#and it's also less weird and also fun if he calls you the name of his adopted brother mid coitus

[bugdoppio]

OFFICIAL JJ INTRODUCTION POST! REJOICE!

my stupid yumeship .... guuhh !!! lore is down here if you wanna read it

they first met at joe's fantasy world, julie (my self insert! hurrah!) had just moved to eltingville and was checking stuff out, jerry was hanging back watching bill and josh argue over something, and she asked him if she could go over to joe and buy a first edition pokémon booster pack with her money for her, since joe was looking at her weird just for being there. he said sure, and when they went outside to open it together, they got two of the base set 1st edition holo zapdos. they both freaked out together and she gave one of them to jerry for helping her out. before he could say anything else, bill yelled at him to get back there, which he did, before noticing she stuck a post it with her number on the back of the zapdos card she had given him.

they started hanging out more and more, and eventually, with much sucking up to the guys and her drawing girls with big boobies for them, bill very very begrudgingly let her hang out for some of the eltingville club meetings, angrily kicking her out if she ever touched anything she wasn't supposed to.

other than jerry, her best relationship is probably with pete, with their shared interest of monsters and scary creatures, and he often makes her draw cool creepy stuff for him which she finds a little fun. although, she gets squeamish and is not too fond of actual horror movies, so they don't get that close, he thinks she's kind of a pussy for that. she's also kinda terrified of him after discovering he watches gore.

josh hates her, and she hates him too, probably. he kept bugging her about not being able to name any star trek characters, and when she asked her dad about them to tell josh, he dismissed her efforts as being a wannabe. though they bond the tiniest little bit over having watched akira and josh liking the same stuff as her dad (star trek, star wars, dr. who).

bill is fond of her even less, somehow. though he doesn't see her as a threat to the club as much as jerry's other girl friends (like agnes) were, he's still incredibly annoyed by her presence and tries to make up any excuse to kick her out of his basement whenever she shows up. the only times he doesn't complain is when she's drawing stuff for him or when kairo is around, since they're besties.!!!! (@ghiacci . farts)

jerry is the closest to her out of all of them (obviously), and, after getting over his fear of talking to girls in general with her, they got really really close. they very often had sleepovers together, hung out in the mall, had walks together, and more stuff, making it baffling to any outsiders to learn they weren't dating at all (yet). she torrented the first lord of the rings movie for him, and in turn he got her into d&d. they also watch ghibli movies and go to renaissance fairs together, and jerry almost passed out when he saw her in fake elf ears for the first time. they often draw stuff of each other (that one doodle of knight jerry and elven princess totally not julie i did), and they're both equally oblivious that it's supposed to be them when one shows a drawing to the other. jerry also always calls her over to open card booster packs for him, because she somehow has incredible luck whenever it's her that opens it for other people.

they all also sometimes make fun of her jojo's interest, calling it gay shit, but they do respect how much trivia and useless fun facts she knows about it. also, other than her drawing ability (and the fact that she's okay with drawing weird shit for them), they fuck with her music taste a lot (she listens to literally EVERYTHING). and whenever one of them is sick or unable to go for other reasons, she's happy to play d&d with the others as a replacement, though they get pissed off whenever she doesn't take it that seriously and jokes around a little (think perception check by tom cardy).

SPOILER ZONE !!! WATCH OUT

her and jerry stop hanging out after this fan, this monster, due to jerry's mother thinking she was involved and forbidding jerry to talk to her, and julie's mom also forbidding it for thinking all the boys decided to burn joe's down and that none of them respected her at all (kinda true). and, due to none of them really admitting they had crushes on one another and not dating at all around that time, that did stop their relationship from evolving.

she met mandi in college, bonding over liking cosplay and other stuff, and developed a crush on her, becoming incredibly surprised when she started dating jerry, her old crush, of all people she expected. they started hanging out together as a group, regaining jerry's friendship, before she eventually worked up the courage to ask to be their third when drunk in a bar and, since both of them liked her back too, they agreed. (jerry + julie + mandi ship name is jumanji btw. because i love being silly !!!)

julie got a whatever degree and became a full time commission artist, mostly doing gigs for big companies and games (i like to think she did something for like. marvel once and when she says this in the epilogue, bill, josh, and pete all fucking freak out).

ALRIGHT THAT'S IT I THINK. have jj eating a pizza slice for your troubles

[cultkinkcoven]

Fuck.

I started this page to document my shit so thats what I'm gonna do. But first huge massive disclaimer holy fuck

spirituality and psychology are messy and I am insane I think, and I'm not saying that to be funny or whatever, I know how strange these ramblings sound. I know this reads like some really weird self insert god fanfiction. Maybe it is ?? I recognize how absurd this is. And I have been genuinely kind of unwell dealing with this in silence because??????? how the fuck do you explain this to like??? anyone.

This might very well be my psyche unraveling. SO TLDR, fucking I don't know take this howeverr you do.

Trigger warning: Extremely cringe, extremely nsfw. Mention of??? Blood, power dynamics, "what is referred to as cosmic statutory rape”, ???? implied grooming and incest YEAH ???? IDK. IM SORRY.

I DONT KNOW IF I AM GOING TO POST THIS

These are less than unedited. These are what I could find the time to write down between bouts of confusion and admitedly a lot of denial. And life also. Like being a not insane normally functioning part of society. Theres going to be so many spelling errors and dumb shit said. Its probably going to be so long. You guys wanna do Luciferianism and shadow work and stuff its so fun.

I'm deflecting with a lot of humor right now. I'm genuinely so burnt out and exhausted in every sense. To everyone who has commissions due from me rn I love u guys and I'm so sorry I have been an absolute wreck like genuinely. I’ve been sick. So anyways. Yeah. Intense stuff.

To be entirely honest, I’m not sure if I can remember how it began. I recall already being seated at the podium, in what appeared to be a courthouse. The Jury, the Judge, and all other people in this room were dressed in black robes which had hoods that obscured their faces, their forms. But I already knew that I was in God’s court, that each and every person in this room was a divinity. Some familiar, Hermes, Horus, Aphrodite. Some I don’t even know the names of. Angels, demons, Gods from every culture, all gathered here today. 

And then, there he was, Lord Lucifer was brought into the courtroom, shackled, chained, cuffed. And sat on the side of the defence, against the persecution. And I sat in the chair of the victim.

Then the Judge, I don’t know who exactly they were, did that thing that Judges do to get everyone’s attention. “We are gathered here today in deliberation of the case against Lucifer who is accused of coercion, corruption, desecration of the human soul, and what is referred to as cosmic statutory rape.” 

And I altogether understood what this was, and I honestly couldn’t really believe it was happening. I must be dreaming.

A figure, one from the side of the prosecution, began a speech. 

"You blur the line between worship and possession." "You do not merely accept devotion, you entwine yourself with it. You drink from it. You live inside it."

"You wield love as a weapon."   "You make your devotees fall too deeply. You make pain feel holy. They would die for you, and that may not always be a virtue."

"You court mortals like they are equals, then treat them like property." "You call them beloved, but you collar them in blood and longing."

"You distort consent by overwhelming the senses."   "Is it truly choice, if the pleasure you offer is cosmic and irresistible?"

"You make the sacred too intimate." “You taste what should be prayed to from afar. You break the distance."

“Lucifer will be judged, not because he broke laws in the usual sense, but because he redefines the borders of law, love, and power. These accusations are not of cruelty or evil necessarily, but of disruption, seduction, and subversion.”

Lucifer, who’s gaze was pointed down, hardly reacted at the charges. When he is asked how he pleads, he answers “no contest.”

And when he is given the floor, an opportunity to explain himself, it’s like he doesn’t exactly care for the opportunity. Which is unlike him. Lucifer? A chance to speak? To defend himself? He would jump at the opportunity. Now he is disinterested. 

“Yes,” he said, “I do all of these things, because I was not made to enforce your structures.

I was made to test them.” 

The court does not favor the response. It’s interpreted as misdirection, manipulation. Same old tricks. 

Lucifer starts again, “This boy approached me, I did not forsake him. This boy forged himself under my path and defined his own, and in his path he found his rightful place alongside me. Decided of his own volition that he would allow me to define him. I only seduce what is already hungry. You ask me why he bleeds for me, why I take and not why he gives. This conversation is irrelevant to me, to us-,” and he raised his head to look at me, “because he is always going to return to me. Watch me go and watch him follow. If you fear what I awaken in them, perhaps it is not me who needs atonement, but the one who taught you to fear awakening.”

That hardly moved anyone, the persecution snapped back at him promptly. “Lucifer, you are a predator.”

His eyes returned to the ground. The persecution addresses the jury.

“Lucifer engages erotically, spiritually, and sometimes violently with a much younger, mortal devotee. This is the transgression of the divine boundary between heaven and earth, the holy and the profane, the ageless and the fleeting. The idea of an ancient being engaging intimately with a young human triggers serious questions of power imbalance, consent, and grooming. The age, scope, and influence of such a being far surpasses human capacity. The imbalance is so vast it will inherently be manipulation or coercion even if the human agrees."

And on the side of the offense, the side of Lucifer, a voice rings out. It is extremely familiar but I can't quite place it right now. 

“The mortal-divine union has always been dangerous, but also deeply transformative. The point isn't safety, it’s awakening, even if through ruin. Lucifer embodies this edge.” 

And Lucifer, with what seems like a hint of agitation now, ““You call it grooming. I call it cultivation. What you see as a child, I see as a garden of becoming. I will not allow him to be stripped of his agency.”

And again, the persecution comes back swiftly. “Compared to you he is a child, compared to most, he is a child.”

“He is my child,” Lucifer spits back, “He is a creation of my choosing, shaped by my influence, called into becoming by my voice. He was born of me, not by blood but by purpose. He is my  pride, my possession, his transformation is my responsibility. I protect him, guide him, scold him, raise him in my image. I am experiencing something precious growing in my hands,” and then he pauses, looks at me again, and continues, “But he is not only a child, in fact he’s not a child at all. He is also my partner, my lover, and at times, perhaps even my prey, and soon my mirror. He is my offspring, but also my altar, my beloved, and my equal in becoming.”

And again, from the persecution, “Groomer. That journey, from “child” to “consort,” is where Lucifer’s obsession lies. You claimed to have cultivated him, but in reality all you did was lure, rape, and consume him.”

And that was the only accusation Lucifer did outwardly deny, "I did not rape him."”

“It was never truly about guidance, growth, or transformation, but instead about exploitation cloaked in divine theatre.”

And again from Lucifer, “I did not rape him,” and a pull at his chain that is again, not viewed favorably by the court. He cannot control himself. 

And his partner or representative beside him chimed in again.

“We will remain as honest as possible about the situation and Lucifer’s behaviour. Luring? Yes—Lucifer is the Morning Star, the bringer of light, the whisper in the dark. He does lure. Consuming? Yes. He has drunk the devotee’s blood, held them trembling, marked them. Power imbalance? Yes. He is a god. The human is a mortal. That is the frame of the relationship. Lucifer doesn’t dispute the intensity or the devouring. He only defends the mutuality.”

And then again Lucifer, almost as if he’s speaking to himself, “he chose me.”

Another figure on the opposing side then takes the floor. “Can a human ever actually consent to a being like Lucifer?” he says with a look towards the jury. “Lucifer, you seduced a creature whose soul was still in its first bloom. You drank blood from someone who hadn’t yet lived long enough to question you. You made him yours before he knew what it meant to belong to himself. That is not love, it is corruption.”

Lucifer answered promptly. “He chose me. I waited. I showed him the gates and asked nothing. He walked through. I did not drag him.”

But they reply: “And he was a boy. Your light is blinding. Your voice rewrites the mind. He could not say no, not truly.”

A hand popped up from the crowd. He didn’t exactly wait to be summoned forward he just did, murmured the words “witness,” and took the floor. He removed his hood. I already knew it was Lord Hermes before I saw his face. 

“I’ll admit I am far less familiar with the boy than he is,” Hermes started, and he glanced towards Lucifer, “but I do have to say that I find the infantilization in this court to be a little bit annoying. I’ve seen Luciferdo things even I wouldn’t dare, of course. That's his nature. But I’ve also seen the boy come alive in his hands. More alive than most gods have ever managed with their own children. Lucifer wasn’t his first experience with the divine, wasn’t his last, but it was the one he chose. And he didn’t just choose it, he ran to it, bled for it again and again. Even when it wasn’t pretty. Even when things didn’t go his way. He makes that choice every single day, I don’t think it’s honest to disregard it.” and then he sort of paces, mumbles, seems like he’s stringing together his next sentence, 

“I have walked every threshold, slept in strangers' beds, and whispered things into mortals' ears that turned their lives inside out. I know what it is to disrupt. You call it corruption. I call it contact.” and then he turns to Lucifer, walks up towards him and looks down. “You cultivated him? No. You claimed him. Don’t pretend it was all altruism. You wanted him, you waited for him. You touched him and in turn informed his definition of touching. Maybe that’s the oldest game in the book. Guilty? Sure. But not alone. And not by force. What you’re really afraid of isn’t what he did. It’s that the boy looked up and said ‘yes.’”

And Hermes was dismissed.

And just as quickly another hand shot up, and she hadn’t even waited until Hermes had left the floor to intrude. Ah, I knew her by her energy, her aroma, blessed to be in her presence, Aphrodite. Ahaha so this is like, all the Gods are here and they're all judging me guys. I am tripping hard.

“Everyone yet again is somehow surprised that love is messy?” she started with a half laugh. She has the snarky judgement of a teenage girl, perfectly, “You call it predation. I see it as worship. Not the boy worshipping his God, the God worshipping his boy! You see corruption, I see anointment. And of course you fear it, of course it seems risky. No one touches love without being undone.”

And to Lucifer, she turns and says “You go too far because you always do.” But there’s a smile in it, a sisterly recognition. And then she turns to me. “You bled beautifully. But not blindly, not without purpose and not without regard for consequence.”

She walks up to me and I am almost overwhelmed by her. She lays a hand on my cheek, and murmurs, “what’s dangerous is not that he took you. What’s dangerous is that you let him, and that you liked it.”

And she turns back towards the room, and towards Lucifer, 

“And now you’re trying to make sense of something that was never meant to be safe. I’m not arguing his innocence or guilt. I’m arguing sovereignty through surrender and divinity through desire. Let the boy love his monster. That, too, is holy.”

And a ring back from the prosecution: “Let the boy fall into the hands of the predator? Let him exercise his will even if it is to surrender to the beast? Can a human understand the implications of such an action?

And Lucifer responds back, when I look at him I find that he was looking at me.. “If you strip every mortal of the right to surrender, you strip them of their freedom. If power invalidates desire, then no god can ever be loved. I… exercised… restraint.” 

 And there was some sort of screen or something. It played moments between us, our conversations. Our most intimate moments. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And this feeling started to fester in me. This feeling that I was being propped up and analyzed on a stage without my consent. 

“The very need for restraint proves the dynamic is inherently unsafe. If his authentic desires risk consuming, hurting, or “owning” the devotee, then any sexual engagement, even benevolent or sacrificial, is fundamentally compromised.” The persecution continued, now addressing him directly, “Lucifer, you call yourself teacher, father, protector, and then you bind this child to you with threads of sex and sacred fire. You admit your fantasies would possess him, ravage him, take him from his duties. You admit that without restraint, your instincts are devouring. You call it love, but it is ownership. You waited, yes, but a wolf waiting outside a cradle is not innocent because it does not break the door."

And I’ll admit, that part did offend me a bit. And before I have a chance to speak the person who was sitting beside Lucifer representing him shoots their hand into the air. “Can I be a witness too?” He asks, and again he, like the others, does not wait for an answer to take the floor. And I don’t know why, but for some reason I didn’t recognize him until his hood was off. Ah, I should have guessed, so obvious. Dionysus.

And then he doesn’t address the jury at all, he points at me. “You there, you know what it is to be split open by love and find god inside your wound? You know what it is to be the chalice that is filled with your God’s purpose? However mad it may drive you?”

A moment of silence. Oh, yes. “Yes,” I answer. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Yes, I do.”

Then Dionysus turns back to the court “What are you judging him for, being honest about it? You call him guilty because he touched something sacred and let it burn. But is that not what we all do? You light a candle, it melts. You love a mortal, they change. You let that mortal change you, you evolve. And look at them. Changed, but not destroyed. Or if destroyed, then beautifully. And then I call that destruction the creation of something new, something realer than what came before it. HERE we have our tragic beast, the hunter who cannot hunt until his prey bears his teeth. The prey who demands to be hunted, runs in the direction of the arrow. The boy didn’t fall. He leapt. And Lucifer, ever the gentleman, caught him. Feeding.. Fucking… transforming, merging, we all know these things are one drink away from each other. ”

And the main figure who was representing the prosecution made a comment, “The abuser and the addict, we can’t say we’re surprised.”

And Dionysus cackles at that, “Yes, the queer and the freak!” and then shrugs, “You think love is clean, your problem is that you do not recognize that love is a form of madness itself. And if this boy is mad, what of it? We’ve created a world that has doomed him, doomed both of them. I see two beings destined for the flames finding sanctuary in each other's arms, holding each other until they are tempered to gold, what of it? If the burn is electric, if it makes suffering bearable, what of it? ”

And another hand shot into the air, this time sat on the side of the persecution. Far in the back. They took their time getting up to the stage. Their steps echoed. When he pulled back his hood… I don’t know why.. I was surprised. Caught entirely off guard. It was Archangel Michael, so brilliant he was hard to look at. I'm cooked.

He started quietly. “I did not come here to exonerate him. I came here because I’ve watched him.” A pause.  “And I have seen what he does with what you cast away.”

He didn’t look at me or Lucifer. In fact he looked only at the judge.

“You fear that he breaks the weak. But what I’ve seen is that he finds them when you will not. That he sharpens those who come to him dull, and that they leave him with teeth, bleeding, yes, but unafraid. Loved, loved in a way that is not righteous or moral, but true. The truth is that this boy is not weakened, very much the opposite. That is what makes this dangerous. Because Lucifer, Lucifer.” He glanced at him finally, “Lucifer is just vengeful enough against those who cast doubt upon him to subvert their expectations. He will cherish the boy, perhaps he may never harm them. Because that is exactly what we would all have him do, to end this”

Then he looks at me, and I feel like jumping out of my skin.

“If there is guilt here, it is mutual. If there is madness, it is chosen. The sacredness of the dynamic is not in question. We all know this. How simple this would be if Lucifer did the obvious, but he refuses. We all know he always refuses. You condemn him not because he preys, but because he transforms the boy into something that cannot be controlled by any master other than him.”

Michael pauses again, and then concludes “He is not innocent. But he is not wrong. I recognize that conventional methods will not work for this unconventional human. I ask then, if the doomed cannot hold each other, then what will we give them in return?”

One of the main two prosecutors shoots out, “Love and healing that is not contaminated by the power imbalance.”

and Lucifer, now giving up entirely on concealing his anger, slammed his cuff on the table, and responded, “You speak of power imbalance as if mortals are helpless. But this one, Shi, his name is Shi, rebuked me. They challenged me. They redrew the lines. And I obeyed with the same trust he put in me. What predator honors a boundary once drawn? What groomer rewrites the contract at the whim of the student? I am not a slave to desire. I did not take. I gave, and gave again. If I fantasized about devouring him, I did not act on it. You think I don’t know? You think I don’t understand what I could do to him? I do not punish his rebellion; I admire it. You want to accuse me of passion? Of yearning? Then I plead guilty. But I will not plead to rape, nor violation. I waited until he asked. I waited until he was ready.” and then he bobs his head, “I waited until I was ready. And when he said no, I did not take. And when he called, when he stood as his own, I recognized him. And you judge me because you can’t, you won’t. And even now you disrespect him,” he almost stood up. He was the most vexed I have ever seen him, “even now you talk about him as if he’s not in the room.”

And that comment placed all the attention back on me. I wanted to throw up having that many ancient eyes upon me. My mind had not entirely processed everything that was happening. Is this real? Are all these Gods really here? Or is this my brain’s way of processing some kind of guilt or fear about Lucifer? I wasn’t entirely sure. The absurdity of the situation was affecting my judgement. Maybe that's why I acted the way I did. 

I kind of just couldn't help but look around and laugh. All these Gods here in all the history of mankind, shedding blood, raging wars. I couldn’t help but say, "I thought you all liked blood?" For a while that’s all I could say. 

Does it really matter how you got it? In all the ways that a human could bleed, this bleeding born of love and devotion, that’s too far? You’re all drenched in blood rituals and now you're acting scandalized? This trial is not about blood, or morality, it’s about power. The Council doesn’t object to blood. They object to whose altar it stains, for what reason. And somehow want is not valid enough. Submission chosen, not as pure as submission imposed. Bullshit. I mean no disrespect, but that’s bullshit.

 and Lucifer gave me that kind of look that perhaps a father would give his son if he said something like that in a courtroom, a look that says "you're not respecting the gravity of this." but in it there was also a smile. and it followed with a laugh and he looked to the court. "See?"

And Dionysus speaks over him with a kind of theatrical flair, “Look at the boy! They are of him. This is not a case of a corrupted innocent, but a co-conspirator, a willing vessel, a co-creator of the taboo. You are asking the mad why he loves his mad God and he laughs in your face!”

And the prosecution: “The devotee’s irreverence is immature, inappropriate, and perhaps even proof that they were groomed into mocking authority. This is deflection, a sign they don’t understand the full weight of what’s being examined.”

