#and would only ever build by digging holes in the ground and that was their forever base

[mbat]

not liking minecraft copper is a red flag to me, especially if the given reason is 'its useless'

my brother in this universe, its a building block in the building with blocks game

[yuwuta]

RODEO STATION, 1 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

A collection of you and Megumi, through the years, through Gojo’s eyes. 

content, warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, sort of canon-adjacent, satoru adopts megumi and tsumiki, reader has a cursed technique but it’s not mentioned in depth here, really just you and megumi falling in love and gojo watching

word count: 1.1k

part i: first years, jujutsu tech. fits in the timeline around when nobara first joins the class

When Satoru first finds him, Megumi has two conditions. First, that Tsumiki would be kept safe and happy, and far away from the Zenin clan if they weren’t going to be good to her—safe and far away from all jujutsu society if Gojo could help it; and that she would never have to worry about feeding herself or Megumi ever again. Satoru agreed right away, he would have done that without the request. 

For his second condition, an eight year old Megumi looked Satoru straight in the eye and told him that he would absolutely not be separated from you. Satoru thought it was cute, sweet, in the bratty, and naive but determined kind of way that seemed to be everything that kid stood for, and Satoru couldn’t fault him for it. Megumi’s evident childlike adoration of you aside, Satoru saw potential in you, too, so he accepted Megumi’s conditions, happy to welcome the two of you to the world of sorcery. 

It’s not until a week before you both start at Jujutsu Tech, that Satoru really asks Megumi why he wants you here (never mind the fact that you had already also made up your mind about being a sorcerer, and if there is anything that Satoru has learned about you in the past decade, it’s that: one, you have the magical ability to make Megumi do anything you say; and two, you’re incredible persuasive and very stubborn). Megumi doesn’t look him in the eye when he answers, fidgeting with his melting ice cream instead when he says, “Well, she saved my life.” 

Satoru doesn’t tease when he hears this, only digging his spoon in for a scoop of Megumi’s toffee butter, smiling to himself when the cold hits his tongue, because he’d heard the message loud and clear: Megumi believes he owes you his life, and to keep yours protected, he wants you by his side.

Satoru quickly learns that Megumi truly has his work cut out for him as he watches you burst through a top-floor window of a high-rise building, falling carelessly with the object of your mission—a special-grade cursed object—clutched in your grasp. Second later, there’s a loud explosion, as the ugly head of a large cursed falls limp in the hole in the broken glass that you’d left behind. Satoru chuckles when he sees you smile, and the faint cheer of weeeeeeeee as you fall. He knew you were wild and stubborn by the way you bossed Megumi around without a care, but seeing you in action proved that you were also in your own league of crazy, a fantastic sorceress in the making. 

To his left, Yuuji gapes wildly as he looks up, shielding his eyes with his hand, and then flinching back when Nobara bursts through the ground floor door, not without a nail going flying into the curse that had been chasing her. She looks angry, then wide eyed, then up to where Yuuji and Megumi were also staring and starts squealing alongside him. 

“Gojo-sensei, what are you standing there smiling about—do something!” Nobara shouts, pointing an accusatory finger up in the air at your flying body. 

Yuuji gasps again, like he’d just figured out the consequence of you falling from a building, spewing on his own cries, “Hey, seriously, what the hell are we doing—she can’t fly,” he shouts, turning to shake his sensei, then pausing, “Wait, Fushiguro, can she fly? You know her.” 

“Idiot,” Nobara spits, “If she could fly then she’d be flying, not falling.”

“Then why aren’t we doing any—you know what, I think I can catch her,” Yuuji boasts, rolling up his sleeves, prepared to position himself underneath your descending body, and that’s when Satoru steps in, extending an arm in front of his students. 

“You all worry too much,” he smiles, lifting his blindfold just enough to look the pair in the eye, and tilt his head up slightly, “Besides, Megumi’s handled it.” 

