it had been a while since he'd pulled out any toys or anything even remotely. Yes, you were sticky and yes it was annoying but it was pushed to the bad of your mind as you thought of where this might lead.

"Good girl...Remember, you can always tell me to stop or say no but I gotta know you're serious. Okay?"

"Okay..." You told him as he slipped on the blindfold.

"Not too tight?" He asked, Even when Buck was dominant he was so caring.

"It's good." You nodded against the sticky kitchen table. His hands found yours and lifted your hands above your head before slipping on the soft fuzzy handcuffs. He wanted power over you and this was the best way to get you to not try to switch on him.

Evan continued the kisses, licks and hickies. He wanted to get you all hot and bothered again before he fully startes anything. Rounding the table he moved himself between your thighs, his index finger found your slit and collected the wet arousal there.

"Already so wet for me?" He asked as you nodded. You were such a picture like this to him, no one else saw you like this. This was his...you were his and the idea of it all just made him even more turned on.

Evan moved his head down to between your thighs, the smell of it combined with the icing was just making him hungry in both ways, he was always sweet in eveything his did. He kissed your thighs before licking slowly over you, you found your thighs being placed over his shoulders and you whined and moaned.

All you wanted now was to touch him, the cuffs made it impossible and usually you watched his eyes as he went down on you. This was so much different, different in a good way, you had to rely on sound and the precise and planned touches he gave you.

His thumb gently rubbed your clit slowly with just the right amount of pressure. Buck's tongue savored every drop and when you tried to lift your hips he held them down with his forearm.

The pleas and whines were just so so overwhelming. He could tell how needy you were and without warning he stood and pushed himself into you causing your back to arch again. Evan held onto your sticky hips as he kisses along your icing covered chest.

You had came and usually it was over after that but his hips didnt stop. You were tired after such a long week of pure bliss. He wasnt done not until he knew you'd walk funny tomorrow which he could tell after the second time you came. He followed shortly after you.

Of course this meant you were done for, fucked out of your mind. Evan looked at all the mess, he told you to stay put followed by him leaving to get you in the bathroom. Evan was always always good at aftercare. He placed you into the bath before climbing in behind you, slowly cleaning the stickiness of your chest and from between your thighs.

Masterlist

[satoshy12]

Arkham Baby Danny

Danny was sent to Arkham Asylum after being found de-aged by a group of private Ghost Hunters.

The G.I.W. was smart enough not to touch him. It was very bad PR and similar, and they would have more problems from the public and similar and all the organizations who would attack them.

But these Ghost Hunters didn't think much about it; they would just send the "Meta" to Arkham until he was old enough for a buyer. It's not like among the crazy it would be something bad; they take care of him. until the lab is ready to cut him open and sell him.

Well, someone should tell the hunters that while the inmates are crazy, even they knew something was wrong. The ghost hunters had no idea, as the staff put them in Arkham as inmates too. The poor four Ghost Hunters were hated by inmates and staff alike and didn't survive the first few days.

While that time Danny formed an unlikely alliance with the inmates and still was planning his escape. True the inmates didn't fully understand him, but Freeze liked to show the child ice sculpture and Bane and rest playing Poker with Danny.

The Arkham Asylum Guards like Aaron Cash had no idea what to do with the toddler and just waited for Batman and Gordon. If you have a problem, wait for Batman. He should know what to do with them.

Well as Batman came, Danny had escaped through the ventilation shaft. As Danny remembered he was kidnapped, he would miss this place and people but time to leave back to Amity Park. Danny was out of Arkham, time to find a way home. In this new city, how hard can it be.

[serendippertyy]

Hi, Ice been following your au for a while and I saw you Made some Doodles of Jax x Zooble and I just LOVED the idea!

When I was a kid I watches a Lot Rise of The Guardians and always have associated Jack Frost with the Fun part of winter. And having him fall for someone Made of toys sounds very fitting! Could you please do some More about Jax and Zoob please?