And Lucifer, now calmed with a smile: “You fear this union because it is free, because it laughs at your pageantry. He is not my prisoner. He is my student, and he is becoming.”

“Becoming like you?” another voice from the persecution, “is that a good thing? Teaching a mortal that they need to bleed to be recognized? To be loved?”

And the attention was again brought back towards me, because I let out a huff and squirmed in my seat. Broke into another laugh, nervous laughter. But eventually I stopped laughing, cleared my throat and said:

"The thing about humanity is that you must bleed. You will bleed, and you must choose who and what you bleed for, why you get out of bed or why you lay in bed and let yourself rot and die. Perhaps I am too naive to consent to such a thing, perhaps I am just deer running into a hunter's trap. There must be those among you who can tell me why my alchemy is allocated in such a way that makes me predisposed to whatever this is but… If I am the deer falling in love with the hunter, would you grant me the opportunity to be wielded into his craft? You know, to be mended into his bow. The ink for his paintings, the little cup he keeps his paint water in? Both the predator and the hunter eventually slay the prey… I’m not denying that. But the hunter does something the predator cannot. The hunter sees the prey not just as a target, but as worthy, beautiful enough to inspire pursuit. The prey, now knowing their purpose, instead of fleeing, steps willingly into the path, choosing to be known, consumed, transmuted, or even preserved in the memory or art of the hunter. Do I have to ask for permission to fall in love not just with the hunter, but with the moment after the kill? Can I be made into his instruments, the very tools with which he creates and destroys, and to live on in his mythos as both lover and medium? Because that’s what he is to me, right now. My muse and my ink, my pen, my page. I gave my soul to Venus, didn't sell it, because perhaps I fell in love with the love that is only found when a hunter strokes his coat."

I kinda started to tear up which was embarrassing lol. I wasn't even entirely sure if what I said made sense. I looked to him for comfort, his gaze helped me breathe, the way he moved his hand. "Breathe." I got it together. 

"I think I'd rather die in the arms of a mad God, it's your fault. You made me mad in the first place."

It was silent for a moment, but the persecution broke it with a question, “If the devotee must die to feel loved, is that love just?”

And I laughed again through tears, “I don't have to die to be loved, but I will die. That's the way you set up this game. I have found a love that transcends death. You're mad because he won, because Lucifer’s not supposed to have that, he’s not supposed to redefine it, he’s not allowed. And a human isn’t allowed to choose their own undoing, even when it liberates them.” 

And before I could even really finish my sentence, another hand shot up.This one was closer to the front of the crowd. I knew him. When he stepped forward he was almost as quiet as Michael. 

“This is the heavenly angel that first contacted the devotee, one of the very first spirits they ever worked with, who taught him how to properly communicate and interpret spirits. Jophiel takes partial responsibility for enabling the devotee’s relation to Lucifer.”- someone said it, I can’t really remember who. 

I haven’t seen Archangel Jophiel in quite some time. We speak to each other far less these days. He was a very important chapter in my spiritual journey. And I will admit, I was bewildered to see him there, and slightly.. Nervous? Embarrassed? Shocked that he knew the depth of my intimacy with Lucifer. But I suppose everyone knows.

Jophiel just started, he didn’t really seem to address anyone in particular. 

"I taught him how to listen. I showed him how to tell the difference between a whisper and a wound. I taught him to trust what stirred in the stillness and how to seek out the divine in strange places. I am witness to the full arc of what the devotee is becoming because I helped shape the very first steps of it. When I saw him tread towards you, Lucifer, I did not know he would fall for you in the way that he has. But I cannot say I am at all surprised that he did, and I would not say that if I had been mortal and placed in his position, that I would not have done the same. I know the desire to become a piece of my God’s art, I am the angel who is made of it. I do not merely understand the act of creation, I am a creation, a living sculpture of divine intention. My very being is shaped by a yearning to reflect God's beauty, purpose, and symmetry. So when he says: ‘make me the ink, the bow, the paint-water cup,’ I understand. That is not the cry of someone devoured, it is the cry of someone who wishes to live forever through their beloved’s hands. To keep their beloved warm after reckoning. To be used, yes, but as medium, as pigment, as vessel. It is not submission for its own sake, it is a fusion. And if that is madness, then I have lived it since the moment I first beheld the face of the Divine and did not turn away. Let no one here claim that to be art is to be lesser. Let no one say that beauty crafted for a God is a broken thing. I take responsibility for opening the door, yes. But he stepped through it on his own. And he chose again, and again, and again to stay. I do not believe he is broken. I do not believe he was prey. I believe he was transformed. But please know this: just because he is radiant now, just because he burns with divinity, do not mistake that fire for proof that there was no cost. I saw his terror. I felt his hunger. I watched him bleed and name it holy as beauty that moves and sings and gazes back. it is a dangerous, holy impulse to let their body, their blood, their life become a vessel for something greater. If you must find someone guilty, then let me be counted among them. I lit the first candle. And I also warned him,"

And Jophiel then seemed to look at me and express the same sort of sigh that Michael did, “and others warned him, Lucifer warned him, and he even warned himself. And it would be much simpler for us all if Lucifer just destroyed all of his children, then perhaps we could use this boy as a cautionary tale. But there is, there always are, a certain few that survive the flames. There is an art to playing with fire without being burned.”

Jophiel expressed that he had nothing more to say, and he was dismissed. I still don’t even know how to feel about that. After a moment, what almost felt like a cosmic coffee break, someone chimed in. 

“If the verdict is that we should all just back off and let Lucifer do whatever he wants, who exactly is to hold him accountable when he eventually does burn the devotee? What’s to stop him from destroying the devotee when he gets the perfect opportunity or cannot resist his dark desires? I am unwilling to believe that this Lucifer is completely virtuous in all of his actions, and I believe that it is dishonest to portray him that way. There is a responsibility to prevent harm before it occurs.”

and I was sort of getting mad. Perhaps I spoke out of turn. Something about that struck something in me, maybe in the way she said it, and I knew it was a she. 

“Me,” I answered, and I was asked to repeat myself. “Me. I will hold him accountable, I will be the one he seeks retribution from. Me. Who’s to protect Lucifer from me?”

From you? Yes, from me. 

“What if I decide that I’m the one who wants to do the conquering? What if I reap his own surrender? What if I want to be a hunter too, and kill a giant man? He gave to me because I wanted, because I asked. Because I approached him and saw him as worthy. Over everyone. Over all of you. So what about me? What If I want to give back? What if I give back because I know it is the one thing I can do to destroy him back? What if I control the blood I give him and cultivate a bond more powerful and sacred than any union that has ever been known between God and Man? What if I train him? Transform him? Expose his vulnerabilities and wounds and wrap them in silk and devotion too? What then? Am I still the victim then? Do mortals need to ask for permission to slay their Gods? Or does that privilege only go one way? Gods slaying humans? What are the laws and ethics around consent in that regard?”

And Dionysus at this point is cackling, having a ball of a time. And Lucifer is looking at me with some kind of look that I’ve never seen him make before. I genuinely can’t read it, whether it’s pleased or not. But it is truly the first time I think I’ve ever seen him teary eyed. 

“Young man, you should mind your tongue and have respect when you are in the presence of Gods.” 

Her voice gripped me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I have never heard her voice so clearly, so powerful. So commanding. So old and wise. I don’t know why I didn’t think she would be there. Inanna. Perhaps because I syncretise her and Lucifer so heavily, I’ve never seen them separate. But here she was before me in all of her glory and I truly did want to bow. Mother. If I didn’t know it before I knew it now. She was gargantuan, and she addressed everyone at once. 

“Shi’s willingness to bleed, to be worn into the hunter’s coat, to become the paint water for his sacred art is not just love. It is initiation. This descent. This is what I myself did when Ipassed through the seven gates, removing my robes and jewels, my power and pride, until I stood naked before death.��� She looked at me and my heart trembled, “You are not the deer. You are the hunter’s hunger. You are the oil in his lamp, the curve of the blade. And when he lays your bones in the shape of a door, you will walk through it, not as prey, but as Priestess. I congratulate you, my child, not for surviving the flames, but for choosing, for loving with the kind of abandon that demands resurrection. It is erotic, ecstatic, sacrificial and most of all: powerful. There is no true power without the surrender of illusion, and no true ecstasy without death and rebirth. You speak of guilt and innocence as if they are clean things. But love is not clean. Nor is death. Nor is power. I have known the taste of blood on a lover’s lips. I have worn the skin of grief and pleasure, and I have demanded my throne back after giving it all away.

This child came to the hunter knowingly, perhaps too young, too open, but who among you here has ever loved and not risked your life for mastery? You call it madness. I call it devotion. I call it alchemy. I call it sacred.”

But then she glanced down at me, and her glance was not cold. Not at all. It was kind of the way my great great grandma used to look at me. Actually it was the exact same.

“But do not forget yourself now, boy. You are very much mortal, your blood is finite.” 

I nodded. Understood,

Then Inanna stepped over to Lucifer, she got very close to him and they eyed each other fiercely. “You want to be the boy’s father? Well I am his mother.”

And I think that is the only time I have seen him flinch. 

“So tell me, and speak plainly: is this a game to you? Is this the part where you prove you can hold the heart of a divine child without shattering it?” she spoke in a low whisper, and I had an image conjured into my head. A lioness stalking prey.

And Lucifer looked back into Inanna’s glare with something very soft.

“I know you, Lucifer. I know the ache that coils behind your mask, the slithering seduction you wear like perfume. I know your slick tongue. But I also know the alchemy that flows inside that boy’s veins, the blood you like so much.That’s why you like it so much, because it’s you. It’s a narcissistic ritual of consuming yourself through someone else, changed, transformed into something more satisfying. Sweetened because it was earned in trust and reignited with a raw and innocent love, far, far too innocent to come from you, Lucifer. That’s why you can’t destroy him, that’s why you know he’s not the victim,” she laughed at him, “you’re the victim now. Destined to a heart raught when, if ever he turns away from you. When he eventually parts from you, your own ultimate undoing. That's why you want him to bleed for you, you need proof that someone so worthy would. That proof is the world to you. And that’s exactly why he will. That is why he has made himself yours. You have no control over his loyalty, and he has actively chosen it. The only way this ends is when he outgrows you.” 

And he broke into a smile, bobbed his head. But it wasn’t a smile. It was something else. It was soft, quiet. “Of course.” 

And seeing him make that expression made me want to rip my heart out. 

And again, Dionysus exclaimed, completely interrupted, “Now we have a deer who cuts his hunter!  And a hunter who will not eat until his deer has struck him deep enough to be deserving of his reaction! For the hunter is nothing without his hunt! Now the deer is a wolf, perhaps even a dog. Yes, a dog! The deer becomes a dog, not domesticated, but devoted. Not prey, but chosen. The dog hunts with the hunter, not instead of him. It bares its fangs not only at the hunter, but for him, too. And the hunter? He no longer wants a passive offering, he wants something wild enough to bruise his palms when he holds it, something whose loyalty is as dangerous as his own appetite. Lucifer does not feed until the strike from his beloved is deep enough, until he has been known. Not just loved, not just feared, but pierced, seen, named. And the devotee, now wolf, now dog, snarls and says:“You wanted blood? Then bleed with me!” 

Cackling, finding the whole thing hysterical.

Inanna tears her glare away from Lucifer and concludes with her own kind of satisfied smile, “I believe the court has severely misunderstood the nature of the power dynamic in this relationship.”

Lucifer hangs his head.

The court was rained back in pretty quickly. Conversations and whispers settled. Conclusions were met.

“This is not love. This is delusion.”

“You’re speaking from trauma, not truth.”

“This is what happens when the broken are left unguarded.”

“You’ve identified with your captor.”

“This is cosmic Stockholm Syndrome.”

“He has branded you, not bonded with you.”

“Your consent is irrelevant. The crime is cosmic.”

“A mortal cannot consent to a being of such magnitude. The scale is too unbalanced.”

“You are clay. He is fire. And fire cannot love clay without burning it.”

“You’ve confused transformation with consumption.”

“He did not forge you, he devoured you.”

“You have not been transfigured, only disfigured and dressed up in language.”

“You are a danger to yourself and to others.”

“This soul is not to be judged further. They have chosen their path. Let them walk it alone.”

“They are no longer of concern to us. Let what they worship claim them.”

and so we were dismissed. We both left that room, he was found guilty. There was no prison that could hold him. We exited the courtroom. 

And something really strange happened to me here. It was in the time when everyone was leaving, clearing out. And I could see the Gods behind their veils. Witness cosmic conversations, reunions, looks of recognition. Some removed their veils entirely to reveal things that spoke to something so primal within me but also so so unknowable. I felt so so infinitesimally small around all of these strange and ancient faces. Blue faces, bright eyes, many tongues. Non-Euclidean shapes. Like an absolute foreigner, witness to a culture, a language that I could not ever hope to understand or find myself within. Alien. Older than alien. A stranger in a strange land. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m dreaming too deeply. And it was dreamlike in that uncanny way, in its surrealness. I don’t know how to describe the feeling I had, except that I knew then, was painfully aware, of how incredibly young, how incredibly human I was. And the Gods know that I am human, they know that I am not one of them. They know that I am here and they know I am not one of them. I was amazed by how lost I was, by the height of the insurmountable danger and confusion. I am so so lost. 

I waited in a hallway alone. Maybe it would be more accurate to say I was hiding. I was crying. This was all a lot, and I’m not even sure I’m processing it. This is such a huge reaction to something I didn’t think was so incredible. 

But then down the hallway came Aphrodite, and she took my hand. And she gave me a look that reminded me why she is the Goddess of beauty. And she smiled, and her eyes glimmered. I will never forget that look. “Marvelous.”

And she didn’t have to say anything else lol, I started crying harder omg I’m crying right now trying to write this down wtf. But it was like, her looking at me like that settled every thought in my mind. Made everything instantly okay. And I was then giddy with glee.

And as she went go go I tried to ask her something, something mundane, something about my altar for her. And she batted her hand at me. “We’ll chat later.”

and when he, Lucifer, Lord Lucifer, finally found me in the hall, he grabbed me, held me to the wall, pinned me, and in my surprise I yelped. He kissed me, squeezed me, nibbled my neck, and we both dissolved into a kind of laughter. He held my face in his hands. I’ve never felt so comforted by them before. My sanctuary. All I wanted was to be alone with him. “You’re mine? You know that? You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine,” he growled, and he clutched me tighter, closer. A victory cry. and it made me laugh harder. He was tickling me. And we were both crying and laughing. He scooped me up and carried me out that door, and I melted into his hands,  still laughing. 

A whole day had gone by since that court ordeal thing. I’ve tried not to dwell too hard on it. I’m still truly not entirely sure what to think about it, if I should consider it legitimate or just an extremely weird extremely vivid Jungian level of projection. I don’t know. The anxiety I felt, that at least was real. The tears I cried, those were real. I still cannot bring myself to believe that my personal actions are significant enough to be worthy of divine intervention. But I don’t know. I’m not sure I know anything about anything that occurred. Or maybe that’s my own way of deflecting and repressing it. I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know.

The next time I saw Lucifer was when I was offering him incense, I guess mid day. He lead me into a trance. A very lazy one. It was more like a dream, again, I don’t know. My psychic mind or ability or whatever it is has felt absolutely fried these last few days. My only defense is radical acceptance that I don’t know.

I was again at his bedroom door, I had my robe but nothing else. I opened the door and the lights were off. Only a couple candles burning low. He was layed in bed beneath the covers. I asked him, can I come in? And his hand poked out from the sheets and beckoned me towards him. 

Lucifer almost looked kind of pale. Or, I don’t know. Something was off about him. He was tired, if that’s even possible. Quiet, softened. I was immediately flooded with this feeling of woe for him, I wanted to do something to make him feel better. He held my hand tenderly, almost sorrowfully. 

“Would you do something for me, my boy?” he asks in a whisper, the type of whisper you do when you have the flu, strained, weak. I nodded. Anything.

“Would you fix me a drink, please.”

Oh, okay. Yeah. It almost brought a smile to my face, so mundane. One of those things I have done for him 100 times. There's a little kitchenette area with different drinks, mixers, crystal cups. I fix him something that I think is vodka into a glass, mix it with something that smells sweet. I don’t know, I don’t drink.. 

And as I do so I catch a glimpse of a knife on the counter. Hm. I grabbed it. I glance back at him. He doesn’t really seem to be watching me. So I dig the end of the blade into the tip of my finger until it breaks my skin. There’s a few drops of blood, just a few. Not too much, not a frivolous amount. I let them fall into the drink and stir it with my finger.

When I return to him he takes it from me, takes a sip, and then glances at me. “I didn’t tell you to do that,” he murmurs. But he also drinks it. All of it. Every drop.

Then he reaches for my hand, my thumb. The residual blood on it. And he licks it slowly while glancing into my eyes. Then he opens up his arms, pulls the covers back. He’s not naked. Idk, I assumed he would be. “Come,” he whispers, again, with so much exhaustion. And I crawl into bed with him, let him take me into his chest. Fuck, he smells so amazing. He smells like home. And his arms, his embrace is so warm. So gentle. 

“Lucifer,” 

I say his name but nothing follows it. But I asked something. I’m not even entirely sure what I asked. But I needed him to answer. I clutched him like I was afraid he would dissolve in my hands, into salt.

“Never,” he started. He pulled the covers up so that we were both beneath them, cloaked in darkness. “Never should you have been even slightly surprised that I was pronounced guilty.”

I clutched him harder, needed him closer. I’m not. I wasn’t. Not even for a second was I. Guilt, innocence. That’s not what matters. I don’t care. I don’t care at all. That’s not it. That’s not why I feel this lump in my throat, why I feel like screaming and crying. I didn’t before. I was content, content until the moment I saw him like this. I was shaking because I was scared, but I didn’t know what I was afraid of. 

“Love,” his voice cracked. I could feel through the darkness that his cheeks were wet. And my heart sank, imploded. I felt an insurmountable sense of doom. 

“ I didn’t care, not at all.  Because there is no law, no court, no God, that could ever keep me away from you.”

Yes. I know.

“Shi, you are the only one that has this power, it is yours. I am at your mercy, it is yours, it will always be yours.” 

And it was the first time (omg I’m literally bawling writing this FUCK) ever that he has tried to be the little spoon. He pushed my arms apart, opened me, and then clutched onto me. He sunk his face into my chest, and I cradled him. He sunk deeper, I was watching his descent in real time. In all the melodrama I have seen from him, in all his woes and agonies, I have never seen him crumble and weep like this. He placed my hands on his head, over his ears.

“I love you,” he cried, and his inflection did that non human thing. It lacks dimension, or maybe it has an extra dimension. It comes out unfiltered, not even tuned for the human mind to comprehend. 

And then he smiles, and I can see a power struggle happening on his face. 

“In this craft, this space, we make promises all the time, oaths, rites,” he says, “I don’t mean to downplay the severity of those,” he continues, “but please, Shi, love,” 

And ?? aa

I don’t know how to really describe this but it was like

If you have ever seen someone go through an episode in front of you, this was very that. 

He was very clearly desperately trying to self soothe (pathologizing the gods?? Im cooked) in a way that was reminiscent of someone going through a manic episode. That curled up in a corner in the closet thing. He was in pain, or experiencing fear. There was some kind of compulsion in there, something violent and almost loathing, self loathing. Intrusive. Or maybe not. I’m not entirely sure what it was, but he was clinging to me, and he was crying. 

I cry all the time, Lucifer may shed a tear every now and then. He’s never done this with me.

“Can you please, make me just one promise,”

It was a very dark, but not dark as in devoid of light, feeling. It was nothing. Actual nothing, oblivion. It was weightless, suspended, the feeling of reaching a peak of an ascent upwards when you are thrown into the air. A moment of absolute weightlessness. And and intense fear of that. Maybe because I was born on Earth and I’m accustomed, trained, wise with the fear of fucking falling.

A promise? One more promise? Yes, Lucifer, my Lord, of. What is it? (lol I’m crying)

“If I place this dagger in your hand and I let you wield it against me, my love. Strike true. Do not hand this power over to anyone else, ever, never, I have given it to you,” 

Falling. 

“When you leave me, my star, please, let it be because you outgrew me, outlived me.”

And though I held him, and I clutched him, and I soothed him, and I did not speak, I still said it. I still thought it. 

What a hopeless fantasy, Lucifer, you are so tragic.

To ever think that a mortal could outlive a God, that I in my human life of a century or so could ever outlive the need and want and drive and passion for The Morning Star, as if I would ever stop searching for that. Everywhere, Lucifer, everywhere I can find you, trace your trail. You fed me.

Oh baby, 

Maybe that’s why humans are obsessed with other animals. Domestication or something. Dogs, cats. I imagine the grief that a human can feel. Must be nothing compared to a God. 

“I will never give this dagger to anyone else, Lucifer, you have my absolute certainty on that,” I answered him. 

“I’m very proud of the idea that my presence has allowed you space to forget that you are cursed, I want to be that for you. In this life, I have dedicated myself to being that for you, for myself, so long as I am Shi.”

Land.

I breathe with relief. 

My sanctuary. Not his, mine. You realize in retrospect that you would much rather be the dog. 

“But, Inanna was right. I am mortal, my blood is finite.”

And I pulled his face up towards me, even in the dark I could see him, and he looked older then than he ever has. 