Three heads turn back up to the sky, where you’re no longer in freefall, instead have had your shoulders snatched by Nue’s talons. You’ve still got that wild smile on your face, wider now as you descend much more elegantly via Megumi’s shikigami. Nobara and Yuuji wince as Nue’s wings flap widely when you’re set on the ground. You shift the box with the cursed object to one hand, reaching your free one around to pet the bird’s feathers. It crows happily, and Satoru snickers, much to Megumi’s dismay. You always did treat his shikigami like pets. 

“Hey, you’re okay!” Yuuji cheers, eyes sparkling, “What’s in the box? A sword—actually, I don’t want to know. If it’s another finger, keep it away from me.” 

“Hand it here,” Nobara demands. You’re happy to hand over the box and have another hand available for petting Nue. 

Satoru watches fondly as Yuuji and Nobara fuss over the box. They should probably exercise more caution, but he’s there, so the worst can’t happen. Meanwhile, you step closer to Megumi with Nue fluttering behind you. 

“You’re the one who told me there would be no need to get involved,” Megumi says, voice soft, hands falling comfortably at his side. 

“I said that you wouldn’t have to get involved with the curses,” you correct, standing on your tiptoes to nuzzles your head into the bird’s feathers, “I said nothing about not getting involved with me.” 

Satoru does his best not to choke out a loud laugh as Megumi’s face becomes increasingly pink when you reach forward to pinch his cheeks, his grumbling drowned in the sound of Yuuji and Nobara’s bickering. Satory sighs, content. He cares for all his students, but there’s a certain weight lifted on his shoulders knowing that when it came to you, there was truly nothing to worry about—Megumi would always be there for you. Honestly, he thinks Megumi might fight him to protect you if it came down to it. 

That thought does bring an audible chuckle to his lips, Megumi’s pinched expression calling to him, “What are you laughing about?” 

To which Satoru only hums, sticking his hands in his pockets. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow deeper, but it’s quickly dissolved when you catch his attention again, saying your farewells to Nue before giving Megumi the okay to let him recede into his shadows. 

“Oh, nothing,” Satoru chirps, turning to lead the group back to Ichiji’s car, “Come on, who’s still up for revolving sushi!”  

Cheers follow him as the veil dispels. You question Yuuji about whether or not you think the restaurant will have grilled eel, and Nobara pretends to throw up, arguing that eel is the worst, that you all should stick to hand rolls instead. Megumi stays quiet, walking on your outside, and humming along with all of your suggestions, and Satoru can’t help but wonder whether or not you knew that Nue had been out from the moment you’d stepped in the building. 

Honestly, he thinks Megumi might win that fight���might win any fight if it meant being with you.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The housing emergency and the second Trump term

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveill ance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/11/nimby-yimby-fimby/#home-team-advantage

Postmortems and blame for the 2024 elections are thick on the ground, but amidst all those theories and pointed fingers, one explanation looms large and credible: the American housing emergency. If the system can't put a roof over your head, that system needs to go.

American housing has been in crisis for decades, of course, but it keeps getting worse…and worse…and worse. Americans pay more for worse housing than at any time in their history. Homelessness is at a peak that is soul-crushing to witness and maddening to experience. We turned housing – a human necessity second only to air, food and water – into an asset governed almost entirely by market forces, and so created a crisis that has consumed the nation.

The Trump administration has no plan to deal with housing. Or rather, they do have plans, but strictly of the "bad ideas only" variety. Trump wants to deport 11m undocumented immigrants, and their families, including citizens and Green Card holders (otherwise, that would be "family separation" and that's cruel). Even if you are the kind of monster who can set aside the ghoulishness of solving your housing problems by throwing someone in a concentration camp at gunpoint and then deporting them to a country where they legitimately fear for their lives, this still doesn't solve the housing emergency, and will leave America several million homes short.