(I know Rise of The Guardians isn't your inspiración for Jax but still)

ABSTRABBIT SWEEP ‼️🗣️

I'll admit I don't have a lot of lore in tadww aside from everyone's roles and personalities LOL B U T

jax frost would totally want to get to know zooble so they could be "freaks together" and would try to get them to wreck havoc with him, but he's weird and off-putting and his mini ice sculptures aren't convincing zoob much,,,

and yet they'd become sorta friends and they have an allyship for some reason, I guess no one gets them like eachother 🤷 (maybe it's cause I'm going through a batman fixation rn too but they r low-key batjokes core....)

I think they're silly :]] 💕💕

ALSO idk if ur familiar w my fankids but here's a tadww patchwork concept!!!

[st4rlvr]

But it’s freezing || CSN

“Let’s get ice cream,” he said suddenly, his tone light, like he hadn’t just suggested the most ridiculous thing.

I stopped walking, raising an eyebrow at him. “Ice cream? Now? It’s freezing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Exactly. No one’s going to be there. Plus, it’s the perfect time—ice cream doesn’t melt in the cold.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his logic. “San, your brain is a strange, wonderful place.”

He grinned wider, taking that as my agreement. Before I could argue further, he was already pulling me by the hand toward the little ice cream shop at the corner of the street. The sign outside swayed gently in the wind, and the warm lights inside promised refuge from the icy air.

The shop was empty, just as San predicted. The owner gave us a bemused smile as we walked in, shaking snow from our coats. San ordered first, of course—something ridiculous like a triple-scoop cone. I settled for a smaller cup, shaking my head at his enthusiasm.

Outside again, the cold hit us instantly, but San didn’t seem to care. He took a huge bite of his ice cream, his cheeks turning a rosy red as he shivered.

“See?” he said through a mouthful, clearly enjoying himself. “This was a great idea.”

I watched him, trying to suppress a laugh. His nose was pink, and he looked like he was moments away from becoming an ice sculpture, but his eyes sparkled with that unmistakable San energy. He was freezing, obviously, but there was no mistaking how much fun he was having.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, taking a small spoonful of my own ice cream. The cold bite was a strange contrast to the snowy air, but oddly enough, it tasted better this way.

“And yet, you’re still here with me,” he teased, sticking his tongue out.

I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Despite the chill, despite the utter absurdity of eating ice cream in the middle of winter, I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

We walked through the quiet town, snow crunching under our boots, laughing and shivering together as we ate. San’s cheeks stayed flushed, and I knew he’d be complaining about how cold he was later. But in that moment, he looked perfectly content, the picture of joy in the middle of the snowy day.

And honestly, so was I.

[misshuntereevee]

This had been in my draft since forever. I'm gonna put it here, if you have a better idea of how to write this story, please go ahead! If not, feel free to toss it.

Zayne x mc. His pov when he had to move away and study to become a doctor and finally seeing mc again when he becomes her primary physician. Bc i feel like he had a crush on her when they were kids. And in the story mc said she finally meets her childhood friend after she met her primary physician or something like that

Thank you in advance! <3

₊˚｡ ❆ ⋆⁺₊❅. & isn't it just so pretty to think; all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? i fucking love this prompt thank you! ♥ i hope this is okay, i did make it a continuation of that one zayne memory where he gives her an ice seal.

prompts open.

The second he saw you again, he knew he couldn't lie to himself any longer. Time, he had figured, would ease his crush on you. His attraction to his childhood friend.

But the second you stand in front of him with that adorable smile, a little tooth poking out, he knew he was screwed. You were not textbook. In fact, you were everything but textbook. And that's what Zayne was used to. Zayne liked order. Zayne liked playing by the rules. Because the rules are there to protect you...right?

But it's addictive. Even if he'd tried to imagine how you'd look now, he'd never come close to the perfection you are now to him. How you laugh, how your nose and eyes crinkle when you do. And the color of your eyes. He's sure a million artists could try, and never replicate the exact shade of your hue. Lips so kissable... So when you join him at lunch because he's the only one with room at his table -- he's too shocked to say much. You're here. Not only are you here, but you remember him!