“Lucifer,” like I was pointing out something stupidly obvious. “Remember me. Cherish me,” and I kissed him, I rubbed up against him, I cuddled him. “Love me.”

And he grabbed my arm, and a blizzard of heat overcame me with ferocity. But it was pure energy, fire. The fire I know. I smiled.

He kissed me and it was like being shocked. Tt jolted me, and I yelped in surprise, and he tackled me. And for a moment there was a struggle, we were wrestling in the dark. 

A half chuckle, “really?”

Take off

I struggled hard against him. Squirming, laughing. This is dumb, because obviously he can over power me. He bit me in the stomach and it hurt, and I reactively bit him in the arm. He laughed.

And then there was struggling I guess, and he bit me again in the back. I tried to squirm but he wouldn’t let me. He had me pinned down on my stomach. He mounted himself on top of me. I’ve never wanted him more in my fucking life.

He kept me pinned down as he undressed himself. And he slowly, delicately revealed me. I forgot about the struggle. He brushed his fingers down my back, then started kissing it, slowly. 

When he finally pushed himself in he let out a whimper, “would you let me love you, baby?” 

He felt so warm and familiar all around me. His movements were perfect.

“Would you love me, baby?”

I pushed myself into him, pulled him into me. He sucked on my neck. “Please.”

We made love to each other for quite a while, he felt sweeter than he ever has. Bellowed smoke. In the end we somehow ended up facing each other, kissing, inhaling each other. 

I rocked forward and found the dagger in his night stand. I’d never been so sure of my decision to do this. He placed his hand over mine, didn’t guide, didn’t resist, watched me closely. 

I cut my chest, deeper this time, deeper than before. I bled a healthy stream. More than before. But I only cut myself once, only let him cut me once. Then I put the knife away and let him drink from me. His tongue upon me was like rain on molten lava. I don’t know. I turned into obsidian. And he drank beautifully. 

And when he was done, he let himself sink into my chest, and for a while we shared each other’s warmth. And he thanked me. 

Okay. One more. Just a short one this time. 

Didn’t sleep well last night, I had all kinds of fragmented dreams. This one though, I do remember very clearly.

It started with dirt and dry grass. And a tunic, or whatever those sleeping sacs are called. I was laying on it. It was sunset, or maybe early morning. But I’m leaning towards sunset. 

There’s a fire pit in front of me, it’s lit. I’m in a small camp, a cowboy style camp. Smells like campfire. And he’s tending the fire. He has a brimmed hat on, an old, dusty coat that’s patched with different fabrics. Belt, boots. Gloves. I don’t think I saw a horse. I think a couple bags. We didn’t have nothing, that I knew. Nothing valuable to other people. And we were alone.

And I was laid in my little sleeping sack in what felt like pajamas. I was very flat on the ground. And when I stared out into the country it was something devastatingly nostalgic. The smell in the air, the field, what seemed like endless field. A perfect sky. The sound of some kind of critter roaming about, some bird. And the grass. Dry grass. The type you wouldn’t really want to sleep on, but once you did eventually lull to sleep, it was nice… cool. Everything is a shade of blue in that lighting. And I don’t really know if I’m me right now. I mean I know I am, I know it’s me. But it’s not Shi. I don’t know. A past life maybe.

Maybe this was a little pocket of time before cities, or houses. When people, maybe just poor people, black people, immigrants, slaves, hicks, still slept on the ground. Out in the open, in the field.

They probably didn’t feel as safe as I did there. 

He came over to me and looked down at me. Slipped off his gloves and threw them down in the dirt. He sat. Tipped off his hat and leaned back.

“You think they’ll find us here?” he asks as he pushes my hair out of my face. And a smile grew on me. 

“Yes,” I answered, and he smiled back. Placed a kiss on my forehead. 

I layed there with him for a while. I wanted to savour that place, that world. Something about it. 

“I like it,” Lucifer whispers, settling into me. “Let’s stay a while.”

Ironic. It was cruelly short. 

[kermdoeswriting]

Don't Call Me That

Dick isn't entirely sure what it is about their newest teenaged recruit Phantom, but the guy absolutely gives him the creeps.

He knows it isn't the implication of a realm of ghosts being a real thing, no matter how much that implication has rattled his brain. But it is something, something else.

There was just some kind of certain air surrounding Phantom that tended to put Dick on edge whenever they're near each other.

It also doesn't help that the guy has the tendency to do things normal people wouldn't really do. Things like talking to the empty air like he's having a genuine conversation or staring off into one spot of the room like a cat watching a corner of the wall while hunting.

Things like bringing sudden chills to Dicks skin whenever he passes by or the way he seems to constantly breathe out cold air like a dragon for the fun of it.

Dick has caught him doing all of these things multiple times and most times, despite scaring him slightly, they were just harmless things about his newest team-mate.

But right now it wasn't really about that at all. Right now he's more annoyed than afraid of him.

For some reason recently, Phantom has been greeting him by his old hero persona rather than his new one. And its been eating at Dick every single time it happens, being reminded of the time he had first switched costumes and names to distance himself from Batman as a whole.

Except this time the person saying it had never even MET him in his original suit, so having Phantom calling him Robin was aggravating him faster than any of the other more important issues he should be dealing with were.

Dick originally attributed to it possibly being some sort of hero worship that he was going through, an attempt to impress him with his past history as knowledge. God knows, Tim wasn't any better when he had first met the poor kid at his doorway all those years ago.

But then Phantom had revealed that he hadn't even known Gotham was a real city nor did he know who Batman was up until a few months ago. That had set Dicks mental alarm bells off all over again.

It was weird all over and since it was just outright weird, Dick had decided to pull him aside to talk to the younger teen about it.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call me by that name, Phantom" He had started off, watching as Phantom went through confused faces to figure out what this conversation was about. Dick just continued on.

"The name, Robin, is just really special to me and my family. And I stopped going by that name years ago, it would feel wrong to be called that again when I've outgrown it."

Phantom looked less confused now as it seemed to click altogether about what he had been talking about. The teen tilted his head at him, looking over him for a second before doing another one of his cat stares at the dead air behind him.

Dick just sighed for a moment but watched as Phantom came back into focus and genuinely looked somewhat apologetic.

"I'm sorry," Phantom started off sheepishly, eyes looking towards the floor for a second before looking back at his. "I didn't know you both went by that name at some point. I had mostly been greeting the little ghost attached to your side, not you, sir"

Dick froze at the wording, looking at Phantom with wide eyes. Phantom just continued without even looking at him.

"He always seems to be around you a lot and he was excited when he realized I could see him so I started greeting him whenever he was with you. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfy doing so."

Dicks breath hitched a bit before eventually choking out all the questions he had trapped in his throat. The suddenness made Phantoms eyes land back on his face again.

"What... What little boy? Did he say his name? What was he wearing?"

Phantom tilted his head again at Dick, looking more confused at Dicks confusion.

"What do you mean? It's Robin wearing the Robin costume?"

Phantom suddenly looked over to the dead air behind him again for a second, nodding his head and humming a bit before turning his attention back to Dick.

"He told me to say 'Big Bird you're such a dolt' to you. I don't know what that means but-"

Dick couldn't hear anything else Phantom was even saying to him. His breathing stopped and all he could feel was a small chill behind him, seemingly surrounding him in a small way that reminded him of a certain boys hug.

"Jason?"

[sageshouldknowbetter]

It’s tempting to think that innies are just the outies at their core, right? That they’re what you get when you take a person and peel away all their past trauma until you get to their very soul. The true essence. The self free from expectations. “The you you are.”

But we have to remember: innies can’t be the “true” outies without the environmental influence to “mess them up,” because the severed floor is NOT a non-environment. This world that the innies are born into forms their every character trait and idiosyncrasy that isn’t already BURIED in the outie’s subconscious. So though it’s fun (and not completely wrong!) to say innies are outies without the baggage… they aren’t the outies in their “purest forms” either.

Take Mark, for example. On the surface, the Mark S we see at the beginning of season one is a hard-working, kind, and seemingly content yes-man. Mark Scout, meanwhile, is a depressed and sarcastic alcoholic who gets drunk at night and sobs in his car the next morning.

The apparent difference between them? Mark Scout remembers his wife dying in a car crash and Mark S… doesn’t. Therefore, Mark S must be basically like Mark Scout was before Gemma died. … Right???

Not exactly. Because Mark S still has a past. A short one, sure, and closed-off too — but still a past, and it highly affects his personality today.

It’s heavily implied that he didn’t start off as the corporate tool we see in early episodes. In fact, based on his account of threatening to kill Petey and extensive references to past torture (“bad soap,” “Milchick can’t always be nice like that,” and “It’s easier for you both if he knows which end to start from”), he could’ve been almost as rebellious as Helly. The difference is that where Mark Scout remembers being formed by a drunk father, screeching tires, and policemen at the door, Mark S remembers days on end in the Break Room, saying he was a blight on humanity until he believed it was true.

That’s a decent portion of why he comes across as a “sweet” yet timid bootlicker! Because he is built on trauma! Just new trauma! Different trauma! Trauma he remembers, but Mark Scout doesn’t! (His outie’s past still impacts his character, sure, but it’s not at the forefront of his mind the way his conscious memories are.) The fact that his bad experiences are novel, weird, and surface-level innocuous don’t make them any less potent or formative to the kind of person he is now.

In the same way, I don’t think it’s exactly right to call Helly “what Helena would’ve been like if she was free from Lumon and the pressure of being an Eagan.”

Yeah — in some ways, it’s true. Helly doesn’t have to worry about public opinion, the weight of her name, or what her father thinks. She can have friends and a surrogate dad and, well, baby goats. But the difference between Helly and Helena is more than just one remembering her Eagan upbringing and the other not. The severed floor is in NO way some controlled, pressure-free, unable-to-change-its-inhabitants environment.

Helly remembers cutting her arm in a smashed-open window under red glow, apologizing in the Break Room over a thousand times, and learning just how much she isn’t considered a person. But she also remembers three other people being her only allies, friends (and lover), and entire world — literally. Less than ten people, and always under horrific circumstances, are the only people she ever sees. This kind of life could NOT happen to anyone on the outside, including Helena — even if she wasn’t born an Eagan.

So what would Helena be like if she wasn’t an Eagan? The truth is… we don’t know. But the question isn’t what she would be like. It’s if, stripped of her heritage, it would even still be her in the first place.

Your brain is split in half. Is that still you? You are awakened, memories gone, born again into a whole different kind of world, and grow to fill it like water in cupped hands. Is it still you now? Are you the same “you” you were ten years ago? Ten months ago? This morning? Who ARE you? And what IS “you,” anyway?

That’s what Severance wants us to ponder. And whatever the relationship between innies and outies is (the same person, completely different people, Cain and Abel, you in another lifetime) (can you even call that “you”?), one thing’s for certain: innies aren’t just outies with the bad stuff wiped off. If anything, that’s what Lumon would like them to think.

[yumeka-sxf]

The school vacation is over and the new term at Eden is starting...of course, Anya is less than pleased with this development 😅

Seriously, her groaning reminds me of my "anti-school" phase I had when I was around her age, lol.

This chapter was mainly focused on introducing Anya's new classmates. I'll admit that I feel SxF has enough side characters already for the type of series it is, but maybe they'll only be relevant for one story/arc (like Daybreak and Wheeler). Though having another female friend in Connie might be nice. She seems weird enough for Anya to have fun reading her mind 😂

Since recent chapters have dropped hints about Anya's past and the emphasis on mind-reading abilities/the occult via Melinda, plus we have the lingering mystery of Anya's affinity for classical languages, I feel like this new set up at Eden is going to play into that. Not only has Arnold returned, but we now have a supposed prince in the mix. It's been theorized that Anya's classical language skills are somehow tied to royalty in a foreign land...so maybe Tertius is connected to that somehow. I mean, you must be royally royal to have hair shaped like a crown 🤣

Then we have the as-of-yet unnamed kid who flicked a booger on Tertius. Curious what role he'll play if all this is indeed leading up to more Anya backstory reveal.

I should clear up some weird translation in the English version. In the below panel, it seems like Tertius is mentioning Jeeves, but the term he's using is 爺や ("jiiya") which I believe is an old term used to refer to an elderly male servant.

Now the word "jeeves" in English is a generic term used to refer to a butler or valet. If you've watched enough movies and/or TV series, you may have heard someone refer to their butler as "jeeves." So technically it's not an incorrect translation, but it's incredibly confusing because we already have an established character named Jeeves, who is Damian's butler. So this could make people think that Tertius knows Jeeves, which is likely not the case. They really should have come up with a different word to use, something like "pop" or "gramps."

Besides the new characters, we now have more potential for Anya and Damian to be alone, without influence from Emile, Ewen, and Becky. Hopefully it will lead to more talk about Anya's mind-reading and Desmond lore.

Guess that's all I have to say about this chapter as it mostly seems like setup for what's to come. I've probably mentioned before that the Eden-focused stories aren't exactly my favorites, especially when Anya isn't a key player. But hopefully whatever's going on with Tertius and the booger kid will be leading up to something significant in the end.

Interestingly, this is the first chapter since Loid's backstory that's being split into parts, as this chapter is called 112.1 (112 part 1 in the Japanese version). Similar to what he did for Loid's backstory chapters, Endo tweeted about this for chapter 112. Guess it's just gonna be two parts?

Also, on an unrelated note, we also got the cover reveal for volume 15 today! Features Martha, not surprised since it will include chapters from the Henry/Martha backstory arc.

[missmaymay13]

home is with you - j.hughes

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

j.hughes x fem!oc | 13k

summary: jack was a patient person, and he was willing to wait as long as everlyn briar needed to realize that he was there for her.

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Quinn Hughes knew a lot about hockey.

Ask him about any game in the last decade—NHL or juniors—and he could give you a detailed play-by-play, rattle off stats like they were embedded in his DNA, and even tell you the name of the ref who made that terrible call in the second period. Hockey ran through his blood. It was his language, his rhythm, his safe place.

Academics, though? That was a different story.

It wasn't that he wasn't smart. He was just... uninterested. Unmotivated. The kind of kid who could get through most classes on charm and bare-minimum effort, skating by (pun intended) with a shrug and a smile. But junior year hit different. The coursework was harder, his travel schedule was crazier, and even Ellen—his endlessly patient, fiercely supportive mom—was starting to worry.

So she did what any mom would do: she found him help. Enter Everlyn Briar.

She was a sophomore, which at first felt weird to Quinn. A younger student tutoring him? But it took less than five minutes into their first session for him to realize Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was brilliant. The kind of person who didn't just know the answers, but understood them. Who explained things like it was no big deal, casually dropping SAT vocab like it was regular slang. She was taking AP classes in everything and somehow managing to be the captain of the school's volleyball team.

And not just on the volleyball team—she ran it. Confident, poised, competitive as hell.

Quinn didn't know people like her existed in real life.

He also didn't expect to like her.

At first, he resented the whole tutoring setup. It made him feel dumb, and if there was one thing Quinn Hughes hated, it was feeling dumb. But Everlyn had this way of making you feel like you were capable. Like you could be just as smart as her if you tried. She had an addicting personality—effortlessly cool, quick-witted, with a sense of humor that caught him off guard more than once.

And then there was her smile.

God, that smile. Bright and full of mischief, like she was constantly in on a secret she might let you in on if you were lucky enough. It was the kind of smile you couldn't forget, even if you tried.

Their tutoring sessions slowly evolved into something else. Something casual, something natural. They'd meet in the library or the back corner of the local coffee shop, but more often than not, their study sessions would end with them laughing over inside jokes, sharing stories about their teammates, or mock-roasting each other over their wildly different Spotify playlists.

Within a few months, they were inseparable.

It wasn't long before their social circles started to blur. Everlyn met Quinn's friends from the team, and he got introduced to her volleyball crew. Weekend hangouts became group events—bonfires, house parties, late-night diner runs. It was all fun and games until people started dating each other and everything got predictably messy.

Typical high school chaos.

There were breakups that forced the group to awkwardly take sides, dramatic friend group rifts, and one infamous party where someone tried to stage an "intervention" for a relationship that wasn't even official. Through it all, though, Quinn and Everlyn stayed solid. He'd show up to her games, she'd come to his. They were always seen together—heads tilted close in conversation, sharing drinks, stealing fries off each other's plates without asking.

Years would pass before either of them realized just how much those years mattered—how foundational they were. Before either of them would understand that what they built back then, in classrooms and crowded kitchens and half-lit basements, was going to follow them far beyond high school.

Because this isn't just Quinn's story.

It's Jack's too.

And for Jack Hughes, Everlyn Briar wasn't just some girl his brother used to hang out with.

She was the girl.

The one he was never supposed to fall for.

⸻ It started small.

At first, Everlyn would stay a few minutes after her tutoring sessions—just long enough to chat with Quinn before he got dragged off to practice or dinner. Then she'd linger a little longer, helping him pack up his notes, maybe sneaking in a few teasing jabs about his handwriting or his inability to remember historical dates. Eventually, Quinn started inviting her over for actual study sessions at his house.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Everlyn Briar became a regular fixture at the Hughes household.

It was Ellen's idea, really. She was over the moon about Quinn's sudden improvement in school—how he seemed lighter, less tense. His grades had gone up, but more importantly, so had his confidence. And she noticed it wasn't just the academics. Her son was happier. There was a spark in him again.

So of course, Ellen wanted to meet the girl responsible for that.

That first invitation came wrapped in the form of a casual offer: "Why don't you just stay for supper, sweetheart?" And Everlyn, who had only meant to drop off a study guide, hesitated just long enough for Ellen to smile and wave her into the kitchen like she'd already been part of the family for years.

It was so simple. So easy. So warm.

Everlyn didn't realize how much she needed that warmth until she felt it.

The Hughes house was nestled at the top of a long driveway, the kind of home that looked like it had history—scuffed baseboards, picture frames lining the hall, cleats piled by the door. It smelled like home-cooked meals and dryer sheets, and the moment she stepped inside, she could feel something shift in her chest.

There was life here. Real life.

Trophies filled the shelves—some polished and gleaming, others dusty with age. Framed photos covered the walls, capturing every phase of childhood: first goals, missing teeth, family vacations. Hockey sticks leaned against corners. A dog barked from the backyard. Laughter echoed from upstairs.

It was messy in the way that made your chest ache with comfort.

She could've cried.

Because back at her own house, it wasn't like this. Not anymore. The silence there was deafening, broken only by the sound of raised voices behind closed doors or the slam of a front door that never quite shut all the way. Her parents were in the middle of what could only be described as a war disguised as a divorce—ugly, drawn-out, venomous. And lately, Everlyn had become the easiest target.

It wasn't physical. Not exactly. But the emotional toll? That was harder to explain.

The tension followed her like smoke. Her mom was sharp with her words, her dad cold with his distance. The house was split in invisible lines—rooms she couldn't go into without a fight, conversations that ended in tears, meals that were eaten in silence. And she, caught in the middle, found herself suffocating more and more with each passing day.

So she escaped. Any chance she got.

Practice. Study halls. Library sessions that lasted until closing. Couch cushions at friends' houses. Empty locker rooms. Anywhere but home.

Which made the Hughes' house feel like a gift from the universe. An oasis.

The first person to greet her that day—besides Quinn—was a thirteen-year-old Luke Hughes, peeking cautiously from behind his older brother's shoulder. He had that awkward middle-school lankiness, all limbs and big eyes, his dark hair a little messy like he'd been running around all day. Shy but clearly curious, he gave her a wary glance, unsure of what to make of the girl standing at his front door with a backpack and a too-kind smile.

"Hey," Everlyn said softly, crouching down just a little to his height. "You must be the famous Luke. I've heard you've got a killer slapshot."

Luke blinked, then gave the tiniest, bashful nod—cheeks already a bit pink. And just like that, she'd won him over.

From then on, he was her shadow anytime she visited. Offering her cookies, showing off his hockey cards, even once letting her watch him play NHL on the Xbox. Luke Hughes was a soft, sweet soul—and he, like the rest of the family, made space for Everlyn without asking for anything in return.

Next came Ellen and Jim.

They met her with hugs, no hesitation, like she was already part of something. Ellen's warmth was maternal and immediate—offering her water, asking if she was hungry, complimenting her necklace. Jim's was quieter but genuine, his handshake firm, his smile kind. And both of them went on and on about how grateful they were to her for helping Quinn—not just with school, but with his peace of mind.

"You've brought such a light to him," Ellen had said, eyes crinkling. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Everlyn had smiled and said thank you, but the words clung to her like armor. A light. She didn't feel like a light lately. Not with everything going on at home. But maybe, just maybe, here... she could be.

She was still soaking it all in—memorizing the faces in the photos on the walls, the way the floor creaked in certain spots, the steady hum of a home that felt alive—when the front door opened again.

And in walked Jack Hughes.

He was fifteen then. Already taller than most of the guys at school, with dark, boyish hair that curled a little at the ends and those unmistakable Hughes eyes—sharp, expressive, like they could see straight through you if he wanted to. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, cheeks a bit flushed from biking home, and there was a faint scowl on his face until he rounded the corner and saw her.

Everlyn.

His brother's friend.

The one he wasn't expecting to look like that.

Jack froze for half a second, and it was only noticeable if you were really paying attention. His mouth opened just slightly, like he was about to say something and forgot the words. His eyes did a quick sweep—face, hair, eyes, outfit. And then he recovered, tossing on that signature smirk he wore like a badge.

"Hey," he said coolly. "You must be Everlyn."