Their other solution? Deregulation and tax cuts. We've seen this movie before, and it's an R-rated horror flick. Financial deregulation created the speculative mortgage markets that led to the 2008 housing crisis, which created a seemingly permanent incapacity to build new homes in America, as skilled tradespeople retired or changed careers and housebuilding firms left the market. Handing giant tax cuts to the monopolists who gobbled up the remains of these bankrupt small companies minted a dozen new housing billionaires who preside over companies that make more money than ever by building fewer homes:

https://www.fastcompany.com/91198443/housing-market-wall-streets-big-housing-market-bet-has-created-12-new-billionaires

This isn't working. Homelessness is ballooning. The only answer Trump and his regime have for our homeless neighbors is to just make it a crime to be homeless, sweeping up homeless encampments and busting homeless people for "loitering" (that is, existing in space). There is no universe in which this reduces homelessness. People who lose their homes aren't going to dig holes, crawl inside, and pull the dirt down on top of themselves. If anything, sweeps and arrests will make homelessness worse, by destroying the possessions, medication and stability that homeless people need if they are to become housed.

Today, The American Prospect published an excellent package on the housing emergency, looking at its causes and the road-tested solutions that can work even when the federal government is doing everything it can to make the problem worse:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-tackling-the-housing-crisis/

The Harris campaign ran on Biden's economic record, insisting that he had tamed inflation. It's true that the Biden admin took action against monopolists and greedflation, including criminal price-fixing companies like Realpage, which helps landlords coordinate illegal conspiracies to rig rents. Realpage sets the rents for the majority of homes in major metros, like Phoenix:

https://www.azag.gov/press-release/attorney-general-mayes-sues-realpage-and-residential-landlords-illegal-price-fixing

Of course, reducing inflation isn't the same as bringing prices down – it just means prices are going up more slowly. And sure, inflation is way down in many categories, but not in housing. In housing, inflation is accelerating:

https://www.latimes.com/opinion/story/2024-03-08/inflation-housing-shortage-economy-cpi-fed-interest-rate

The housing emergency makes everything else worse. Blue states are in danger of losing Congressional seats because people are leaving big cities: not because they want to, but because they literally can't afford to keep a roof over their heads. LGBTQ people fleeing fascist red state legislatures and their policies on trans and gay rights can't afford to move to the states where they will be allowed to simply live:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/11/business/economy/lgbtq-moving-cost.html

So what are the roots of this problem, and what can we do about it? The housing emergency doesn't have a unitary cause, but among the most important factors is fuckery that led to the Great Financial Crisis and the fuckery that followed on from it, as Ryan Cooper writes:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-housing-industry-never-recovered-great-recession/

The Glass-Steagall Act was a 1933 banking regulation created to prevent Great Depression-style market crashes. It was killed in 1999 by Bill Clinton, who declared, "the Glass–Steagall law is no longer appropriate." Nine years later, the global economy melted down in a Great Depression-style market crash fueled by reckless speculation of the sort that Glass-Steagall had prohibited.

The crash of 2008 took down all kinds of industries, but none were so hard-hit as home-building (after all, mortgages were the raw material of the financial bubble that popped in 2008). After 2008, construction of new housing fell by 90% for the next two years. This protracted nuclear winter in the housing market killed many associated industries. Skilled tradespeople retrained, or "left the job market" (a euphemism for becoming disabled, homeless, or destroyed). Waves of bankruptcies swept through the construction industry. The construction workforce didn't recover to pre-crisis levels for 16 years (and of course, by then, there was a huge backlog of unbuilt homes, and a larger population seeking housing).

Meanwhile, the collapse of every part of the housing supply chain – from raw materials to producers – set the stage for monopoly rollups, with the biggest firms gobbling up all these distressed smaller firms. Thanks to this massive consolidation, homebuilders were able to build fewer houses and extract higher profits by gouging on price. They doubled down on this monopoly price-gouging during the pandemic supply shocks, raising prices well above the pandemic shortage costs.