You're giggling as you recount the story of him giving you a snowball at you at the seal exhibit. Back then, you thought he'd been teasing you by making a sculpture of the snowball the seals had just thrown at you. He'd made it out of his Evol and you still have it.

He doesn't widen his eyes or respond physically, but he's not sure whether to laugh or cry at the fact you didn't realize it was supposed to be a seal. It was supposed to be cute and impress you. But you thought it was a snowball! And thought he was making fun of you!

Finally, he closes his eyes, shaking his head with a laugh. You finish the rest of your meal together, and you aren't sure why he keeps giving you a look that is on the verge of smile -- but holds back. When the meal is finally over, he offers to walk you to the cab.

Outside, he's mesmerized by you. Suddenly embolden, he realizes he can't let you think he was making fun of you any longer. He needs to show you what it was supposed to be.

"Can I show you something? Stick your hand out."

You furrow a brow at him, but you trust him. You stick your hand out, palm up. He places his hands over it in a dome...and then you feel it. Icy tendrils on your palm. But besides being cool to the touch, they don't hurt. That's intentional.

When he pulls his hand back, an ice seal sits in the palm of your hand and you beam at it. "Something to put next to the snowball you gave me? That's so sweet!"

He mutters something, but you don't quite hear him. You lean in closer, a hand resting on his forearm casually. (Casually to you, but his heart is racing in his chest. He's a cardiologist and even he's concerned about the effect you have on his heart.)

"What was that?" You ask him, leaning in.

He's going to have a heart attack. With a exhale, he repeats it: "You can throw the last one away. It's..."

He pauses, his eyes closing. "Just... this one is better."

And as he walks away, leaving you at your cab, you smile down at it -- and then realize. It's better... because it's what it's supposed to be this time. Your mouth is almost on the floor. He was trying to make something cute all those years ago...

But as you continue to grin down at the new seal, you know you're never throwing out the first one, even if he probably wants you too. No, because you have a feeling... something started right now.

And as he heads home, he also thinks about how happy he is to have a reason to see you again, even if it was just to correct that past mistake.. he should have never given her that snowball-looking seal. But looking out the window, he realizes... maybe the snowball made sure you didn't forget him.

Maybe he's grateful for the ugly thing.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓣HE FROST REMEMBERS ࣪˖ ִִ h.k

artblock has one weakness: creation. it just so happens that you decide to make your final hurrah, the greatest work of your life, out of winter’s most gentle gift. and, the frost remembers. . ۫︎ ︎ ︎︎

⺡ ࣪˒ ( ☃️ ) ･ 2k

𝓹airings ˒ snowman!kai x art student!reader

𝒢 ; fluff ˒ angst

𝔀arnings ˒ fluff, angst, mentions of past deaths, chubby!reader, kai is in fact a man made of snow, more of a drabble, not proofread yet (i’ll get to it when i wake up from this big ol nap hehe)

✎୭ ashlynn's note i want to thank @aduh0308 and her lovely brain for this one! this was such a beautiful idea that i honestly was so nervous about executing. i hope i pulled it off well enough!! it was supposed to have a way, way heavier end, but honestly as much as i love the poeticism of that ending, it just wasn’t right for this fic. hehe now i press post and knock out!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

The snow winks at you differently, today.

Jaw tight, you kick and tread through heavy snow piles. The air is like glass on your cheeks and snowflakes wet your head where they come falling down over you, but faulty paint strokes and the heavy weight of a paintbrush in your hands smear over it.

No matter how you plan before sitting down to create, it just falls flat. The colors are flat and wrong, the shapes don’t bloom into story, and…

None of it looks good. It’s as simple as that. You are shit at it, and it’s what you’ve chosen to do for the rest of your life. When you’re not able to make something worthwhile, even for a grade? 