She looked up from the couch, smile blooming. "And you must be Jack. I've heard a lot about you."

"Only the good stuff, I hope."

"That depends on your definition of 'good.'"

Quinn snorted from the kitchen, and Jack rolled his eyes. But his gaze didn't leave her. Something about her pulled at him—a softness behind her confidence, something that made his usual smoothness falter just a little.

And when she smiled at him—really smiled, all teeth and light—Jack Hughes, the confident, cocky middle brother, felt his heartbeat do something stupid.

Like skip.

He'd seen her before, sure. In the hallways at school. At volleyball games he'd gone to half-heartedly with Quinn, back when she was just a name he'd heard in passing. But seeing her now, in his home, on his couch, laughing with his brothers?

She wasn't just a name anymore.

And he didn't know it yet—but this girl, this friend of his brother's with the soft voice and the sharp mind, was about to change everything.

⸻

It was subtle at first.

A lingering glance here. A too-long laugh there. The way Jack's eyes would flick toward her in a crowded room, like his brain was hardwired to track her presence no matter what else was happening.

Jack Hughes had a crush.

A real one. The kind that made your chest tighten and your thoughts trip over themselves. But this wasn't just any girl. This was Everlyn Briar. The girl who tutored his older brother. The girl who had somehow woven herself into the fabric of the Hughes home like she'd always belonged there. The girl who showed up with a smile and stayed with a purpose.

And Jack—who usually had no trouble flirting, who could talk circles around most girls his age—suddenly found himself stammering or going completely silent anytime she looked at him for too long.

He hated it.

Well, no. He didn't hate her. God, no. He hated the situation.

Because she was Quinn's friend. His tutor. His person. And there were unspoken rules about that kind of thing—lines that brothers just didn't cross. So Jack kept it cool. He played the role of younger brother, occasional background comic relief, the charming but harmless kid who just so happened to stare a little too long when she wasn't looking.

But all of that restraint unraveled a little the night Quinn decided to throw a party.

Their parents were out of town for the weekend—a rare escape for Ellen and Jim to have a weekend to themselves—and Quinn, being a senior with a newly found sense of confidence and freedom, took full advantage.

The guest list was mostly hockey friends and volleyball players, a mix of athletes and classmates that made the house feel loud and alive by 9 p.m. Jack got the nod to invite some of his own people too, a gesture from Quinn that meant more than it seemed.

Jack wasn't exactly part of the "cool" senior crowd yet, but he could hold his own. And when he found out Everlyn would be there—of course she'd be there—he felt this strange mix of nerves and excitement hum beneath his skin all day.

He played it off well. Showed up in a backwards hat and his best hoodie, dapped up his friends, cracked jokes in the kitchen while snagging handfuls of chips. But all of it—every last bit—was background noise.

Because the second Everlyn walked through the door, it was like gravity shifted.

She was wearing a soft, oversized crewneck and jeans with a rip in the knee, nothing overly flashy or dramatic. Her hair was half up, half down, effortlessly undone, and she wore that familiar look of ease and lightheartedness that made her glow in every room.

Jack could barely breathe.

She looked beautiful. Not in the "done-up for a party" way, but in the "this is just who I am" way. She laughed with her whole body, tossing her head back when one of her friends made a joke, squealing when she missed her last cup in beer pong by a half inch. Every reaction was real—genuine, unfiltered, and full of life.

And Jack?

Jack was down bad.

He nursed a red solo cup and watched her from across the room, his gaze drifting back to her like a reflex. He tried to distract himself—mingled, played a game of flip cup, even tried talking to a girl from his grade who'd clearly been waiting for him to notice her. But none of it landed.

His attention was elsewhere. Always.

And then, at some point in the night—around 1:30 a.m., when the music had dipped into mellow territory and some people had already started crashing on couches—he realized he hadn't seen Everlyn in a while.

Like, a while.

It wasn't like her to just disappear without a word, especially not from a party like this. And something about that silence scratched at the back of his brain.

So Jack set his cup down and started looking.

He did a quick sweep of the main floor—kitchen, basement, backyard. Nothing. He passed by groups of people talking, laughing, someone snoring softly under a blanket on the recliner, but no sign of her. His steps grew quieter as he crept upstairs, the noise from below fading into a dull hum.

And that's when he found her.

The door to Luke's room was cracked slightly, soft light filtering out into the hallway. Jack pushed it open just enough to peek inside—and his heart stilled.

Everlyn was curled up on the far side of Luke's twin bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting gently across Luke's chest. The youngest Hughes was sound asleep, face relaxed in that vulnerable way only kids have when they're completely safe. A "Fast and the Furious" movie played quietly on the TV, Vin Diesel's voice barely audible over the low rumble of cars on screen.

Jack stood frozen in the doorway.

There she was. Not at the center of the party, not surrounded by friends or attention or lights—but here. With Luke. Tucked into a quiet room, keeping him company, protecting him in the smallest, softest way.

His throat tightened.

Behind him, he heard quiet footsteps and turned to find Quinn standing there, eyes a little glassy from a few drinks but still focused.

"She's been checking on him all night," Quinn said, voice low. "Kept sneaking upstairs just to make sure he was okay. I think he was a little overwhelmed with all the noise, and she didn't want him to feel left out. Ended up tucking him in about half an hour ago, I guess."

Jack didn't say anything at first. He just watched her for a moment longer, taking in the way her brow was slightly furrowed in sleep, how her fingers were still gently curled around the blanket like she didn't even realize she'd nodded off.

"She's got a big heart," Quinn added, clapping Jack softly on the back before heading downstairs again. "We're lucky to have her around."

Yeah, Jack thought, his pulse thudding. He really was.

Because in that moment, standing in the hallway with the light from Luke's room casting a soft glow over Everlyn's sleeping face, Jack Hughes fell just a little deeper into something he couldn't name.

It wasn't just the way she looked tonight. It was the way she was. The way she made herself small to protect others. The way she made herself present when no one else remembered to be.

The way she already cared for his family like it was her own.

And for Jack Hughes, there was nothing more important than family.

So yeah. His crush? It wasn't going anywhere.

Not now.

Not ever.

⸻

If Everlyn Briar had to make a list of the best days of her life, two moments would sit at the very top: Quinn's high school graduation, and the day he got drafted to the NHL.

Both days were drenched in joy, but for different reasons. Graduation felt like the end of a chapter, the beautiful culmination of everything they'd built together—study sessions, long nights, practice runs, pep talks in the hallway, inside jokes exchanged during fire drills. Draft day, though? That felt like the beginning of something. The launch of a dream.

And she was there for all of it.

She still remembered Quinn's graduation day like it was etched in sun. The weather was perfect—clear skies, a breeze just strong enough to ruffle the sea of navy blue gowns lined up in rows on the football field. Ellen was crying before the ceremony even started. Jim pretended not to be emotional, but she caught him wiping at his eyes with his sleeve more than once. Luke was the only one trying to play it cool, muttering about how boring the speeches were while secretly filming every second on his phone.

Everlyn sat with the Hughes family, sandwiched between Ellen and Luke, and beamed like it was her son crossing the stage. Her hands were sore from clapping, her cheeks aching from smiling, but she didn't care. Seeing Quinn walk across that stage, cap tilted slightly, grinning ear to ear as his name was called? That was her best friend. And she couldn't have been more proud.

That night, they went to prom together.

It wasn't romantic—not exactly. It was one of those things they'd decided months in advance, a casual promise made in between chemistry notes and late-night FaceTimes. But when the day came, and Everlyn stepped out of her car in a pastel yellow silk dress that caught the light like liquid sunshine, Jack had nearly dropped the bowl of cereal he was holding.

She was glowing. Absolutely glowing.

Quinn, to his credit, played it cool. He met her at the top of the driveway in a navy suit that matched her dress perfectly, his tie just slightly crooked, which she fixed with a teasing smile and a soft touch. Ellen took so many photos, shouting at them to get "just one more!" while Jim muttered something about missing the days when prom meant sitting on the couch with cartoons and juice boxes.

At prom, Everlyn and Quinn were the couple everyone pointed to—even if they weren't a couple at all. They danced to every song, even the slow ones. They laughed until their sides hurt, took blurry selfies, and snuck out early to get milkshakes at the diner down the street. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Quinn managed to snag a make-out session with a senior volleyball player (thanks to a little not-so-subtle wingwoman energy from Everlyn), and he spent the rest of the night grinning like he'd just scored the game-winning goal.

But the real crown jewel came a few weeks later: draft day.

Everlyn still remembered how tightly Quinn had gripped her hand that morning. They'd flown out west with the whole Hughes crew—Ellen, Jim, Jack, and Luke—and even though the energy was pure chaos, it felt like magic. The kind of day you knew would change everything.

The venue buzzed with anticipation. Reporters hovered like hawks, camera flashes strobing across the crowd. Families in tailored suits and perfectly curled hair. Players fiddling with their ties, bouncing their knees, checking their phones every five seconds.

But Quinn? He was steady. Calm. Like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Because he had.

And when Vancouver called his name—Quinn Hughes, selected seventh overall by the Vancouver Canucks—the room erupted. Ellen gasped. Jim clapped hard enough to sting. Jack yelled something indistinct, probably profane, over the roar of applause.

Everlyn?

She stood up so fast she knocked over her chair.

She threw her arms around him, and the hug they shared was the kind of thing you felt in your soul. Tight. Breathless. The kind of hug that said, we did it. That all the long nights and frustrations and growing pains were worth it. She buried her face in his shoulder and whispered, "I'm so proud of you," more times than she could count.

He hugged her back just as fiercely. "Couldn't have done it without you, Eve."

He meant it.

The hours that followed were a blur of interviews, handshakes, smiles, and congratulations. Quinn was passed around from one media outlet to the next, pulled into rooms with cameras and sponsors and flashbulbs. And in the swirl of it all, Everlyn found herself drifting toward the one person who felt just as out of place as she did.

Luke.

He was quieter than usual, maybe overwhelmed by the spotlight or just missing the familiarity of home. Either way, he stuck close to Everlyn's side, and she didn't mind one bit.

They wandered the venue together, sipping soda from plastic cups, taking photos with cardboard cutouts, watching the draft board update in real time. At one point, she let him lean his head on her shoulder, his hair slightly messy from his button-down shirt collar.

"You okay, bud?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Just... a lot."

She nodded. "I get it."

They didn't need to say much after that. Sometimes, comfort was just existing beside someone who didn't need you to explain how you were feeling. And Luke, in many ways, felt like the little brother she never had.

He'd called her "Evie" for the first time that day. Just once, slipping it in casually when she handed him a packet of Skittles from her purse.

It stuck.

And she didn't realize it then—but Jack had noticed.

He'd been across the room, getting a bottle of water, and he'd looked up just in time to see her crouched next to Luke, laughing at something he said. Her hand resting on his shoulder, eyes soft, her entire posture folded into care.

Jack hadn't said a word. Just watched.

And felt that same tight pull in his chest that had started months ago. The one that always showed up when she was near.

Because Everlyn wasn't just a part of their lives anymore.

She was their life.

And Jack Hughes was starting to wonder if he'd ever be able to untangle his heart from hers.

⸻

When Quinn left for Michigan, everything shifted.

It wasn't abrupt. More like the slow fade of background music when a scene ends. His absence was a quiet hum in the Hughes house, a space that felt too big without his voice filling it. His name was still spoken daily—on calls, in casual conversation, mentioned when Luke would repeat something funny his oldest brother used to say—but the energy had changed.

And with Quinn gone, so too was Everlyn's usual reason to be around.

She didn't disappear, not completely. Luke wouldn't let her. He texted her almost every day, sent her TikToks and memes, even guilt-tripped her with sad selfies captioned "you abandoned me" until she agreed to come by. Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons became their thing—quick visits that turned into full-day hangouts, movies on the couch, post-practice runs to the smoothie shop.

But it wasn't the same. Not like it used to be.

Until Jack had an idea.

Jack Hughes had always been the sharpest of the three brothers. His brain worked fast, calculated odds like a chess master on a sugar high. And when he realized Everlyn's visits were becoming fewer and farther between, he knew he had to do something.

So, naturally, he tanked a math exam.

Not completely—just enough to raise a few parental eyebrows. He followed it up with a lazy English quiz and a conveniently "forgotten" science worksheet. By the end of the week, Ellen was concerned, Luke was suspicious, and Jack was already plotting his next move.

"I think I need help," he told his mom with carefully rehearsed sincerity. "Like... tutoring help."

Ellen blinked. "You? You've had straight A's since third grade."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. "Maybe I peaked early."

Ellen didn't question it further. Within an hour, she was on the phone with Everlyn, practically begging her to step in.

And when she agreed? Jack almost jumped out of his seat in joy. Almost.

The first tutoring session was a masterclass in subtlety.

He showed up with his notebook wide open, pencil twirling between his fingers, and an expression that screamed I'm totally lost. Everlyn raised a brow the moment she saw his notes—color-coded, flawlessly organized, every assignment completed with precision.

"Okay, Einstein," she said, smirking as she slid into the chair across from him. "What exactly do you need help with?"

Jack scratched the back of his neck, doing his best impression of a sheepish student. "Literally everything."

But Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was Everlyn. She saw through him within the first ten minutes.

Especially when he started "accidentally" getting easy questions wrong, or pretending to mix up formulas he clearly had memorized. At one point, she gave him a pop quiz on vocabulary and he aced it in under a minute. His face turned the lightest shade of pink when she smiled at him afterward, tilting her head like she was onto something.

She never called him out.

Not once.

She just played along. Grinned when he fumbled a fake answer. Rolled her eyes when he exaggerated his confusion. And when the session ended, she leaned in with that same mischievous spark in her eyes and said, "By the way... we've got a home game Friday. You should come."

Jack blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her bag. "I'll save you a seat."

He went.

And he didn't stop going after that.

Watching her play was... something else. She was electric on the court. All 5'6 of her moving with fire and finesse, jumping higher than anyone expected, hitting balls with a precision that made the crowd gasp. Jack sat in the stands with Luke, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, trying to look nonchalant while fighting the urge to stand every time she scored.

She was fierce. Fearless. Unstoppable.

It did things to him.

After her games, she'd find him outside the gym, sweaty and glowing and absolutely radiant. Sometimes she'd toss him a teasing smile, asking, "Did I impress?" like she didn't already know the answer. And he'd say something dumb like, "You were okay," just to make her roll her eyes.

He loved when she rolled her eyes at him.

In return, she started showing up to his games. Sometimes she'd sit beside Luke, sometimes she'd bring one of her friends. Once, she even wore his NTDP jersey over her sweatshirt—completely nonchalant, like it meant nothing.

It meant everything. Seeing her in the stands with his name and number on her back sent shivers down his spine. 

Jack played like he had something to prove when she was in the crowd. Moved faster. Sharper. Pushed harder. His coaches noticed, his teammates noticed. He noticed.

And God, she was really starting to know his world too. She could match Trevor's chaotic energy beat for beat, holding her own against his wildest banter. Cole Caufield called her "the team MVP" after she roasted three of them during a team dinner. They adored her. Everyone adored her.

Jack wasn't even jealous. Just in awe.

He watched her laugh with his friends, toss popcorn at Luke, joke with his mom, and still somehow make time for him—quiet moments in the car, shared glances across the room, inside jokes exchanged through nothing but a look.

They were becoming close. Real friends.

And maybe that should've been enough.

But it wasn't.

Because somewhere between the tutoring sessions and the post-game fries, Jack's feelings had spiraled into something he couldn't hide anymore. Not from himself. Not from the way his stomach flipped when she touched his arm. Not from the way his pulse picked up when she said his name a little too softly.

He was falling for her. Fast.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Because she was leaving soon. Graduation was around the corner. College applications were already in, and she'd been talking about campuses in other states. Other coasts. Her life was about to expand in ways his couldn't touch yet.

And Jack?

He was just starting to feel like she saw him as more than Quinn's little brother.

So now, every laugh they shared felt a little too short. Every hug a little too brief. Every goodbye a little too heavy.

He knew the clock was ticking.

But God, if he could just freeze time for a little while longer... just a few more "tutoring"sessions, a few more late-night texts, a few more games where she wore his name on her back...

Maybe he could find the courage to tell her how he felt.

Before it was too late.

⸻

She was gone now.

Off chasing sunshine in California, trading small-town hallways for sprawling palm trees and crowded lecture halls. UCLA looked good on Everlyn—of course it did. Top volleyball program. Dream business school. A campus that buzzed with potential. It was everything she had worked for, everything she deserved.

But for Jack Hughes?

It felt like something had been hollowed out of him the moment she left.

He didn't say goodbye like he should have. Not really. He gave her one last hug, half-sincere, half-guarded, a little too quick. He told her to have fun. She promised to keep in touch. She didn't look back when she got in the car.

And then she was gone.

Jack tried to pretend it didn't affect him. He threw himself into hockey, training harder than ever in preparation for his draft year. He focused on speed, strength, footwork—anything to keep his mind off the ache that curled around his ribs every time he caught a glimpse of her old volleyball hoodie in the laundry room.

But autopilot only lasted so long.

Luke was quieter too. Less sunshine, more shadow. He didn't say it out loud, but Jack could feel it—Everlyn's absence hung in the Hughes house like a missing puzzle piece. Meals were quieter. Weekend movie nights didn't feel the same. Even Ellen had made a comment once, half-joking, "I miss our fourth child."

Jack missed her in ways he didn't have words for. Missed the way she used to steal fries off his plate. The way her laugh bounced down the stairs before she did. The way she made everything—everyone—feel lighter.

And then came Thanksgiving.

Quinn was coming home from Michigan. That was expected. The house had been buzzing with preparations all week—Ellen bustling through the kitchen, Jim dusting off the leaf for the dining room table, Luke threatening to eat the pie before it was even baked. Jack was looking forward to it, sure. But even the idea of a full Hughes reunion couldn't quite lift the haze that had settled in his chest since September.

Until the door opened.

And everything stopped.

It was Quinn standing there, his suitcase by his side, a trimmed beard on his jaw that made him look more like a man than a teenager. He grinned wide, stepping into the warmth of the house, pulling Luke into a one-armed hug.

But Jack barely registered his brother's return.

Because behind Quinn, suitcase in hand, stood Everlyn.

Her hair was longer now, sun-kissed and wavy in a way that only California could do. She wore an oversized hoodie with her school's logo on the sleeve and that same soft expression she always had when she was trying not to cry from happiness.

Time froze.

And then it crashed into motion.

Quinn stepped aside just in time for Everlyn to drop her bag and launch herself into Jack's arms.

"You're here," he whispered into her shoulder, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"Of course I'm here," she murmured back. "Where else would I be?"

She smelled like vanilla and travel and something achingly familiar. Jack didn't let himself hold her for more than a second too long—but God, did he want to.

Then came Luke, barreling down the stairs like he'd been summoned by fate itself. "EVE!"

She barely had time to turn before he was lifting her off the ground, arms wrapped tight around her waist.

"Missed you so much," he blurted, voice muffled against her hoodie. "You're not allowed to leave again. I'm serious. I'll hide your passport. I'll chain your suitcase to the water heater."

She laughed, and something in the house shifted back into place.

Home.

That's what she was. What she had always been.

Jack stood back and watched her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She still looked at him the same way—fond, soft, maybe a little amused. And he'd gotten better at hiding how her gaze lit a fire under his skin. Better at swallowing the lump that rose in his throat when she was near.

She knew, of course.

Of course she knew.

She was Everlyn Briar. Too observant. Too intuitive. She could solve calculus in her head and read body language like a second language. Jack's not-so-subtle stares. The way he hovered near her but never quite reached. The way he smiled too hard when she was around.

And Quinn? He knew too. Jack could feel it in the sideways glances, the way his older brother's smirk would twitch upward anytime Jack so much as offered to get Eve a drink.

But no one said anything.

Because Jack never said anything.

And maybe that's why nothing ever happened.

The weekend was a blur of traditions and warmth. They ran the annual turkey trot that morning—Jack and Luke sprinting ahead like maniacs, Everlyn laughing breathlessly as she tried to keep up. They came home to Ellen's legendary spread: turkey so tender it fell apart, stuffing soaked in butter, mashed potatoes Jack would defend with his life.

It was loud. It was chaotic. It was perfect.

And when the night wound down, it felt almost scripted.

Just like old times, Everlyn slipped upstairs after dessert, claiming she was "just checking on Luke." And just like always, no one questioned it. She found him curled up in bed with the newest Fast and Furious playing, already half-asleep.

She climbed in beside him without a second thought.

Jack found them later, lights dimmed, movie credits rolling. Luke snoring softly. Everlyn curled against him, one hand draped protectively over her like Luke was afraid she would disappear if he let go. 

It made his heart ache in ways he didn't know how to name.

Because for the first time in months, everyone was home.

Everyone.

And still, something about her felt impossibly far away.

⸻

Time had a strange way of looping in on itself.

One minute, she was cheering for Quinn on his draft day, wiping away tears in between interviews and snapshots, her dress wrinkled from hugging everyone in sight. And then—just like that—it was years later, and she was back in that familiar whirlwind. Only this time, it wasn't Quinn's name echoing through the arena.

It was Luke's.

She had promised herself she wouldn't cry. Really, she had. She made it halfway through the morning with dry eyes and a steady smile. But the second his name was called—Luke Hughes, drafted to the New Jersey Devils—it was over.