The housing market is monopolized in ways that will be familiar to anyone angry about consolidation in other markets – from eyeglasses to pharma to tech. One builder, HR Horton, is the largest player in 3 of the country's largest markets, and it has tripled its profits since 2005 while building half as many houses. Modern homebuilders don't build: they use their scale to get land at knock-down rates, slow-walk the planning process, and then farm out the work to actual construction firms at rates that barely keep the lights on:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/its-the-land-stupid-how-the-homebuilder

Monopolists can increase profits by constraining supply. 60% of US markets are "highly concentrated" and the companies that dominate these markets are starving homebuilding in them to the tune of $106b/year:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3303984

There are some obvious fixes to this, but they are either unlikely under Trump (antitrust action to break up builders based on their share in each market) or impossible to imagine (closing tax loopholes that benefit large building firms). Likewise, we could create a "homes guarantee" that would act as an "automatic stabilizer." That would mean that any time the economy slips into recession, this would trigger automatic funding to pay firms to build public housing, thus stimulating the economy and alleviating the housing supply crisis:

https://www.peoplespolicyproject.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/SocialHousing.pdf

The Homes Guarantee is further explained in a separate article in the package by Sulma Arias from People's Action, who describes how grassroots activists fighting redlining planted the seeds of a legal guarantee of a home:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-why-we-need-homes-guarantee/

Arias describes the path to a right to a home as running through the mass provision of public housing – and what makes that so exciting is that public housing can be funded, administered and built by local or state governments, meaning this is a thing that can happen even in the face of a hostile or indifferent federal regime.

In Paul E Williams's story on FIMBY (finance in my back yard), the executive director of Center for Public Enterprise offers an inspirational story of how local governments can provide thousands of homes:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-fimby-finance-in-my-backyard/

Williams recounts the events of 2021 in Montgomery County, Maryland, where a county agency stepped in to loan money to a property developer who had land, zoning approval and work crews to build a major new housing block, but couldn't find finance. Montgomery County's Housing Opportunities Commission made a short-term loan at market rates to the developer.

By 2023, the building was up and the loan had been repaid. All 268 units are occupied and a third are rented at rates tailored to low-income tenants. The HOC is the permanent owner of those homes. It worked so well that Montgomery's HOC is on track to build 3,000 more public homes this way:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/25/business/affordable-housing-montgomery-county.html

Other – in red states! – have followed suit, with lookalike funds and projects in Atlanta and Chattanooga, with "dozens" more plans underway at state and local levels. The Massachusetts Momentum Fund is set to fund 40,000 homes.

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/25/business/affordable-housing-montgomery-county.html

The Center for Public Enterprise has a whole report on these "Government Sponsored Enterprises" and the role they can play in creating a supply of homes priced at a rate that working people can afford:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-fimby-finance-in-my-backyard/

Of course, for a GSE to loan money to build a home, that home has to be possible. YIMBYs are right to point to restrictive zoning as a major impediment to building new homes, and Robert Cruickshank from California YIMBY has a piece breaking down the strategy for fixing zoning:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-make-it-legal-to-build/

Cruickshank lays out NIMBY success stories in cities like Austin and Minneapolis adopting YIMBY-style zoning rules and seeing significant improvements in rental prices. These success stories are representative of a broader recognition – at least among Democratic politicians – that restrictive zoning is a major contributor to the housing emergency.

Repeating these successes in the rest of the country will take a long time, and in the meantime, American tenants are sitting ducks for predatory landlords, With criminal enterprises like Realpage enabling collusive price-fixing for housing and monopoly developers deliberately restricting supplies to keep prices up (a recent Blackrock investor communique gloated over the undersupply of housing as a source of profits for its massive portfolio of rental properties), tenants pay more and more of their paychecks for worse and worse accommodations. They can't wait for the housing emergency to be solved through zoning changes and public housing. They need relief now.

That's where tenants' unions come in, as Ruthy Gourevitch and Tara Raghuveer of the Tenant Union Federation writes in their piece on the tenants across the country who are coordinating rent strikes to protest obscene rent-hikes and dangerous living conditions:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-12-11-look-for-the-tenant-union/

They describe a country where tenants work multiple jobs, send the majority of their take-home pay to their landlords – a quarter of tenants pay 70% of their wages in rent – and live in vermin-filled homes without heat or ventilation:

https://www.phenomenalworld.org/analysis/terms-of-investment/

Public money from Freddie Mae and Fannie Mac flood into the speculative market for multifamily homes, a largely unregulated, subsidized speculative bonanza that lets the wealthy make bets and the poor pay their losses.