You don’t create much for school, and you create nothing at home. All that will come from you putting brush to canvas is wasting the hours of your day away. All that will come is creating something that further solidifies your failings. Maybe you aren’t the worst, but you are a lifetime away from the best. That doesn’t get you anywhere; so what is the point of it? It’s pointless. You are doing something pointless with your life, and you are only going to hate it more each time you drag your feet into the classroom you once loved to slather paint on canvas. And then, when you take that long walk back home that leaves you an awful amount of time to think, you come to one conclusion.

You can’t create. Not if you want to preserve that talent that you once had. Or, at least your ability to believe that you have it. If you pick up your tools and from it create something awful, then your fear becomes real. So, you can’t.

 Today, you’ll create your last piece. Something impermanent, that you can kick down and move on from. Then, you’ll drop out, and find something else. Maybe someday, you’ll find what you used to feel for your first love again. You hope so; you’ve watched it leave you with each frustrated swipe of the brush and felt it go when your throat would tighten at the sight of your finished projects. Losing that love is something featured in stories since the dawn of humanity. But, losing this love is different. You can’t go and speak with it, nor can you plead with it, and you certainly cannot touch it to drag it back. It’s something wholly inside of yourself, and you find it impossible to reach. You’ve tried forcing yourself to paint, you’ve tried breaks, and you’ve tried waiting for inspiration. Still, it’s so far from your touch.

You blink a stray snowflake out of your lashes and stop. The little patch of snow is flat and twinkles with morning—it’s perfect. For a moment, you admire it. Then you get to work.

Handfuls of snow melt through your cotton gloves. At some point, your fingers go tingly and then unfeeling. The snow is powdery and loose, but that’s no matter to you. You compact it down into something solid and pack it into smooth-edged shapes. Around you, just beyond the thick focus that you let fall over you when you work, people bustle by. Some stop to watch you, the ice crystals like glitter captured in the form of the sculpture catching their eyes as they pass. They move on when you don’t entertain them, though.

All you know is the sweet song of a mourning dove cooing, and the working of your hands. You don’t think much further than that; what comes from your carving and shaping is a misty, shimmering wisp of consciousness. Whatever had been brimming in your blood, you let it go—let it take shape.

You give a little here, adding chunks where it’s missing, and take a little there, carving when your heart suggests it. It grows and claims space for itself. It seems that it’s never enough; every time you intend to take a step back, you find just one more thing that needs your fixing.

When you do finally dust off your gloves, snow clinging to the fluff, you’re stricken to the spot—hit right in the gut with a roll of something you haven’t felt in so long. In the angles of the shoulders, you see flashes of resting your head there like they were built just to hold you. In the column of the neck, you feel the pressing of your lips against the warm skin down the side of it. In the pretty splay of the hands, you feel the appreciative, devoted pressure of hands roaming and kneading the plusness of your belly and thighs, holding them with reverence even when you didn’t see them as something to revere.

And, in the face, you see him held  everlasting in the wintery serenity of the snow: your dead boyfriend.

Tracing the lines of him, you swallow hard. He’s exactly as he was in life, but he is unmoving. His eyes are all twinkling with ice particles, and not with the alive, benevolent light that you remember. When you tug off a glove, itching to feel the shape of his cheek once more, he’s sickeningly cold to the touch.

You run your finger over his cheek, as soft as you remember it, and down the length of his nose, heart aching at the little bump on the bridge of his nose as you find that just as you remember it, too. Looking up into his eyes, you can almost feel the weight of his gaze the way it feels in your memory. 

His lips are crisp against your mouth. Maybe you look mad to a passerby, but you want to remember the shape of his lips, too. You linger there for a few moments. Just long enough for you to pretend, and then you let your lashes flutter back open and bring your mouth away from the snow.

Sitting still, lifeless, he does not smile that easy smile he should. The one he used to, when you’d steal his lips in a chaste kiss. Your heart, having soared up into the snow-heavy clouds as light as air, sinks. Of course, he doesn’t. The only place that his smile still lives and breathes in is your memories. You just ache to see it somewhere else at least once more. That’s all.