A mess. A disaster, honestly.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, breath catching in her throat, trying desperately not to smudge the mascara she'd put on with care. Josh Norris had leaned over halfway through the ceremony, gently tapping her shoulder with a tissue and whispering, "Don't worry, he's the last Hughes to be drafted so you won't have to do this all over again next year."

She laughed through her tears.

Because this moment—this—was sacred.

Luke was beaming next to his buzzing brothers up front, his hands shaking just slightly as he held up his new jersey. And her heart swelled with something fierce and maternal, the same way it had when he was thirteen and scared to come downstairs to a party, when she tucked him in during Fast & Furious marathons, when he looked at her like she hung the stars just for him.

He was grown now. Taller. Broader. More confident. He was mature. Luke Hughes was no longer the little boy she once met. 

He was a man now.

But he'd still held her hand before the draft started.

Still leaned into her shoulder when the nerves kicked in.

Still whispered, "I'm glad you're here," like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She had always been a safe space for him. And she always would be.

⸻

Jack had changed too.

Not overnight. Not all at once. But the slow kind of change that creeps in between seasons. Years had passed. His name had been called. His life had launched in ways most people only dreamed about.

And with every new city, every new headline, every new spotlight—he still thought about her.

They stayed in touch. Little messages. Summer meet-ups. Inside jokes exchanged over text. But distance made it easier to push those feelings away. He had flings, distractions, moments of temporary interest. He convinced himself it had passed.

That what he felt for her was just nostalgia.

Until she came back.

She graduated from UCLA in 2022—business degree, communications minor, a resumé that practically glittered. And then, in the kind of twist only the universe could write, she landed her first job in New Jersey. A start-up company. PR and account management. Fast-paced. Groundbreaking. Local.

Jack didn't find out until a week after she moved in.

He meant to message her first. He really did. But time slipped, and she was adjusting, and he didn't want to seem overeager.

Until she received a package at her new apartment. No note. No message. Just a red New Jersey Devils jersey—his jersey—and two tickets to their home opener.

He knew she'd understand.

And she did.

⸻

That night, she walked into the Prudential Center and it felt like the world had hit rewind. Only this time, the crowd was bigger. Louder. Older. And Jack? Jack wasn't a boy anymore.

He was Jack Hughes now.

Franchise face. Highlight reel superstar.

And the second she saw him skate out onto the ice, she felt her heart stop for a beat.

Because he wasn't the lanky, backwards-hat-wearing teenager who used to fake bad grades just to sit beside her. He was taller now. Broader. His movements were sharp, calculated. Every stride held purpose. The crowd roared and chanted his name when he touched the puck. He didn't just play hockey. He commanded it.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.

And he?

He felt her the second she stepped into the arena.

Didn't see her at first. But he felt her. Like gravity.

After the win, he found her in the tunnel. Same smile. Same soft eyes. But different now. Grown. Glowing.

"Hey, stranger," she said, tugging lightly at the jersey he'd sent.

He laughed, that same dopey grin breaking across his face. "Looks better on you."

They hugged—longer than they should have. He smelled like ice and sweat and home. And when they pulled back, something unspoken lingered in the air between them. A pause. A beat. Something that had never quite gone away.

They went out for drinks after, just the two of them. A quiet bar, warm lights, quiet music humming in the background. He looked different here too. Not just older—steadier. The way he carried himself, the way he ordered her drink without asking, the way he leaned back and watched her talk like he was cataloging every word.

He wasn't cocky. Just... sure of himself.

It was attractive. She wouldn't lie.

And Jack? Jack felt like he had been punched in the chest.

Because she was even more beautiful now. Effortlessly radiant. Still that same warmth, still that same grace. But there was something new too—something confident, something grown.

He kept staring at her. In the flicker of candlelight, with her hand curled around her glass and her lips curved in that same soft smile, Jack felt like he was sixteen all over again.

Breathless.

Totally wrecked.

Totally in love.

And it scared the hell out of him.

⸻

They made it a tradition—weekly coffee runs, dinner or drinks after games, late-night walks through the city. She fit into his world like she always had. Seamlessly.

She met the team. Jesper pulled her into a bear hug like they hadn't missed a day. Dawson was polite and immediately impressed. And Nico? Nico looked like he was about to make a move—until he caught Jack watching her.

Just one look.

That's all it took.

No one made a move after that. No one had to.

Because it was obvious.

She was Jack's girl.

Maybe not officially.

Maybe not yet.

But everyone knew.

Especially him.

⸻

It started the way it always did—with a ticket.

Every home game, like clockwork, Jack left two tickets for Everlyn at will call. No message. No pressure. Just a quiet gesture, a ritual of theirs that said you're welcome here. Always. And she'd used the first one nearly every time.

But the second?

She never had. Until now.

Jack's world tilted the second he saw her walk through the tunnel with someone else by her side.

He was tall. Blonde. Crisp linen shirt. One of those designer watches that practically screamed my dad plays golf with your CEO. The kind of guy you'd expect to see ordering a $19 martini and not blinking. His name was Jordan, and he shook Jack's hand with the kind of over-firm grip that tried too hard to say something.

Jack didn't flinch, but God, he wanted to.

Jordan asked questions like he was running an interview—"How's the ice this season? Do you ever get recognized on the street?"—and Jack answered through clenched teeth, polite but cold. He watched as Jordan rested a hand on Everlyn's back, too casual, too familiar. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Still, Jack put on the happy face.

Because that's what he did. He wasn't going to ruin anything for her—not now, not ever. She looked happy. And if that was real... well, then Jack could deal with it. He'd spent years pushing those feelings to the back of his mind. What was a few more months?

But it was a few more months.

And Jordan didn't go anywhere.

He became a fixture. At games. At dinners. Tagging along to post-game drinks, always ordering for the table like he knew what everyone wanted. Everlyn still made time for Jack, but it was different now. Tighter. More filtered. Coffee dates became his favorite part of the week—not because they were exciting, but because they were just her. No Jordan. No compromise.

Just them.

Just how he liked it.

⸻

The lake house in Michigan was supposed to be a sanctuary.

It always had been. A safe haven carved into the summers. A place where the Hughes brothers could take a breath, train hard, play harder, and be surrounded by the people who made the noise feel quiet.

It was Quinn's idea to bring everyone together that summer—an annual tradition, their own off-season camp that just so happened to include boats, beers, and more competitive tubing than anyone should legally survive.

The house buzzed with energy. Quinn had his old teammates in town—Josh and Dalton Norris, all heart and chaos. Luke brought his crew from Michigan—Dylan Duke, Mark Estapa, Ethan Edwards, each of them slipping seamlessly into the rhythm of the house. Jack, of course, had Trevor and Turcs, whose personalities were basically caffeine personified.

And Everlyn?

She brought Jordan.

The mood shifted the second they arrived. Jordan barely greeted anyone before making a beeline for the deck, muttering something about needing to "take it easy" after the drive. The Hughes boys watched Eve with subtle worry, noting the way her shoulders tensed, the way she scanned the room like she was looking for permission to be herself again.

They tried to bring her in. Quinn cracked a beer and started loading up the boat. Jack blasted a playlist of her favorite cheesy country songs. Luke ran to get the rope for tubing.

"Come on," Quinn called out, tossing her a life jacket with a grin. "Let's get out there."

She smiled—small, tight—but before she could step forward, Jordan touched her wrist.

"You don't have to go, babe. I was hoping we could chill here, have a drink or two. You've been talking about relaxing all week."

The way he said it wasn't cruel. Just expectant.

And Everlyn, as always, folded.

"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above the waves. "That sounds nice."

She took the jacket off. Handed it back to Quinn. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

The brothers all exchanged a look.

Jordan hadn't just dimmed her light—he was stomping it out, slowly.

⸻

Quinn didn't wait long.

As soon as Jordan disappeared back to Jersey, he pulled Everlyn aside. They slipped down the dock together, away from the buzz of the house and the music, until it was just the lapping of the water and the heaviness of unspoken words.

He didn't sugarcoat it.

"You're not okay," he said.

She froze. "Quinn..."

"You don't laugh the same. You don't light up the way you used to. I watched you talk yourself out of joining the boat like you were doing him a favor for existing."

She blinked hard. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not. He's not your partner, Eve. He's your leash."

That broke her.

Her lip trembled. She turned away for a second like she could hide it, but Quinn stepped forward, pulled her into a hug, and the truth spilled out like water over a dam.

It was like this in Jersey. Jordan always had a reason why she shouldn't go out. Why she should stay in. He didn't trust the hockey scene. Didn't like her independence. The lake house made him uncomfortable. Her made him uncomfortable.

Quinn listened, jaw clenched.

"You don't deserve this," he said firmly. "You never did. You're allowed to be loved out loud, Everlyn. Not hidden. Not controlled."

She cried. God, she cried.

But when she went to bed that night, her decision was already made.

⸻

The next morning, she called Jordan.

She ended it. Direct. No stalling. No soft exit.

He didn't take it well.

He accused her—accused her of having feelings for one of the Hughes boys. "It's always been one of them, hasn't it? I should've known the second you made me come to this dumb lake house."

He hung up before she could say anything back.

And it hurt. It did. She was human, after all.

But she walked out onto the dock not five minutes later, barefoot, hoodie over her bikini, and looked out at the water where Jack and Trevor were laughing on the boat. The sun was shining. The breeze was warm. Luke waved at her from the deck, and Quinn handed her a beer with a proud smirk.

She was home.

And this time, there was no one telling her she couldn't enjoy it.

⸻

Jack couldn't stand it anymore.

Everlyn was smiling again, sure—but not the way she used to. Her laugh was a little quieter, her jokes a little softer, like she was afraid to take up too much space. She still had that spark, but it flickered instead of burned, like someone had dimmed her and walked away.

And Jack? Jack wanted to reignite her.

So he made it his mission to bring her back to life—one small act at a time.

He started with breakfast.

She always loved pancakes. He remembered that. Waffles were fine, but pancakes? Pancakes made her eyes light up. So every morning, when someone inevitably asked what to make for the house, Jack was the first to say it:

"Pancakes. Definitely."

He'd sneak her the last piece of bacon when no one was looking, tucking it onto her plate with a smirk. He'd always save her a seat next to him. And when the kitchen got too loud or crowded, he'd silently pass her the syrup like it was their secret language.

He got up early now, before the sun even stretched across the lake, because he knew she liked her morning runs. He'd tie his shoes and jog beside her, matching her pace, letting her pick the music. They didn't talk much—didn't need to. Just ran side by side, feet hitting the dirt road in quiet rhythm, breaths syncing up like clockwork.

He volunteered for errands now too. Grocery runs. Beer pick-ups. Ice refills.

"I'll go," he'd say casually. "Eve, wanna come?"

She always did.

They'd play music too loud in the car. Race to find the weirdest flavor of chips in the store. Argue over the right ratio of peanut butter to chocolate. He'd lean into her cart, throw in random things just to make her laugh. Her smile was starting to come back, slowly, piece by piece.

And Jack? Jack was falling all over again.

⸻

The fire crackled as the night crept in.

They'd spent all day out on the boat—tubing, flipping off docks, laughing until their stomachs hurt. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, everyone was sun-drenched, half-tipsy, and high on that unbeatable summer haze.

So naturally, they circled the fire pit.

Everyone gathered on the chairs or sprawled out on blankets, drinks in hand, cheeks still flushed from the sun. The playlist was low in the background, country twang giving way to soft indie beats. Someone tossed another log onto the fire, and the stories began.

First came the classics—Quinn's worst playoff beard attempts, Trevor's infamous grocery store prank, Jack's rookie year mishaps. Then came Luke's awkward high school phase, complete with dramatic reenactments of him failing to talk to girls at school dances.

Luke rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Yeah? Well you did the exact same thing when you first met Eve."

Everyone paused.

"You couldn't even sit next to her at dinner for months," Luke went on, completely unbothered. "Because you had such a massive crush on her."

Jack felt the color drain from his face, then immediately return with a vengeance.

The fire masked most of it, but the way his ears burned gave him away.

"OHHHH," Turc and Zegras chorused at the same time. "NO WAY."

Jack laughed a little too hard, trying to brush it off. "That's such a lie, Luke. C'mon."

But then Eve turned toward him, eyes soft, a smile creeping onto her lips. She looked at Quinn first—he gave a knowing nod—and then gently placed her hand on Jack's back.

"It's okay, Jack," she said sweetly. "I thought it was cute. But you were really bad at hiding it."

Dead. He was dead.

"You knew?" Jack asked, face frozen in panic.

"Of course I knew," she said with a small laugh. "I've always known."

And as if that wasn't enough to end him entirely, Ellen strolled out of the house with a tray of cookies and chimed in with perfect timing:

"Oh, Jack. Everyone knew."

The chorus of "OOOOHHHHH!" exploded around the fire.

Trevor nearly fell off his chair. Quinn tossed a marshmallow at Jack's head. Luke looked smug as hell. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering something about never showing his face again.

It was harmless. All in good fun.

But the second the teasing died down and the yawns started, people began peeling off into bedrooms, one by one. The lake grew quieter, the fire dimming to embers.

And Jack stayed behind.

⸻

He sat there alone, elbows on knees, head tilted back to watch the stars. The air was still warm, but the night felt heavy in a way that pressed on his chest.

She knew. This whole time. He'd spent years hiding feelings he thought would ruin everything—only to find out that she'd seen them from the start.

And she hadn't run. She hadn't pushed him away.

She thought it was cute.

"God," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm such an idiot."

Then came the soft sound of feet on grass.

A blanket settled across his shoulders. A familiar head rested gently against his own.

He looked down and saw her—Everlyn, curled into his side, wrapped in the same blanket, her cheek against his shoulder. Barefaced, makeup long gone, hoodie pulled over her knees.

"Don't worry about it, Jacky," she whispered. "I thought it was adorable. I thought you were adorable."

His heart flat-out stopped.

She thought he was cute too.

He blinked, eyes wide, trying to process what those words meant. What this meant. Her voice was low and sleepy, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in it.

She hadn't said it to tease him. She meant it.

Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, letting her warmth melt into his side. She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just sighed and settled in.

His hand rested at the small of her back, thumb brushing the fabric of her hoodie. His heart was racing.

She always took care of them—of everyone. Always made sure Luke had what he needed, that Quinn had someone to ground him, that Jack didn't feel invisible. She was the glue, the safety net, the one who never let herself fall until she knew they were all okay.

And the thought that she had spent so long dimming herself for someone who couldn't see her? Who wouldn't see her?

It made Jack's jaw clench.

He'd been there. Right there. And he hadn't stepped in. Hadn't spoken up. He'd let her walk through that alone because he was too scared of what it would mean for him.

Never again.

Not after this.

⸻

Things had found their rhythm again.

Back in Jersey, back in their bubble, back in that comfortable hum of familiarity that made every day feel like a deep breath. But this time, there was something more. Something better.

Because now Luke was here too.

Everlyn had 2 out of 3 Hughes boys back under one roof, and it was like someone had finally returned the missing pieces of her soul. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been until her days were filled again—trips to the rink, late-night Mario Kart tournaments, homemade pasta nights where Jack burned the garlic bread and Luke put entirely too much cheese in the sauce.

It was chaos. It was home.

They shared a three-bedroom apartment in Hoboken with a view of the skyline and a couch that had seen more naps than conversations. When they signed the lease, Luke had casually mentioned the third room being for "hockey gear or guests," but they all knew the truth.

That room was hers.

She didn't officially live there. Not on paper. But she might as well have. Her stuff was in the drawers. Her favorite cereal was on the shelf. Her slippers were by the door. Half her wardrobe was draped across the back of the desk chair. She came and went freely, sometimes staying a night, sometimes staying a week, no one ever asking when she'd be back—because they already knew.

That room would always be waiting.

It was one of the few places in the world where she never had to ask if she belonged.

⸻

One night, she was actually home in her own apartment—a rare occurrence, considering how often she found herself curled up on the Hughes' couch with a blanket and a mug of something warm. She had just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in her comfiest robe, hair twisted up in a towel, when her phone rang.

Quinn.

It started with the usual—how was your day, did you eat, how's the new campaign going, tell Luke to call his mother. But somewhere between casual updates and light teasing, the conversation shifted. Deepened. As it always did with Quinn, eventually.

"I've been thinking about... Jordan," she admitted quietly, eyes focused on the ceiling.

Quinn didn't interrupt. Just waited.

"I just—I feel stupid," she said. "I let him control so much. I let him talk me out of things I loved. I let him make me feel small. And I knew better. I always knew better."

"Evie."

His voice was soft. Steady.

"You're not stupid. You're human. And you left. That's the hard part. You did it."

She swallowed. "It still makes me feel like I lost a year of myself."

"You didn't lose it," he said. "You reclaimed it. One day at a time."

There was a long silence.

Then, like it was nothing at all, Quinn added: "It was nice of Jack to make you smiling his top priority this summer."

Her heart paused.

She sat up a little straighter, eyebrows tugging together. "What?"

"Jack," Quinn repeated. "It was nice of him. To make sure you smiled again."

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her thoughts were caught in a whirl—memories of pancakes, early morning runs, gas station trips, firelight laughter. The way Jack always showed up in exactly the way she needed.

Quinn continued, voice low and casual.

"He's a nice guy."

Everlyn narrowed her eyes. "I know that, Quinn. I grew up with him."

"No," Quinn said, and this time, his voice had a different weight to it. A quiet emphasis.

"I mean... he's nice."

She stilled.

It was such a simple word. But the way he said it—the subtle dip in tone, the almost affectionate cadence—shifted the meaning entirely.

It wasn't just about kindness. It was about care. The kind of nice that went deeper than polite gestures and well-mannered smiles. It was the kind that showed up when you needed it. The kind that held space without asking for anything in return.

Jack was nice.

He was thoughtful in a way most people weren't. Protective without being possessive. Gentle in a way that made you feel safe. He was the kind of man who made sure everyone else had what they needed before taking anything for himself. He remembered your favorite things and brought them home without saying a word. He loved quietly—but completely.

And suddenly, it hit her:

Jack had always been like that.

With her.

She hung up the call shortly after, claiming she was tired. But sleep never came easy that night.

She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, Quinn's words echoing like ripples in her chest.

He's nice.

Jack, who always made sure her coffee was right.

Jack, who checked her tires when it snowed.

Jack, who gave her space when she needed it, and warmth when she didn't know she did.

Jack, who never stopped showing up.

She turned her head, looking at the empty side of her bed.

And she thought: Am I crazy?

Was she insane for even considering it? For letting her thoughts wander into dangerous territory? For entertaining the possibility that maybe—just maybe—the boy she'd grown up with, the one who had waited and waited without ever saying it out loud, could be the one she was supposed to see all along?

She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow to her chest, eyes heavy with questions.

What if she ruined it?

What if she broke the family that saved her?

And worse... what if he didn't feel the same anymore?

What if she had waited too long?

⸻

The annual charity gala had always been part of the routine.

One of those must-attend events on the Devils' calendar. Glitz, glam, donors, handshakes, perfectly staged photo ops—and beneath all that, a chance to raise money for good causes. Jack had done a few now. Eve had come with him to the last one, and the arrangement had always been easy. Casual. Fun.

This year? Different.

She could feel it. In her chest. In her stomach. In the way she stood a little too long in front of the mirror trying to decide between earrings. It had started subtly—just a thought, a whisper of a feeling—but after that conversation with Quinn, it was like a switch had flipped.

She was aware now. Hyper-aware. Of how Jack looked at her. Of how he always waited for her to walk through the door first. Of how he always held her things, brought her snacks, fixed her laces when she wore shoes with ties. Things he'd always done... but things that now screamed louder.

He was nice. But not just that. Not anymore.

He was steady. Thoughtful. Quietly romantic in ways that weren't about flowers or fanfare—but about presence. Constant, unwavering presence.

And for the first time, she wondered what it meant that he never expected anything in return.

⸻

They were supposed to go as a trio—her, Jack, and Luke. But then Luke had the audacity to fall in love and get himself a girlfriend, leaving Everlyn to go solo with Jack. She'd teased him about it for a full week, but truthfully... it made her nervous.

This wasn't just another event. Not this time.

The lead-up felt different. More intimate. Jack had taken her shopping, trailing behind her in boutiques, giving honest feedback with that same crooked grin. He didn't complain once, even when she tried on twelve different dresses and only narrowed it down to two. He just watched. Waited. Carried her purse and snacks and made sure she didn't talk herself out of something she loved.

They picked her gown together.

A maroon silk number that hugged her curves and dipped just low enough to be elegant without being too much. It made her skin glow. It made his mouth go dry.

She said yes to it when he whispered, "That's the one," with a look in his eyes that stayed with her all night.

⸻

The day of the gala, Everlyn turned their shared space into her own personal glam studio. She spread her makeup across the bathroom counter, curled her hair in sections, and took deep, grounding breaths every few minutes to keep from spiraling into full-on nerves.

It didn't help that Jack was being Jack.

Bringing her little snacks every hour like clockwork.

A granola bar. A handful of grapes. A pack of those crackers she loved from the bodega.

He kept her water bottle full, placing it within reach like it was part of the process. "Drink," he'd remind her with a little tap on the shoulder. "No dehydration meltdowns today."

She couldn't help but smile at him. He was in sweats and a hoodie, hair tousled, lounging on the couch while she transformed herself into someone worthy of red carpets.

She didn't know it, but Jack was suffering.

He kept stealing glances through the half-open door, catching flashes of her bare shoulders, the soft shape of her face under golden bathroom light. She was already stunning, and she wasn't even done yet.