In response, tenants unions are popping up all across the country, especially in red state cities like Bozeman, MT and Louisville, KY. They organize for "just cause" evictions that ban landlords from taking their homes away. They seek fair housing voucher distribution practices. They seek to close eviction loopholes like the LA wheeze that lets landlords kick you out following "renovations."

The National Tenant Policy Agenda demands "national rent caps, anti-eviction protections, habitability standards, and antitrust action," measures that would immediately and profoundly improve the lives of millions of American workers:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1JF1-fTalW1tOBO0FhYDcVvEd1kQ2HIzkYFNRo6zmSsg/edit

They caution that it's not enough to merely increase housing supply. Without a strong countervailing force from organized tenants, new housing can be just another source of extraction and speculation for the rich. They say that the Federal Housing Finance Agency – regulator for Fannie and Freddie – could play an active role in ensuring that new housing addresses the needs of people, not corporations.

In the meantime, a tenants' union in KC successfully used a rent strike – where every tenant in a building refuses to pay rent – to get millions in overdue repairs. More strikes are planned across the country.

The American system is in crisis. A country that cannot house its people is a failure. As Rachael Dziaba writes in the final piece for the package, the situation is so bad that water has started to flow uphill: the cities with the most inward migration have the least job growth:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/housing/2024-10-18-housing-blues/

It's not just housing, of course. Americans pay more for health care than anyone else in the rich world and get worse outcomes than anyone else in the rich world. Their monopoly grocers have spiked their food prices. The incoming administration has declared war on public education and seeks to relegate poor children to unsupervised schools where "education" can consist of filling in forms on a Chromebook and learning that the Earth is only 5,000 years old.

A system that can't shelter, feed, educate or care for its people is a failure. People in failed states will vote for anyone who promises to tear the system down. The decision to turn life's necessities over to unregulated, uncaring markets has produced a populace who are so desperate for change, they'll even vote for their own destruction.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you'd gone to the school, hoping to find Wally or Shy Boy or Bitnik Girl. hell, you'd settle for Mina Volkov and her volatility, adamant that you'd had to have practiced the right procedures to join her in the rafters. At that point, you'd been willing to do just about anything (exposing your abilities included) to help course-correct after Simon had been hauled away by the cops.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.21

You'd almost been willing to do as Xavier had asked. To stay home and rest—not that you'd have been able to do so successfully, earlier events churning together in a wild storm of tragic memory, frayed thought, and sick emotion. You'd been curled up on Aidan's bed, holding Limon like a lifeline, Xavier long gone after promising to pick you up in the morning.

Then Simon had texted; had told you about Mrs. Grace striding into the interrogation room and disarming the deputies' aggressive questioning with a single look before they'd had a chance to dig in. Apparently, Simon was due back at the station the next day, informed he was to give a formal statement that would be recorded and observed by the right parties.

In the aftermath, his parents had been frantic to the point of guarding the exits and refused to let him out of his room. He'd been allowed access to his phone for ten minutes until he'd had to hand it back to his mother.

Things had gone from abstract to real too quickly for you to fathom, everything utterly and completely fucked, and you were scared. Scared for Simon, for yourself. For Maddie. It'd been Simon's texts that had spurred you into action. They think I had something to do with it, Simon had relayed, they aren't even looking at Anderson. After that, there'd been no chance you'd sit idle, twiddling your thumbs through the night until Xavier returned before school.

You'd snuck out without trouble, quick-marched the path to Split River High, keeping to the shadows to avoid late-night weirdos, and possible Neighborhood Watchers who would tattle on you. You didn't have a plan, knew the school was locked and a night guard was on duty. Either Al or Barry, the two rotating shifts between day and night week by week.