Tugging your glove back on to save your pale fingers, you try to dull the twinging in your chest and the bitterness that closes around your throat. You’ll go home, and you’ll begin trying to forget your art. You don’t kick it down like you’d come here intending to, though. Not this one. What a beautiful last work it was. Huffing a curling breath of frosty, silver air, you take one last look at him.

From his lashes, clumps of dusty snow fall like fairy dust. You furrow your brows, and more comes tumbling down. It crumbles and crumbles, falling from his eyes to reveal deep chocolate, and then from his face to reveal warm flesh, and then he shakes it off the rest of him.

He shakes it off the rest of him. 

Your mouth goes dry, looking up at his eyes, and he looks at you back.

“Love?”

The sound comes from his chest like both a potent balm and the sharpest blade. It melts into your skin and nurses the hurt there, and it cuts them right back open. Hearing the name you’ve not heard for so long in his voice—you reel.

“Kai?” you say. Your voice wobbles like your legs do. Aside from the both of you, the rest of the world goes hushed and still. 

He furrows his brows, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. Your skin prickles at the warmth. He’d been so, so cold just a moment ago. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he asks.

You want to sit here all shaken, but you can’t. Not when he’s standing before you in the flesh. Standing before you real. Opening up your arms, you crush him between them and press your face into his chest. Puffing your breaths, your nose and cheeks sigh relief at the warmth that seeps out from him, and in that you know he is solid.

“Woah,” he says, trailed off by a soft laugh. Kai wraps his arms around your waist and rests his cheek on the top of your head. “Hugs, baby.” 

For a few moments, something between just a split second and an eternity, you hold him and he holds you. It snows and snows down on you. When you finally pull back enough to speak to him, you say, “You’re real. Oh my god, you’re fucking real.”

With a raise of his brows, he says, “I’m real. Right here. I’m right here.” He runs a quick hand through his hair and drags his hand down his face to show it.

Opening your mouth, you close it right back up to decide which of the infinite things you want to ask him. “I…” you start. “Kai, you were dead. You were dead, and now you’re standing… right here in front of me. I don’t…”

In the sweet, dorky way that tugs at memories, one corner of his lips turn up into a slight smile. “I guess I was. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes your cheek in his hand. “I never left you, darling. Maybe you couldn’t see me like this, but I never did. I promised you that, didn’t I?” When your face crumples, an awful twisting of your features that you fight to contain, he curls his fingers over your hand and brings it up to his cheek. “Feel. Feel, I’m real, aren’t I? Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry, because I’m here.”

Your heart thunders and storms, and your cheeks sting with tears. Swallowing it all down, you say, “I missed you so much, Kai.”

He reaches up to brush snowflakes off your hair. “I know. I missed you too.” When his eyes fall on you and your shivering self, he says, “I was there with you the whole time.”

It hadn’t felt like that. If he was alive inside you, you didn’t feel it. All you felt was hollow. And if he was in the world around you, that felt empty, too. But, he’s here now, and it doesn’t feel so much the same. “How?” you say, shaking your head. You wish you could have felt him. “Where?”

“Everywhere, love. You didn’t go one day where I was not there. In the frost, I was there.”

You don’t know what that means. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how that might be possible, or if it’s even the truth, or if this is some kind of miracle spun with the silver threads of the fates. Whatever it is, he stands in front of you now. Nothing else really matters much but that.

“Do you want to go home?” you ask. Out here, this moment feels fleeting. All you want is to be there, in the same place where you’d made your lives together, so that you can solidify it and keep it safe from the world. 

Peppering kisses all about your face, he snorts. “Look at your nose. You should’ve been home hours ago.”

You let your eyes flutter shut in the onslaught of his lips against your skin. “I know,” you mumble. Then, you would’ve snarked about his worrying. Kai was always worrying over you, and you’d crinkle your nose and demand that you’re doing fine.

Like this, though, you don’t mind his doting so much. Not now, and not ever again, you think. Not when he, hewn from snow and brought to life by your kiss, is utterly real and utterly alive in front of you. Not when he is the art in your life.

You think you might go home and pull out your paints.

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