When she finally stepped out—hair swept into a soft updo, makeup glowing, maroon gown clinging in all the right places—Jack stopped breathing.

No exaggeration.

She walked into the living room and time froze.

Luke was the first to recover, standing up with a big smile. "Whoa. You look incredible, Eve."

She smiled, smoothing her dress down nervously. "Thanks, Lukey."

Jack?

He was just standing there, mouth slightly open, staring like he'd never seen a woman before.

Because he hadn't. Not like this.

This wasn't just Everlyn, his best friend, the girl who made pancakes and knew how he liked his coffee. This was Everlyn, the woman. Powerful. Elegant. Ethereal.

Maroon and gold and glowing from the inside out.

He stepped forward slowly, all black tux hugging him perfectly—hair freshly cut and styled, thanks to her insistence, and now gelled into something polished but still him.

"You..." he finally managed, voice rough. "You look unreal."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, the noise of the apartment fading into silence.

"I had help," she said softly, nodding toward him. "You picked the dress, remember?"

"Still," he murmured. "Doesn't feel real."

And the way he looked at her then?

It was reverent.

Not hungry. Not lustful. Just... soft. In awe.

Like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And maybe she was.

⸻

The gala started the same as every other year.

Bright lights. Sparkling gowns. Clinking glasses. Jack and Everlyn moved through the crowd like they always had—effortlessly side by side. He guided her gently through the sea of donors and sponsors, a hand resting on the small of her back like he'd always belonged there.

But this time... that simple touch felt different.

It was warm. Steady. Firm in a way that made her feel held—not just escorted. Not just shown off.

Protected.

And Everlyn couldn't stop thinking about it.

Jack chatted easily, charming everyone as usual, but her body was attuned to him. The whisper of his palm. The careful way he shifted her gently toward conversations. The pride in his voice when he introduced her as his date—even if it was unspoken, unofficial.

She didn't say anything. Couldn't.

Because every time she looked at him tonight, all she could hear was Quinn's voice in her head.

He's nice.

Not just nice. Jack Hughes nice. The kind of nice that meant pancakes in the morning and water bottles filled without asking. The kind that stood beside you silently until you were ready to speak.

And right now, he was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time—even though he'd always seen her.

⸻

The DJ opened the floor for slow dances, and Jack didn't hesitate.

He turned to her with a soft, crooked smile. "Come on."

They'd danced together before. Plenty of times. It had never meant anything before. But now? As they found their spot on the dance floor, facing each other, hands tentatively finding their place—it meant everything.

The music hummed low, a soft melody that wrapped around them like a secret. Her hand slipped into his, the other resting on his shoulder. Jack's free arm slid around her waist with quiet confidence.

And then... stillness.

They were swaying. They were dancing. But all Jack could focus on was the way Everlyn was looking at him.

Intensely. Softly. Like she was searching for something and finding it in his face.

He studied her—tried to decode it. Her eyes were locked on his like she couldn't look away. And for the first time in all the years he'd known her, he realized she was finally seeing him back.

"What's on your mind, Evie?" he asked, voice just above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

She just kept looking at him. Drinking him in. Her mind was running wild—flashing through every moment that had led them here.

The shy dinners when he couldn't look her in the eye. The fake bad grades. The way he always showed up. Every summer spent putting her first. Every little thing she'd brushed off as "just Jack being Jack."

But now she understood.

He'd been in love with her this whole time.

And she'd missed it.

She swallowed, breath hitching. "You," she said softly.

Jack blinked. "Me?"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

He stared, stunned. Heart leaping. Breath catching. He scanned her face again and again, like he needed confirmation that this was real—that she was real.

And then it hit him.

The look in her eyes.

The one he'd been wearing for years.

She had it now. That open, unfiltered, aching gaze that he used to hide behind smirks and excuses. She was seeing him—really, truly seeing him—and God, it made his chest burn.

The song ended, but Jack didn't hear the music stop. The room disappeared. His grip on her hand tightened as the MC's voice faded into the background.

They returned to their table, but Jack couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe.

He was spinning.

Eve sat beside him, her hand resting on top of his. It wasn't new. Not really. But tonight, it was loaded. Charged. Different.

Jack needed air.

⸻

He slipped out without a word and found himself on the rooftop.

The city stretched beneath him, lights flickering, the hum of cars far below. He paced, hand tugging at the collar of his tux, heart pounding out of rhythm.

He was scared. Not of her—but of hope.

Because this was everything he wanted.

And that's when he heard it.

The door opened with a soft click.

He turned—and there she was.

Glistening in moonlight. Her maroon gown catching the breeze. Her updo slightly loosened from the night. Her eyes... locked on his.

They didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The air between them was thick with unsaid things. It wasn't silence. It was a conversation without words. A thousand unspoken truths floating between them like stars.

Jack looked at her like she held the answers to questions he hadn't dared ask. And Everlyn looked at him like she finally, finally understood what was right in front of her.

And then—they ran.

No hesitation. No overthinking. Just gravity.

They met in the middle. Arms around each other. Breathless. Shaking.

Their foreheads pressed together. Their hands clung tight.

"Jack..." she whispered, barely breathing.

He closed his eyes, voice cracking. "I know, Everlyn... I know."

And then—he kissed her.

Years of waiting, of wondering, of almosts and maybes—gone.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't polished. But it was everything. His hands clung to her waist like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks like she was memorizing the feel of him.

The city roared beneath them.

But up there, on that rooftop, it was silent.

Just two hearts, finally meeting in the middle.

Just two souls, saying what words never could.

⸻

It had been over a year since that night on the rooftop.

Since the city went quiet, and Everlyn stopped running, and Jack finally stopped waiting.

Since the moment their hearts collided in the most certain kind of way—the kind that didn't need promises made with words, because it was all written in the way they looked at each other.

Since then, nothing had been the same.

And yet—everything felt like home.

Every morning, Jack woke up with that same quiet awe he'd had since he was fifteen. The way she hummed while brushing her teeth. The way she'd press her forehead to his before leaving for work. The way she poured her love into everything around her without hesitation or fear.

Every day, he fell harder. Every day, he chose her again.

And Everlyn? She felt like she'd finally exhaled.

Jack Hughes was steady. Warm. Deeply kind in the ways no one else got to see. And he loved her in a way that didn't demand attention—but deserved every bit of it. There was no show, no need for validation. Just him. Quietly hers.

They had made a life together. Not flashy. Not perfect. But theirs.

⸻

It was summer again.

Which meant one thing: the Hughes Lake House was alive.

It was tradition at this point. Offseason hit, and the boys flocked to Michigan like it was a pilgrimage. Quinn was already there, helping Ellen prep bedrooms. Luke had brought a handful of friends from around the league—Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith had become the wide-eyed younger brothers of the group overnight. The Tkachuk brothers had showed up in full chaos mode. And Jack had pulled together the old NTDP gang, making it feel like high school and the NHL were blending into one summer-long sleepover.

The lake house was laughter. Inside jokes. The smell of sunscreen and grilled food and dock water. The soundtrack was country music, clinking beers, and the occasional "WHO let Matthew drive the boat?!"

For the rookies, it was a dream. For the veterans, it was therapy.

And for Everlyn?

It was heaven.

She had her hands full—braiding wet hair, making sure no one left without sunscreen, yelling across the dock to make sure Macklin and Will weren't about to snap their necks trying new wakeboard tricks.

She was the same Eve she'd always been—loving and giving, with open arms and no limit to the space in her heart. She even tucked the rookies in like she had done for Luke all those years ago. Whispering reminders in the dark like,

"You don't have to lose who you are to belong here." "If you can't be yourself with someone, that's not someone worth staying for."

Words she'd once needed herself.

⸻

Jack stood at the door that night, watching her speak to Macklin and Will.

She was seated cross-legged on the living room floor, her maroon hoodie slipping off one shoulder, still in her swimsuit from earlier. Her voice was soft. Reassuring. Patient.

Jack felt his chest ache.

Because God, he loved her.

More than he'd ever loved anything in his life.

She was light. She was grace. And somehow—she was his.

⸻

He found Quinn on the back deck not long after. The moonlight danced across the lake in silver ripples. The sound of crickets filled the quiet. Jack stepped beside him, hands in his pockets, heart full.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Until Jack broke the silence.

"She's... she's really..."

"I know," Quinn interrupted, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I know, Jack."

He turned toward him, eyes warm. "I'm so happy for you two. I always knew. But seeing it? It's different. It's real."

Jack laughed softly, almost shy.

"I have it picked out, you know..."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

Jack looked down. Kicked the toe of his shoe against the deck.

"The ring. I got it. Not for now. I want to wait a little longer, but... I just know. She's it. She's always been it. And I got it early as a promise. A vow. For when I'm ready. For when she's ready."

Quinn just stared at him. Then stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't long. Wasn't loud.

But it was everything.

Two brothers, standing under a sky they grew up beneath, holding the future in their arms.

Inside, Eve stood in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. She looked around at the house filled with laughter, light, and people she loved.

And her eyes found Jack through the window.

He was looking back at her.

And somehow, she knew.

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Batfamily Shenanigans

This week's fic rec post is dedicated to the Batfamily just BEING a family. The snark, the annoying nagging, the overprotectiveness, etc. I feel like we don't get to see the Batfamily together and friendly nearly enough. Some of these would fit in the comics, some are more Wayne Family Adventures coded, and some are full on AU. Enjoy!

The Fic Fairy Friday Masterpost

Code Bat by Listentothelittlebird

Summary:

Within Gotham, the Bats are a tight-knit group - family - that runs like clockwork. Outside of Gotham, none of their teammates know they’re related. This series explores the shenanigans that the Bats get up to, as well as how this distinction would affect canon.

Momo's Notes: This one is a series rather than a single fic and I love it so much. When Dick first decides he wants to break away from Batman's shadow Bruce agrees to keep their affiliation with each other secret, with one caveat. If either of them call a 'code bat' the other drops everything immediately and comes to help. As they add on to the family the secrets they're keeping from their non-Gotham friends and teammates piles up but it serves to keep the younger, less trained members of the family safe from the older heroes' enemies so they keep it going, each new family member agreeing to the Code Bat protocol when outside of Gotham, complete with entirely different hero names and costumes. It's interesting seeing a Justice League, Titans, Outsiders, Outlaws, and Young Justice that has no idea the Batfamily even a thing even as certain team members sometimes act super shifty when dealing with other teams or after getting a sudden, secret message.

I'm not a villain, I swear! by CoyoteFang1987

Summary:

Tim wakes up in a world in which Batman doesn't exist. And by consequence, the Robins never became heroes. Dick is a Talon, Jason is Red Hood (a villain), and Damian is a League of Assassins assassin. And Tim apparently is a hero called Draken, who, frankly, sucks at being a hero. And in this weird alternate reality, something big is brewing and Batman isn't here to keep the Justice League from tearing itself apart. Tim is really really done with everything. Dick, Jason, and Damian aren't helping. Tim really really hates magic as well.

Momo's Notes: Tim, Dick, Jason, and Damian all wake up in a world where Batman doesn't exist, Bruce Wayne might be the new Lex Luthor, and 3/4 of the Batfam appear to be villains working for various organizations. There's a lot of fun shenanigans going on in this one and all four brothers have good relationships with each other so we get to see them being effortlessly badass together. The Dick/Wally in this is also adorable.

You, Me, and the Humanity in Between by JUBE514

Summary:

Bruce doesn’t know what’s wrong with his child, but he’s pretty sure kids aren’t meant to work like this. From the day he had looked up into the tops of the circus tent and saw a frightened mirror image of a boy who had just experienced the worst day of his life, Bruce had instantly gone into emergency mode. The Gotham PD had wanted to pass the boy off into the care of the circus. The circus had mumbled underneath their breaths about superstitions, about not having a boy like that with them, about not being able to handle something like Dick. So GCPD, not knowing what to do, had started talking about one of the handful of overburdened boy homes that handles a majority of Gotham’s unlucky orphans. All the while, the camera lights flash bright and loud, wanting to know everything. Bruce couldn’t let that happen. Not then, not ever again.

Momo's Notes: This is one of the most unique cryptid AUs I think I've ever read. Bruce's only human child in this is Damian and the variety of magical creature the older 3 batbros are is really neat. The way their abilities and nature interact with each other is also really sweet. For anyone who's a sucker for good dad Bruce, this one is sure to make you happy.

Keep Losing Sleep by incogneat_oh

Summary:

“When’d you last sleep?” Jay asks, curious. “Eleven years ago,” Tim says, at the same time as Dick says, “Tuesday.”

Momo's Notes: In a family as traumatized as this, it makes sense that more than one of them would have trouble sleeping. This is super short but a lovely little glance into the family just being there for each other when sleep won't come.

Brightly Colored Adhesive Papers by LuminaStarCrest

Summary:

Tim liked to show people that he loves them by leaving around sticky notes. Or, 5 times Tim left sticky notes for others to find, and 1 time he found sticky notes that he didn’t write

Momo's Notes: Another one that's short but sweet! My favorite part in this is probably the pure sass between Tim and Jason but Tim doing his emotional support Robin thing and making Bruce get some damn sleep is a close second lol

Cannonball by SunnyBlue

Summary:

Why is it always Tim that disappears? If it was any of the rest of them, it would be a lot less concerning. It’s not like Tim can’t hold his own in a fight — he’s a Bat, after all — but the kid has a tendency to form the craziest plans out of all of them, which often ends up putting him in the craziest situations. When Tim goes missing, it usually means he’s in some deep shit, and Tim in deep shit means Jason scrambling every time. Without fail. This fucking kid. Tim is missing and his brothers track him down and bring him home. Also everybody loves each other and isn't so incredibly emotionally constipated because I just want them to be happy and because I'm the author and I said so.

Momo's Notes: I kinda love Jason's pov in friendly Batfam fics. This one is Jason and Dick terrified and furious as they rush to Tim's rescue with bonus points for the quick bit of Tim and Damian bonding the author added.

Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514

Summary:

So, it didn’t start out like this. Alfred would scoff at the statement, about how Bruce was trying to justify the whole situation to himself. It had started out as a simple design, black everything with black outlines and black hood. It got a little more intense as the world went on, got wind of his ghost on the streets, and became scared of The Bat . So Bruce got a little more creative with it, Alfred and him had a good laugh over the name, the scare, and Alfred had a vicious streak of humor that he had passed onto his ward- So now the suit had a visible bat-theme, an insignia to drape in the shadows and to paint across the streets of Gotham. It only took a year into the whole charade of heroism for Bruce to overhear a conversation between some goons- some low level thug hired by the Riddler this week- about nothing at all pertaining to what the hell the Riddler was doing in the sewers but instead: “ The Batman can fly, you know, I’ve seen his wings.” -- A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.

Momo's Notes: This is another fun AU with lots of Batfamily bonding and badassery. Bruce makes his cape wing shaped to further scare the hell out of Gotham criminals but it's little baby Dickie, freshly adopted and traumatized, who convinces him to make them actual capable of flight. The Batfam never claimed to be metas but the rest of the world, especially the Justice League, decided that's what they were anyway. It came in clutch tho. The main pairing in this is SuperBat and they are freaking adorable.

The Waynes, Damsels in Distress by hitthedeck

Summary:

Roses are red, violets are blue, Bruce Wayne and his kids get kidnapped every other week. Some things are just universal, undeniable facts of life.Or, in which Bruce Wayne is still Batman and his kids are still Robins, but they keep letting themselves get kidnapped because they think it's funny.

Momo's Notes: People forget that Bruce Wayne raised Dick Grayson to be how he is and the two of them share the same warped sense of humor that let them shout puns while beating up criminals and put "Bat" in front of freaking EVERYTHING with a straight face. This fic is just the Batfam fucking with the JLA for their own sick amusement. I love them.

Here's a Reminder (That You Haven't Fallen Through the Cracks) by popsunner

Summary:

If it’s a salesperson, he’ll shove them a hundred dollar tip and tell them to go away, if it’s some religious do gooder, he’ll direct them to Metropolis. If it’s a Rogue, he’ll tell them he’s busy and to please get in the fucking line. If it’s one of his siblings-- “Hey, Tim!” Dick says brightly, forearm braced against the doorframe. Dammit.

Momo's Notes: Finally a fic that gives Cass and Duke some love! This is a short one where Tim's siblings drive him up the wall out of love and concern for their workaholic weirdo brother. The snark and sass is flowing freely and the JLA's best detective/spies are being about as subtle as a brick to the head lol.

To Rescue a Bat by Blueseabird2

Summary:

Batman gets into a situation during an alien invasion and could use a rescue. Unfortunately, Dick and Jason don't think the Justice League is up for the task. At all. So Dick lets the League know that he will be handling the situation and to expect Batman back by the end of the night. He even promises that he won't be going alone. No one should stand in the way of a Batfamily rescue, even if the Justice League doesn't know there's a Batfamily at all.

Momo's Notes: I love the closeness Dick and Jason share in this one. Jason and Dick are two older brothers who both struggle with the towering rage simmering just below the surface at all times and in this fic they've come to lean on each other for support. When most of the JLA's leadership is captured and the ransom video shows Bruce to be on borrowed time Dick decides it's time to let that anger loose a little and Jason is ready to back him up (with attitude of course, but still). With their fellow Batfamily members (both official and honorary) right beside them they decide it's the perfect time to reveal their affiliation with Batman to save their dad. Bruce is SO fucking proud.

Monolith by CharlesWaterloo

Summary:

Diana realised with a jolt that none of them had actually asked him how he knew Batman. And she was just as curious as the rest of them about the “we”. It implied Batman worked with more people. ‘How did you come to know Batman? Does he have any other friends?’ His mouth fell open, and he snorted, which evolved into full-out laughter. ‘I’m sorry. Oh my god - friends?’ Diana felt a little hurt on Batman’s behalf. ‘Are you not his friend?' He shook his head. ‘Did B really not say anything? I’m hurt. No, I’m not his friend. I’m his son.’ (An AU where the Justice League haven't met any of Bruce's kids.)

Momo's Notes: The Justice League isn't aware of Batman's identity or that he's a father. When Dick needs to sub in for Bruce at a JL meeting, though, and he realizes this? Cue the sibling shenanigans! Bonus points for Duke, Cass, and Steph getting some attention and praise in this one!

Batman/men? by Bumpkin

Summary:

Batman wasn’t a founding member of the Justice League, and isn’t known for playing well with other heroes. But he does end up joining, and he does try to get along while still keeping his secrets close. It’s a delicate balancing act. Then comes a mission that requires Batman to be the lynchpin for their success. Except there’s a problem with the execution of the plan, Batman would have to be in several places at once. He’s confident he can do it. The Justice League, for lack of any alternatives, can only go along and in the process learn more about their reclusive teammate.

Momo's Notes: Another fic that's short but fun where the Justice League isn't aware of the Batfam's existence and it's entirely in non-Batfam povs over the course of an important mission where Batman seemingly needs to be in several places at once and… succeeds? Easily?

[minart-was-taken]

The wild references to Finland in Honkai Star Rail

Hello, in this post I'm going to go over the various references to Finland in Honkai Star Rail (Also touching a little on HI3) and explaining them the best I can so that non-finns can understand how hilariously delightful they are.

_

Starting with a funny one: Welt Yang.

The man is canonically 1/2 finnish, 1/4th chinese and 1/4th german according to sources I dont understand.

The way this is represented in Honkai Star Rail comes in one intentional form and one that may be an accident but I love it anyway:

1.

Welt's given name is Joachim Nokianvirtanen, a name that is utterly hilarious to a finn like me. Why? Well Nokianvirtanen is not a surname anyone here would ever have. Virtanen is a real surname, but for some reason Mihoyo decided slap Nokia in the front of it??

The name translates to "Nokia's rapids." Which adds to the funniness because yes Nokia is an actual place in Finland and not just the brand, but it is also very much the brand.

(Also Joachim is not a finnish name even if many finns are christian.)

This is the equivalant of naming an american character Jesus McDonaldslake.

2.

Welt's hair colour! A lot of people imagine blond and blue eyes when imagining a finn, but that's not actually accurate to the statistics. The most common hair colour here is in fact "Maantien harmaa." Translating to country road grey. Sometimes they leave out the word grey or replace it with blond. The colour is known as dirty blond or pale brown in english speaking countries 👍 This is less funny and just a cute detail.

_

Secondly we'll be going over Sampo Koski, a man many know to have a very finnish name.

BUT FIRST Fun backround info: I didn't know Sampo was in this game when I first started playing, so when he showed up and suddenly dropped finnish words at me I was utterly jumpscared.

Finland is very rarely referenced in media outside of our country, so most of us are NOT used to hearing anything about our home in media.

Furthermore there's actually a meme about this very thing that everyone in the country knows: Torilla Tavataan. This translates to "Lets meet at the marketplace" which is referring to the idea that when something massively cool happens we should gather together and celebrate.

The finns REALLY want to be acknowledged by the wider world lol

Anyway back to Sampo. His name is actually something I could totally see a real finn having, although his first name is a little out there.

Sampo is an item from finnish* mythology that was forged by a super capable smith with the help of his whole village. The item is golden with multiple spouts that produce valuable things like flour, gold and I believe... salt? You can find more about the item online.

Koski meanwhile means a river rapid. Uhm, lotsa water themed names here, huh!

Nothing that funny going on with his references to be honest. I can even say the voice actor did an amazing job pronouncing his name correctly.

_

Yunli's companion quest!

This is the newest batch of references I've ran into, but if I or anyone else finds more I'll be updating this list :]

In Yunli's companion quest we meet... Paavo. His name is Paavo--

This NPC introduces himself as a traveler from far away who's come to deliver a sword from his homeland back to the Xianzhou where it was originally forged. Here's why he made me giggle uncontrollably every moment he was on screen.

1.

Paavo is considered kind of a joke name, very comparable to naming someone Bob in america. The way NPC's referred to him sounded like "Mr. Bob" to me. It was so funny

2.

He is from the PLANET KALEVALA?? SAFlJ LJ ???

Kalevala is the national epic of Finland* and tells stories such as the one of Sampo's creation. The title does refer to setting of the story, but it is still weird to hear it as a name of a planet lol.

3.

Our food is really repetitive u right Mr. Paavo

4.

Paavo explains the sword he has come to deliver is called Miekka Kivessä. This is the finnish translations of "The sword in the stone." he proceeds to then explain the legend of the sword in the stone, which. It's not a finnish legend. We've never had a king, yet alone chosen them with a sword-- Not even in myths. Kalevala's highest ranking guy in the mortal realm is Väinämöinen who's an old wise man.

Also he says Miekka Kivessä wrong but that's to be expected, very funny, and also I admire the effort to at least try and make it sound natural.

5.

Finally, he later reveals his last name-- Which, why are we refering to him as Mr. Paavo if he has a last name...? Oh well! Mr. Paavo's last name is Kalastaja, which translates to Fisher. This is not a real last name in Finland. The english equivalent of this man's goddang name would be something like Mr. Bob Employee.

_

Since you've made it this far I assume you won't mind me rambling a bit more. I'm personally psyched to see Finland mentioned in non-finnish media and love the wonky but genuine attempts to include us!

I think considering how many weebs there are in Finland who've come up with illogical "Asian names" to sound cool online, it's only fair we got the same treatment back :P I hope they'll keep delivering and I'd love to visit planet Kalevala one day.

_

*It's worth noting Finland is a colonizer of the Sami people, and a lot of their culture has been annexed without any care or respect towards them.

Finland was also under colonialism itself for hundreds of years, and our myths have been largely lost to time with only some information left. It's super difficult to tell what is finnish mythology and whats the Sami people's mythology.

That's a fact that's deeply important to remember when discussing things like this, and I hope that the people reading this consider looking into how to help the indigenous people of the nordic region. Thank you.

[twistedpink]

hey i had a thought. not a request just a thought

you ever think about whats sorts of obscure/unorthodox fetishes some of the twst boys have?

actually doesn't even need to be a fetish, do you think they have highly specific things they like in people? like, the shape of someone's ankles/cankles, the way someone sticks their pinky out when they hold something, but this only happens with one of their hands, or like...big earlobes or something. VERY WEIRDLY SPECIFIC INNOCUOUS TRAITS THATS MY POINT

i think jade would like big earlobes on someone actually...for biting and nibbling. stretched lobes and gauges are probably really attractive to him too, by that logic.

trey of course has his teeth thing.

ooh! i had the thought i think ace would like someone with some crooked teeth. especially like a little snaggle-tooth. like maybe it's not all their teeth that are crooked but this one specific one that's either shaped different or like sticks out or covers another. i think he'd think it was funny but oh so cute and would work really hard to make his crush/partner smile and laugh with their teeth showing so he can admire it more.

those are some of my thoughts

OOHHHH just some things the guys like!! I need more people to send things in like this lols

Cater really really REALLY likes getting handmade gifts. ESP for his birthday because with all the kids in his house, it���s not prioritized at home and he cries HARD when you put effort into celebrating him. Also likes imagining getting your skincare/lipgloss alll over him post kiss

Leona’s guilty pleasure is pet names. But only in the “into my friend - I’d rather die than admit it” stage,, Call him pookie/babe/boyfie in a joking tone and he’s folding despite being stonefaced. Giggles and kicks his feet for hours when he’s alone.. Unironically likes anklets a normal amount

UGGGHHHH FLOYD LOVESSSS YOUR STINK. In a fun and silly way Ofc,, He’s sooo weird actually. He wants to keep you in a jar. Totally the type of bf to sniff you hard enough that your looser skin gets suctioned up into his nose/mouth and he just. Won’t stop. (FREAK 🤯)

I do fear that Kalim’s obsessedddd if you have big ears/they aren’t flush against your skull. Gets the fattest kick out of blowing on them or kissing your temples a little too enthusiastically to watch you squirm at the noise,, + Buys all your jewellery and likes to plot your stacks for the day

Epel likes play fighting in public an irrational amount.. Asks you to slap his ass so he can yell at you. Organizes fights in ikea. Vil is PRAYING on your downfall and he’s never been happier. Thinks the whole winter ensemble of hat + scarf + five jackets is soooo cutesy and squishable

IDIA IS INTO THOSE LESBIAN JORTS. He thinks seeing your knees is like a gift from god and dreams of stealing them. But if he’s wearing them then you aren’t, and his knees are significantly less sexy so he’s holding back. For now. (This is a threat)

Silver starts shaking and sweating and throwing up (affectionately) when he sees u you have eczema/KP(?)/scars/freckles. It’s so so soooo human of you and he loves you for it- other than scales, fae skin texture doesn’t vary and is always baby smooth. He was FASCINATED when he got acne for the first time and loves getting to relate to you on some level

[alastor-simp]

Alastor X Reader - Dressing Up As Him

"Hum hum hum~♫" Alastor was walking around the hotel lobby, humming a tune to himself as his eyes scanned all of the inhabitants at the hotel. Charlie and Vaggie were putting up more banners and decor in the lobby, Nifty was sweeping, and Husk and Angel Dust were at the bar. Alastor kept looking around to spot you, but he had no luck. Heading over to the bar, he leaned over the counter, smiling his signature grin. "Ah, Husker my good friend! Having a good day?" Alastor said, as he gazed at the grumpy cat, wiping a glass with a towel. "F*** off." said Husk, as he glared at Alastor, not wanting to deal with him. "Hey smiles~ Looking sexy as always." said Angel Dust, as he leaned back slightly on the bar stool, winking at Alastor. "Please refrain from flirting with me Angel.” Alastor said, extending his mic towards Angel, trying to move him away. "Ah your no fun." said Angel as he pushed Alastor's mic away from, and crossed his arms, placing them on the bar stand. "Anywho! Have any of you seen y/n? I didn't happen to see them in the lobby." Husk just shrugged his shoulders, as he didn't really know where you were, but he also answered quickly as he just wanted Alastor to leave. Angel dust was nice enough to answer as he told Alastor that he had heard you, rummaging around your room along with music playing in the background. He was gonna bother you, wondering what was happening, but he decided not to, and left you alone. "Thank you Angel! I will go find them now!” said Alastor as he walked away from the bar, missing the wave from Angel and the middle-finger from Husk.

Heading towards your room, Alastor was hoping that you were alright. Before, Alastor didn't really care much about you when he first met you as he though of you as another simpleton staying at the hotel, but after talking and hanging out with you a few times, he slowly started to care about you as he found you to be a rather sweet soul that wasn't common to see in Hell, with the exception of Charlie. Of course, he would hide that from the others as he had a reputation to uphold as being "the radio demon", so the less the people knew he had a kind heart, the better. Arriving at your door, Alastor knocked a significant beat, calling out your name, hoping for an answer. He could hear what sounded like electric swing playing in your room, but no response from you. He wanted to barge in, but he thought that would be rude so he continued to knock until you answered.

Standing in front of the mirror, you were eyeing yourself to make sure everything was set in place, and your outfit was fitted perfectly to yourself. You were wearing a striped red coat on top of a red dress shirt with a black bow tie that matched with the dress pants and black shoes, along with the outfit, you had on a red wig with a deer ear headband on top of it. Yes, you were wearing Alastors exact outfit. You really loved Alastors look, and you actually wanted to cosplay as him, but you would never tell Alastor that, as you didn't want to weird him out if he had caught you wearing his outfit, thinking you were some type of creep. You did remember that Alastor was very close to the overlord, Rosie, who owned the big emporium, so you had confided with her if she could help with your cosplay idea. Rosie was very surprised, but found your efforts cute and she actually was able to connect you with the tailor that designed a lot of Alastors clothing. It took a while, but you were able to get the whole outfit from the tailor, and you couldn't be more excited and happy to try it out. You had everything fitted to a T, but the only thing missing was the microphone, but you could think of an idea for that later. Staring at your reflection, you stretched your mouth into a wide smile, trying to match Alastor. The smile looked great, but holding that smile all day was going to be very difficult as your cheeks started to ache. Sighing, you turned away from the mirror and headed towards the radio to turn the music down. As the music died down, the thumping beat from the door, alerted your prescence: "Yes, who is it?", you called out. "Hello, Its me, darling. Are you well? I noticed you were not with the others in the lobby, so I decided to pay you a visit!” Oh No! Alastor was here, in front of your room. You couldn't bear for him to see you, wearing his outfit. "Um, I'm okay. Just tiding a bit, don't worry." You lied, as you were hoping Al would head back to the lobby. "Ah, I see! Well you wouldn't mind if I come inside, do you? I would very much like to have a nice chat.", Alastor said, as he continued to stand at the door on the other side. Oh Satan, he was not planning on leaving. Panicking, you run towards the door, unlocking it, to signify to Al it was open, before running towards your bathroom, closing the door.

Entering inside Y/N room, Al looked around your room, but didn't spot you anywhere. "Darling? Where are you?," Alastor called out, as he made his way further into your room, standing with his hands behind his back. "I'm in the bathroom, Al. Just washing up a bit. You can sit on the bed and we can chat from here." He had heard you call out. Arching his eyebrow, Alastor found it a bit strange, but he didn't question anything further, and made his way over to the bed, and sat down. As he gazed around the room, Alastor happened to spot something on the floor. As he gazed closer, he recognized it was a bow tie that was similar to his. Reaching out and picking it up, he eyed it and questioned to himself why this was in your room. "Darling?" "Yes, Al?," you said behind the door. "I found a bow tie that is similar to mine in your room. Do you know why this is here?"

Panicking, you looked down and saw that the bow tie was no longer on your shirt. "Sh**!", you whispered to yourself, as you tried to come up with another lie to tell Alastor. "M-maybe you left it here by accident." you said, mad at yourself that you stuttered. "I would happen to remember losing something like this the last time I visited you." Alastor said, as he kept eyeing the bow tie, turning it around to eye it. You stood on the other side of the door, realizing that he didn't buy it. "T-hen umm-", you froze, stuck on what to say next. Alastor noticed your change in tone, getting up from the couch and making his way towards the bathroom door. "Darling~, is there something you are not telling me perhaps?", Alastor said, smirking to himself, as he stood in front of the bathroom door. "N-no.", you said, as you heard voice more clearly now. "Then why do I sense such nervousness in your voice?", he said, as he continued to stand in front of the door, inching closer to hear you. "I-I." Stuttering, you couldn't think of another thing to say as Alastor figured out you were acting odd. "Darling~, What are you hiding? Come on out.," Al sang behind the door, as his smile got wider, enjoying the situation you were in. "OKAY! ok. I'll come out, but could you back away from the door a bit and also close your eyes please?", you said, letting Al know you were ready to come out. Al raised an eyebrow that you wanted him to close his eyes, but he said nothing, as he walk backwards, and shut his eyes.

Opening the door, you saw Alastor standing in the middle of your room, hands folded behind his back, eyes shut, and his signature grin on his face. Standing a few feet from him, you told him to open his eyes, while you cast your eyes down to the ground. Alastor opened his eyes, and he was put back for a second as he saw you dressed to the nines in what look to be his clothes. Everything you were wearing was matching him, and the only thing that was missing was his mic staff and the bow tie, that he was holding in his hand. Looking up, you noticed Al's face was stunned, but he was still smiling. "Before you say anything, just know that I'm wearing this for cosplay reasons. I'm not a freak and these were custom-made for me, they are not from your room, I swear." you blabbed all of this out, twiddling with your fingers, and looking back down towards the floor. Silence filled the room, after you were done talking. You were afraid to look back at Al, as you were expecting to see radio dials in his eyes.

"HAHAHAHAHA! My my, how dapper you look, darling!” Alastor laughed out, along with his mic that started playing a laugh track. Looking back at him, you weren't expecting a reaction like this from him. "Y-your not upset?" you questioned Al, as you continued to twiddle your fingers. "Upset? Why no, darling! Is that why you were hiding from me? Cause you figured I would be upset?" said Alastor, as he tilted his head at you. "Well, I didn't want to disturb you if you saw me wearing your outfit." "Well, I must admit I was surprised, but I am not upset. But I do have to ask, why are you dressed up like me?", he said, as he approached you, red glowing eyes staring at you, and his award winning smile on his face. Sighing, you explained to Alastor that you really enjoyed his look and outfit, so you wanted to cosplay as him. Alastor smiled softly at you, and hooked his finger under your chin, raising your head to look at him. "You are quite adorable aren't you, my dear." he said, as he then let your chin go, and began tying the bow tie back onto you, finishing it quickly and taking a step back. "There we go, dear! All set! Now we just need a smile! Come on dear, smile!" Alastor said, as he leaned closer towards your face, smiling wide. Blushing, you looked away for a second before giving Al a smile as big as his. "Perfect! I must say you make a good me!” Alastor said, as he placed his hand on your head, giving it a rub. "Thanks Al." you said, as you blushed and looked down again. "Now, since you want to be like me, we could engage in some carnage in the city! Imagine, the radio demon and his doppelgänger causing mayhem to the denizens of the Pride ring! Quite a premise!" said Alastor, extending his hand out like he was giving a performance in a play. "Um, sorry, but no thanks. I know we are in hell and all, but I'm still not use to all the violence and carnage yet." You said, as you looked at Alastor shyly. "Aw, don't be such a wet blanket , my dear." Alastor said, as he looked at you again, still smiling, but his ears were dropped down, signifying that he was a little sad. "Sorry , Alastor. Maybe we could do something else instead, like head to a cafe or go to one of Mimzy's shows?", you said. "Hmmm. Fair enough." Alastor said, as his ears perked up after he heard you say that. Hooking your arm in his, he pulled you next to him, as he raised his fingers up, ready to use his powers to teleport: "Lets go, my dear! I feel like this is going to be very entertaining!”

[keferon]

Trailbreaker runs a DnD campaign for the group home and everyone plays a goddamn warforged and uses their transformer name. Trailbreaker and Soundwave decide they can make the whole situation less scary by telling the younger boys to pretend to be their OCs. It works a little but also you've got Three 14 year olds arguing over whether Trailbreaker's name should be Trailbreaker or Trailcutter because he's the DM and didn't technically have a character to "play"

Ravage is obviously their ~mystic guide~ whom they must safetly ferry across dangerous waters.

(Soundwave and Trailbreaker are keeping these kids calm and together by the skin of their goddamn teeth. Shockwave showing up and being interesting enough to distract the younger kids and also kind enough to protect all of them is a gift from God)

I have the distinct image in my head of Trailbreaker and Soundwave under one wing of Shockwave watching with pure exhaustion and relief as the rest of the kids FINALLY go to sleep under the other wing. Because it's been a Rough Few Days. Trailbreaker just bursting into tears while Soundwave hides his face in Ravages damp fluff.

DAMN You remember that post about the black kitten found in a box with even smaller kittens?? That goes like “Imagine you're so small and cold and scared but there's smaller ones that are smaller and colder and more scared.”

This is them.

Soundwave and Trailbreaker would fucking collapse in relief when they realise that the weird fish man they found is not only wants to help but also knows his way around all those fucked up sea monsters that were hunting them. Because. Haha. I feel like if merfolks can go on the ground then at least some of the sea monsters should also be able to do that.

Also it would be really fitting if the kids were calling each other those made-up-for-a-game names. A bunch of 13year olds would literally do that. Even without the apocalypse haha

Bonus points if Soundwave is really suspicious of Shockwave at first because “the fish guy probably just thinks it’s fun to play with little humans.” And also because they all have very fucked up past experience with adults and their number one rule of survival is basically “trust no one but each other”.

[starlight-45]

Dating Bllk boys in school! (Part 1)

Featuring: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira and Rin Itoshi (Part 2 with Hyoma Chigiri, Reo Mikage and Seishiro Nagi)

A/n: don't know where this shit is set. It has their current personalities and still in blue lock. Maybe taking a break from it and go to school for a change. I don't know, okay? (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Masterlist here!

~ISAGI YOICHI~

• Yoichi, eh? One of the rare ones who still managed to retain his sanity off field good work-life balance bro.

• Jokes aside, of course he has gotten more confident and takes no bullshit now. A bit oblivious to the popularity he has though, but is given reminders every now and then by the students.

• But aside from that, he is still the sweetheart just like before. So humble and down to earth. Husband material.

• Is a bit shy when it comes to holding hands in the hallways, or anywhere you guys are seen by other students. It ain't like he is scared of anything or anyone.

• Yoichi is simply concerned that you are uncomfortable, and people don't annoy you behind his back. It's very endearing when he tries to explain it. he is just sweet like that 😭

• If anyone does annoy or hits on you, he will curse them and their entire bloodline with the most insane slurs.

• Not in front of you though. Yoichi doesn't want you to stop having that pretty smile of yours, especially because of him.

• While he definitely is a bit reluctant to show affection in the campus for the reasons given above, please don't refrain yourself to do the same.

• Absolutely LOVES when you kiss his cheek or hold his arm where everyone can see you guys! Good. He needs to give those idiots less attention and more on you.

• However, if you are shy/feeling shy at that moment to do anything, Isagi is just internally screaming how cute you are.

• Yoichi definitely yaps about his day to you on the way back to school, about how boring his classes were, about his classmates, etc.

• When he realises he spoke for like 20 minutes without even a second break and has the cutest blush on his face because he got embarrassed about it.

• Apologises right away with that same cute blush and smile, and you're like just looking at him calmly while internally saying "Alright. He's the one. I'm marrying this idiot."

• Is it that obvious that I find this idiot to be the cutest? But again, who doesn't?

• Oh by the way, his academics haven't improved a bit after going to blue lock, in fact they have gotten worse.

• So definitely invites you over to help him with schoolwork as an excuse to spend time with you. Despite grades being useless as hell for him.

• Isagi is truly guilty about it, he really is, but he focuses on how your thighs look in that mini-skirt than your teachings of trigonometry.

• Is good at projects though, with all the research and presentation work. He really doesn't care about his project submission dates but definetly helps you out with deadlines.

• Again, definitely an excuse to spend more time with you! Also no matter what he does he is still freaking useless in revisions for test. 😂

• Also, surprisingly doesn't really make an effort to make new friends in school, just hanging out with you and your circle sometimes.

• He already got soccer, family and you, what else can a man want???

~MEGURU BACHIRA~

• Bachira was initially very hesitant to go back to school, even for a short time. He finally had some friends at Blue lock who understand his passion for the game and he didn't wanna be alone again.

• However his mother convinced him to get a change of environment, and you were there in that school too so he agreed.

• Bachira has also changed a lot since blue lock, now no longer caring people finding him weird and especially so after being with you.

• Now he's more focused on having fun and spending time with you! Yay!

• Definitely waves to you and calls your name like an excited kid from the window of your class when he is going out for PE in the 4th period everyday.

• He doesn't care if there is the strict mathematics teacher or the gossipy students, Bachira does it anyway. Whereas you just wave back, embarrassed.

• Literally this has become a running joke in your class that in 4th period a golden retriever will be there outside the window, even your teachers can't stop their giggling every time he does it!

• Is shameless with PDA, he doesn't care the discipline head in on the round, he can and will hold your hand and kiss you all over in the hallways.

• And you internally curse yourself that you love this golden retriever way too much to actually make him stop doing this you love it secretly too.

• Please keep an eye on him whenever you can because he's very prone to getting into physical fights (doesn't do it too much though. He doesn't wanna get suspended and miss your pretty face).

• However he will go above and beyond if you ask him to beat someone up, maybe a bit too much.

• "Ugh that guy was so rude to me, who does he think he is-?"

"Should I beat that idiot into last week?!"

"MEGURU NO-"

• Whenever you try to teach him concepts of mathematics and science, is asking the most stupid questions. (*someone yells at the author* "There's no such thing as a stupid question!") Okay, okay his questions are....creative.

• "If a right angle triangle is 90°, then is a left angle triangle -90°?"

"Why did I even-"

• This little menance doesn't even do it 'cause he wants to annoy you. He does it because it is his geunine doubts. Which somehow makes it even worse.

• He also doesn't get shy from asking these stupid creative questions in front of the teacher as well. Maybe that's why he spends more time outside the classroom than inside lol

• Even though he doesn't care about others and is a loveable ball of sunshine, he also has his off days.

• Days where he is unsure of himself and the mean comments the other students make behind his back get to him.

• And of course you being the amazing person you are, do everything in your to make him feel better about himself!

• Meguru is your darling, he should never feel bad about being himself! Words truly can't describe how much he is grateful for your efforts.

~RIN ITOSHI~

• Absolutely didn't want to go back to school if it wasn't already obvious. Rin doesn't need a fucking change of environment. He absolutely breathes and lives soccer.

• Not a single second of his life goes when he doesn't want to crush Isagi and his brother and he can't get distracted and absolutely no one can convince him otherwise-

• Except for you. It was pretty easy actually. All it took was a bit of whining, some doe eyes and voilà he was in your school for a few months.

• Doesn't know or care about any of the subjects which are though in this education center. Too lukewarm, he says. Maybe expect for PE, art or english but that's about it.

• Please save him from those stupid calligraphy classes. Please. He'll die of boredom and his hands will fall off. his words not mine

• Instantly becomes popular between everyone, by the way, and why wouldn't he be? Good lucks, talented, and ambitious. However, the other students don't exist for him. He only has his eyes for you and you only :D

• "Haha...you sure catch many eyes huh?"

"I don't care. They spend their time admiring someone for their surface level attributes and are content in that shit. Lukewarm."

• You definitely try to use the excuse of helping him study to spend time with him, but you know he doesn't do anything other than soccer and sometimes English.

• Like. When you call him...

"Hey, can I come over to help you with your assignments, I'm done with mine so-"

"Seriously? Do you think I care about that? If you wanna actually have something exciting then come."

• Ironically helps you study English though, emphasizing on why it's important and all.

• This guy is strict as hell though. Won't let you leave the table until you have solved the comprehension with all correct answers.

• Doesn't care about showing affection in front of everyone, he will do whatever he feels at the moment. Always holds your hand and kisses the top of your head sometimes while doing so.

• Which has you kicking your feet in air, all giggling and happy inside, and while on the outside you're shy as hell.

• Though Rin says he doesn't care and he really doesn't care about other subjects, he still manges to get a decent score! Not a straight A+ or anything but still like a B.

• His ability to comprehend and calculate is pretty good naturally, which is an achievement for someone who doesn't even know how the front cover of the books in the curriculum.

• On chilly days, Rin wordlessly gives you his jacket without a word he doesn't trust you enough to remember getting one.

• Would be sooo offended if you happen to pass by him during school hours and don't wave or acknowledge him. Yes he is aware he doesn't do it either but that's different okay?!

• Would act extra grumpy and aloof, which is unfortunately for him more cute than indimidating.

• Don't fun of him okay? Rin thought you loved him, and here you are not even acknowledgeding his existence you just didn't notice him as you were with a friend.

• Don't worry though, he's back to normal after a hug, few kisses and assuring words in your soothing voice :)

[afterglowsainz]

fresh out the slammer | max verstappen

summary: after you broke up with your boyfriend, you join your friends for a night out in monaco and decide it's a good idea to invite max

warnings: fluff, mentions of breakups, drinking

word count: 1.8k

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of a situationship with max

it’s been one month since you and your ex-boyfriend of one year broke up. you couldn’t say you were heartbroken because you really weren’t, like most men do at some points in their lives, he was disappointing you long before you broke up with him, so in a way, you mourn your relationship while you were still in it. now you just felt a bit lonelier than before, but you had definitely moved on.

on a saturday night, you had a few friends over to your monaco apartment for dinner and a very well deserved gossip session. you told them all about your breakup with your most recent boyfriend and how you were feeling almost too good.

“guys, what if we go out?” one of your best friends suggests. “a friend of mine is having a party at this club downtown and is supposed to be this very exclusive thing.” you thought about it for a few seconds after agreeing. it has been a while since you went out with your friends, especially in monaco where everything can happen. you got ready in less than ten minutes since you already were put together and joined your friends in the car on your way to the club. 

during the quick ride you check your instagram and saw that your friend max posted a story. you and max have had this weird relationship for years, were you’re both really close friends who’ve also liked each other forever, but none of you had actually made a move on each other (except for that one time, but you’ve never talked about it). you clicked on his profile picture and the story popped up, a picture of him and his friends playing fifa on his couch. you smiled and liked the photo, putting your phone away.

once you got to the club your friend led you all to the entrance and when she gave her name to the bouncer they let you all in. the place was completely packed, but she took you all to a place on the top that was a bit less full and looked more like that exclusive event your friend was talking about. soon enough, alcohol was running through your system and your body was moving along with the blasting music at the club when a thought almost made you stop on your tracks. you looked for your best friend all over the place and ran over to her when you saw her near the bar.

“hey.” you call out loudly over the music.

“hey.” she smiled at you. “having fun?” she asks and you nod.

“can i tell you this idea i just had?” she takes a sip from her drink and nods. “would it be a good idea if i invited max?” her eyes widen with surprise and gives you a knowing smile.

“max like max verstappen?” she asks. “like your max?” you nod again, this time more euphorically.

“yes, my max.” you took a sip of your drink and cleared your throat. “he’s in monaco, so why not? the worst that can happen is he says no.” you shrug, like the idea of him not wanting to see you didn’t kill you a bit inside.

“go for it!” she exclaims. “absolutely, yes, invite him over.”

you smiled and headed over to the balcony, relieved to feel the cold air of the monaco night hit your skin, cooling you down. you took out your phone and hover over max’s contact for a moment, wondering if you should text or call first. you decided to call since that would be much more immediate. you listen to the phone ringing for a few moments and when you thought it would send you to voicemail, you heard max’s familiar voice.

“hello.” he answers.

“heyyy.” you greet him with a smile that he couldn’t see.

“y/n.” he calls your name with happiness. “how are you?”

“i’m good, how are you?” you ask. “what are you up to?”

“oh, i’m good, yeah.” he says. “just hanging out with some friends. you?”

“i’m in monaco.” you say looking at the stars. “actually, i’m at this club, i was wondering if you wanted to come? you can bring your friends, my friends are here too.”

you waited for him to answer so long you thought the line had dropped.

“what club are you in?” you gave him the name and heard some loud voices in the background. “okay, we’ll be there in twenty.”

you smiled at the sky and bit your lip.

“okay.” you answered and finished the call.

when you got back inside you met your friends again and let them know that max was coming with his friends. twenty minutes later, you were still dancing in the middle of the place when someone tapped your shoulder with tenderness. when you turned around you saw those blue eyes that you loved staring back at you.

“hello, you.” you smiled at him and he returned it.

“long time no see.” he said, giving you a small kiss on the cheek. you felt yourself flustered and were grateful that the place was mostly dark with a few colored lights.

“you should’ve told me when you got here, i would’ve gone outside to get you.” you frowned, ignoring the blush on your face.

“i wanted it to be a surprise.” he defends himself. 

“it can’t be a surprise if i invited you.” you fought back and he placed his arm around your shoulders.

“you know what i mean.” he clicked his tongue, teasing you.

you spent the next hour dancing, drinking and talking with max. it was like the world around you had disappeared and it was only the two of you left in that club. when you took a quick break from dancing he got close to you and whispered in your ear.

“do you want to go outside?” he asks. you felt yourself blush again but nodded.

he was about to guide you to the balcony but you redirected him to the exit of the club. you stopped briefly to let your friend know that you were leaving with max for a moment so she wouldn’t worry and she just winked at you. you took his hand so you wouldn’t lose him while walking through all the people at the club and once you were outside you dropped his hand, even though you didn’t really wanted to, but the last thing you wanted was to make it uncomfortable for him.

“you wanna take a walk?” he asks while taking his jacket and putting it around your shoulders.

you nod and smile at him, grateful for his jacket. you both start walking along the streets, talking about nothing in particular until he makes the question you knew he wanted to ask all night.

“how’s it going with your boyfriend?” he doesn’t look at you while asking, no matter how much you wanted him to do so.

“we broke up.” you answer dryly.

“oh.” he finally looks at your face for any hint of sadness, but there is none. you’re not sad about it.

“how’s it going with your girlfriend?” you ask now, remembering the gorgeous redhead he was dating a few months ago.

it was on one of those few occasions both of you were in monaco at the same time. you were leaving from café de paris with your best friend and you crossed him at the entrance, next to him was one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen, holding his hand. you remembered she introduced herself as his girlfriend and your heart skipped a beat at the word, even though you had no right to feel anything like that since you had a boyfriend yourself. you said your goodbyes and he did too and that was the last time you saw him.

“what was her name again?” you asked. “i can’t remember.”

“we broke up.” max ignored your last question, answering the first one you asked instead.

“oh.” you frowned, sad for him for whatever reason. maybe it was the alcohol in you bringing out all the emotions. “what happened?”

“it just didn’t work out.” he answers simply, giving you a reassuring smile.

“when did you break up?” you knew you were a bit out of line meddling into his relationship. especially when he didn’t ask you these types of questions about your own breakup, but you couldn’t help it.

“a few months ago.” he said, completely unfazed by your curiosity. “actually, it was the day you met her.”

“at the café de paris?” you questioned with surprise and he nodded. “why would you break up with your girlfriend there? it’s such a lovely place.”

he wanted to laugh at your remark, but bit his lip instead.

“i saw you.” he whispered and you felt like all the air was leaving your lungs.

“you broke up with your girlfriend because you saw me?” you ask incredulously and he nods again. “why would you do that?”

“why do you think, y/n?”

he holds your eyes for a few seconds until you turn your head and continue walking. you didn’t answer him and he didn’t say anything else, his words hanging in the air while you got wrapped into a comfortable silence. you were trying to process his train of thought while also processing yours. could his words have such an impact on you? did he feel about you the same way you’ve always felt about him? would he want to try something with you? with each question you asked in your head, you felt yourself leaning more and more into max until the back of your hands brushed each other while walking. he felt so familiar in so many ways.

before you could realize it, you were both outside of your apartment building. did you really walk this much?

“well.” he said, breaking the silence. “i guess this is where i leave you.” he pointed with his chin at the building.

you looked at him for a few seconds, your mind racing ten thousand miles per hour.

“you could stay.” you whisper.

max looked at you, a sparkle in his eyes you knew too well.

“you’re drunk.” he murmured, just like you had. you shook your head and got closer to him, touching the collar of his shirt gently.

“just as much as you.” you were so close you could see every speck of color in his eyes. “i think the walk here sober me up, anyway.” you joke, taking your eyes off of him, fearing that looking at him a second longer would make you do something unexpected.

“are you sure about this?” he took your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him. the beautiful blue of his eyes was now much darker and you fell a little bit more in love just by looking at them.

“of course i’m sure.” your voice low, only for him to hear. “i’ve always been.”

his eyes went from your eyes to your lips, and then back into your eyes.

“come inside.” you ask.

he smiles at you like he just won a championship, taking your hand and pulling you into the building.

[silentstyx]

can you write another pan x reader? i loved the other one!! how about something like pan tries to make the reader jealous by bringing wendy to neverland but instead wendy and the reader become friends? i feel like that’d be fun (and kinda subversive uwu) <3

not the reaction i was expecting ...

yes. he calls you sweet thing. also i luv this rec sm its so adorbs i luv it <3. also this is less hc's and more just a long blurb cut up.

tw: nothing rly pans just an ass.

well, he's just an ass. we been knew this girl. he just wants to piss you off so he's able to tease ya about it later boo.

"damn, sweet thing. didn't know you liked me that much?"

so he KNEW this plan would work. (thought).

he's been talking about Wendy all the time. how he's so excited for you to meet her. and, yeah, you were annoyed. one - he was constantly saying the same thing over and over again! two - he was talking about some girl over and over again.

so she finally gets to neverland. then you two like stop being around each other as much. again, annoyed.

so you walk away to blow off some steam. thats when you see her, trapped in a cage, no where near Pan!

lying bastard.

you let her out of the cage, introducing yourself.

"hey, I'm [insert readers name]. sorry we have to meet like this, it's so messy and weird." you say.

she introduces herself, "Wendy Darling. and yes, it's very 'messy' as you put it..."

you two talked more and more and hit it off.

you learned she was really sweet and she learned that you don't want to kidnap her and keep her in cage!

you guys were super close, seeing as how you were the only women on the island. you were able to do, somewhat, girly stuff together.

you get Pan to snag stuff for you everytime he brings a new kid. e.g. nail polish, certain makeup, certain clothes, skincare, haircare, snacks, etc.

so you brought Wendy back and you both had a girls day! you completely glammed out. the outfits, skincare masks, hair masks, the makeup after the masks, the whole shabang.

well. you expected it. when you guys were laughing and giggling in yours and Pete's shared tent, Pan heard you.

he came in and saw you two together.

"uhm, hey sweet thing. what- uh, what's happening here?" he said with a nervous smile.

you turn around to face him, big smile on your face, "i met her like you wanted me to! you're right, she's super sweet and pretty. we've had a girls day all day!"

you and her both laughed, not really knowing why but something in your connected minds was humorous right now.

Pan himself let out a nervous laugh, "well this was... not the reaction i was expecting ... "

©️ silentstyx please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work with out my permission. thank you!

[dereks-unrelenting-heart]

SFTH Chaotic Highlights (OMG Is This A Joke)

Alright, I'm finally starting to make these for the longforms! These are gonna be quite a bit longer than the other two I've made, since these videos are (typically) longer and I have a lot of thoughts about them lol (edit while writing, less than halfway through the video - yeah, I have way more to say than I thought I would)

Before I even get into the video itself, I just love the bold move of having their first Youtube longform be one about nazis, let's people know the kind of humor they'll be getting from these guys lmao

Also shout out to the not insignificant number of people who fully didn't recognize AJ with hair

Luke's executive decision to grab a prop gun and just stand there like 🧍🏼

"If he was only a foot and a half taller, he would be a perfect nazi!" Still one of my favorite Luke short jokes, because if I was him I genuinely wouldn't know how to take that observation-

Not sure why Sam chose the puffy purple jacket for his villain character, but at least we get to call him Ze Blackberry now

I'd like to imagine as Sam was introducing himself, he looked over to Luke like 'oh shit right, he's still just fucking standing there, I should probably include him somehow' and to Sam that ofc meant flirting with him

Which btw is the strangest flirting attempt I've ever seen- "Beautiful little pocket-sized Aryan" and "Sexy little ferret" ?? Guys I've never flirted with anyone but I don't think he's doing it right

"Guten Abend" Luke/Hans isn't good at this flirting thing either, but at least they're both having fun

Two French brothers casually parachuting over Berlin during World War II, nothing weird about that

"Ja- yes- er, oui! I'm trilingual, I'm sorry" Idk if it's the language confusion or the fact he apologized to the nazi, but this was a great line

"The plan is working perfectly, we're making them uncomfortable. Keep it up!" Luke, who has done very little in that regard except respond to Sam: "Okay!!" *just keeps standing there*

"Hard day being a nazi?" Considering you're currently giving him a backrub and are probably about to fuck him, I'd say he's having a pretty good day

Before Luke's BAFTA winning portrayals of grief in The Evil Make-A-Wish Kid and The Grape Depression, we had AJ's sobbing in OMGITAJ

So glad this play was set mainly in France so AJ could show off his French knowledge in the best ways (skipping across the stage and singing)

Sam characteristically entering briefly as an unspecified beast that for simplicity I'm going to call a ram

Genuinely one of my favorite and most underappreciated moments in the video is Katherine assigning Luke's character a feminine name, which he clearly didn't expect, and he just takes a moment to reevaluate life, while staring at the comedically placed banana in his hand. 10/10 fantastic bit

"My husband has been captured" "You know this for sure?" "Well he didn't come home and he's a French spy so" Fair logic that was 100% correct

"I already have a husband" "Well Xavier will have to wait until he's officially dead then" rip Jean-Luc man, at least Sarah seems to genuinely love him and be loyal though, good for them

Tag yourself, I'm AJ fangirling heavy over Xavier as he walks onstage

"I could have mimed it but I did not" has and forever will live in my brain rent free, bro had no reason to do that but took the fucking opportunity

Also Sarah's friend (did she ever get a name?) is simping for Xavier more than Sarah herself, they could've just fucked instead

"I don't know the French word for mice" "C'est une souris, une souris, une souris" French lessons with AJ

I've already made a whole post about my love for pre-reveal Xavier, but jesus, can you blame me? This character is the actual reason I started being attracted to Tom in the first place, why is he so SMOOTH-

Also the fact Luke didn't even flinch when Tom tilted his chair back and just nonchalantly crossed his legs- This whole scene is perfect istg

"I'm just going to take a few pictures-" That's so real of you girl

"I am a man" Gonna start saying this in front of the mirror as affirmations in the morning, same tone and everything

Tom launching himself across the stage before he even has the chance to rebutton his shirt lol

"Look out! It's the nazi-looking guy!" Saying this about the actual nazi is so funny

Not me being genuinely kinda sad about François getting killed

Katherine getting into Sam's carriage with a pumpkin (For some reason??) and Sam pausing not once, but twice, and eventually deciding to proceed as normal and not question it

Jean-Luc: *crying because trauma* Katherine: "Aw.. If you're thirsty you could drink it!" Katherine might've earned her place as my favorite 5th SFTH member they've had

Big Hans showing up with an entirely different vibe from the last time we saw him- Maybe because he's not busy being gay with Ze Blackberry

But really, why is this nazi boy so excited about the french language while he's taking over their country

"Les coqs :D" Sir what is this energy you're putting out, it's confusing me

I like that instead of just saying something like "It's a French horse, why do I care if I kicked it" he's just like "German horses wouldn't give a shit, your horses are just weak"

"Very hairy chickens you have here" A joke they couldn't have made now-

I'd just like to point out that Big Hans didn't get shot from what I could tell, so he could technically still be alive. Idk what to do with that information, I just wanted it out there

Tom pulling his classic sexy-character move: Foot dramatically placed on chair

The cleaner just being like "what a fucking mess, god I hate my job" as if Xavier and Sarah aren't currently having a whole plot-altering revelation in the same room

Oh yeah, and this is also the moment I was very relieved Sarah was a better person than me (/hj) and didn't sleep with Xavier

Also, mostly unrelated, but Katherine's voice specifically as the cleaner reminds me of DHMIS every single time and idk why

"Are you quite finished??" "... Honestly, no"

"But who would do that? Who would do- It was me" He tried to be mysterious but Xavier really wanted credit for what he did

Sam the Ram returns! Very cool that their first video had classics of all kinds: Sam being a chaotic animal, AJ getting to be French, Tom being a sexy German, and Luke being an equally-attractive-but-not-quite-as-played-up woman

"I was tortured by two men gettig with each other next to me" "They're always doing that, the nazis" If SFTH can make nazis gay af, they truly can do anything

Why does Ram-Sam look so offended on behalf of the French after Luke's "It's in my nature" line lmaoo

"Where did you get my dildo!?" Amazing line from Luke, but really what was that thing??

And ofc Xavier dies as he lived.. Shirtless. Sexy evil bastard-

[flowersandmiel]

I've finally met Hunted during his main chapter The Beast (I'd only met him during The Eye of the Needle and the chapters where they're all here) AND OMG I LOVE HIM SM??

Not judging or anything (/gen), but I'd only seen him be characterized in fics with this sort of "overwhelmed and animalistic anxiety" in fics, instead of what I would describe as a "hypervigilant and quick-thinking survival-driven fear" during the Eye of the Needle. And it just kinda confused me bc like, how could he act so different in Eye of needle compared to the Beast and Den?? But that's the thing, he doesn't, the fic just weren't accurate /nm (i still loved those fics btw /gen)

it just reminds me of this post about Paranoid i reposted not long ago about how fandom tends to stick to one character trait of a character and overly exaggerate it to the point it's almost mischaracterizing said character.

and it also reminds me of another character from another fandom who's a bird-like creature too, and they both get mischaracterized in that similar sort of dehumanizing way?

I'm not sure how to explain but i'll try

Basically, It's just so obvious that the author loves the fact that the character is bird-like, that they do not realise that they're kinda 'feti$hising' them??

And like, i've got nothing about letting a half-human half-animal character lean into their animal instincts, but I find it strange how many people do not realise the way they write it is just not believable at all. You can have a character lean into their bird side without having them be dehumanized and infantilized by the narrative. They're not an animal, they're part animal.

Idk, maybe it's because I grew up being dehumanised and infantilised, but if I was part animal/part human, and that i needed to let myself lean into my instincts, I wouldn't take well being treated by my friends as if I'm only an animal???? Or called 'birdie' or shit like that??? Like, i know i don't like pet names in general, but i can't be the only one who find calling a half bird half human character 'birdie' kinda weird?? I'm sure most mean it in a very sweet way btw, but i always think that if i was a half cat half human, and i was called 'catgirl' or 'kitty', i wouldn't take it well lmao?? even as teasing???

Kinda reminds me of how dehumanized and infantilized disabled people are. Having "animalistic behaviors" does not make one less human. idk how else to say it.

I'm not sure I'm making any sense, i've seen nobody talk about this and it makes me feel kinda lonely ngl x,)

I just needed to ramble a bit about it, it's not an "issue" only related to STP btw, which is why im talking about it actually xP it's weird how many fandoms i've seen this phenomenon in. I know many people only create art for fun and simply do not care about believability, and they have every right to do so, but sometimes i think that some people just genuinely do not think about it because nobody talks about it!! I'm only sharing this in hope that I can make authors self-reflect a bit so they can write "better" :)

Just, remember please. You're writing characters with consciousness. They're not animals, they're not birds, they're not just their instincts, they're not just their wings. Even while being chased, Hunted isn't nothing more than his instincts, he's clever, a quick-thinker, observant, worried, has good reflexes, takes risks, his voice is soft, maybe he'd even be delicate if he wasn't being chased! and many others! He's more than his name, than his title, than his instincts. He's not just a prey, he's a Voice, created to help us survive and out of fear of the Princess.

(btw im not using examples i've seen in fics bc i think it'd be rude af to do that.)(i've still mostly enjoyed the fics i've read that had this problems btw <3, i just couldn't get it out of my head and i hate that i see nobody speaking about it so, here i am ig!)