Al was old, watermelon-round, and slow; wouldn't give you more than a lazy warning if he caught you trying to break into the building. Barry, on the other hand, was young, loud; had some kind of point to prove, and acted like his uniform made him the voice of authority. He wouldn't hesitate to tell Principal Hartman who he'd caught in the halls after dark, jaundiced teeth on display as he sneered through a heavily embellished version of the truth just to make things worse for you.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you hurried across the parking lot, practically jogging to the back of the school where you stopped a few feet short of the door. You were relying—perhaps too much—on the connection between you and Wally, blind hope warring with better judgment as you chanted his name in your mind. Over and over, infused with pleas to come find you. It was stupid, you thought, the dumbest idea anyone had ever had, begging a ghost to ride in like a white knight on the back of the telepathy neither of you had. What was worse was that, even upon entering the school grounds, the connection had only murmured to life, a barely-there purr reaching outward like a cat stretching after a nap. It was unbothered, the way you'd noticed it was when you and Wally weren't within a specific radius of one another.

While it made it easy to concentrate in class, that little mechanism made you want to punch a hole through the fabric of the universe and throttle whatever divine entity had thought it up. Motherfucker. Still, you prayed it would be enough to get Wally's attention.

Minutes passed and you paced a groove into the grass, hands shoved into the kangaroo pocket of Andrew's hoodie when you weren't combing your fingers through your hair or flapping them along with the angry conversation you were having in your head about weaponized bias. Because who the hell were those deputies to suspect Simon of anything? Of course, you didn't know the whole story. Simon had only had ten minutes to talk and he'd also been texting Nicole. Probably Mathilda, too, since she'd been on the verge of rabid by the time he was released into his parent's custody.

Fuck this. The connection wasn't working, or maybe Wally was preoccupied, or, who knew, he could be in that strange state of suspension that you'd read about; a whole chapter dedicated to the way in which ghosts linger between the hours, as if not existing at all, until something roused them. You didn't know enough about the connection between you and Wally to question whether or not it would be cause enough for him to come to.

Out of patience, you decided it was time to do something. You stomped around the side of the building, trying to guess where Wally would be at that time, and, god dammit, you both really needed to have more conversations about things outside of Maddie and mad teachers. Finally, you halted in front of the gym's exterior. You checked the ground for something to throw at the grated window, a stone or stick big enough to rattle the metal and make noise.

Stone in hand, you positioned yourself to hurl it at the school. Arm raised, body angled back, hyping yourself up in your head as you counted down from 3. Best case scenario: Wally came to get you. Worst case: Barry got to you first.

With a shuddery breath, you swung your arm and—

"Don't." An unfamiliar voice said from behind you as your wrist was grabbed in a hard, though not painful, grip.

You dropped the stone, "What the shit!?" and swirled around, irrationally terrified that it was Mr. Anderson come to do to you what he'd done to Maddie.

It took a moment for the fear to recoil, for your heart to slink down from your mouth to your chest. You took in the person who'd stopped you. A tall boy with South Asian features wearing autoshop coveralls, the top rolled and bunched around his waist. He studied his hand, as if touching you had caused some kind of reaction, before he looked back up and regarded you in awe.

"Uhm...hi?" You said for lack of anything better. The longer he stared without saying anything, the more time you had to process. With a thick swallow, cold dread crept over you as it slowly clicked who was standing in front of you. Arjun "Ajay" Khatwani. Died in 1992. Crushed under a car in autoshop. "Oh, fuck me," You bemoaned, scrubbing your hands over your face.

Great. That was great. Another nail in the coffin of keeping a secret you'd been sworn to by ancestral blood. He seemed to notice your despair, his posture changing from loose shock to rigidly unimpressed, arms folding and one brow arching.

"You can't be here." He said, "Especially not now." And what the hell did that mean?

"Look, buddy, I don't mean to be rude, but I really need to get into that school," You hooked your thumb over your shoulder, "and I am going to find a way to do it."

His shoulders squared, a determined expression hardening on his face, "And, trust me, I want to help. But you can't just fly in there and expect Wally not to get found out."

That was...what just happened? Wires sparked and the control board short-circuited as you tried and failed to respond. Mouth gupping as a rush-hour-of-traffic's worth of words clogged your throat. Had Wally told Ajay about you? No. He wouldn't. Logically, it was impossible to know, but something deep within you rejected the idea as soon as it manifested.

"Come again?"

"Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret. How do you think they'll feel when they find out Wally—our dopey, naive, puppy-dog mascot—betrayed everyone as well, hm?" He took a step toward you, a deep V between his brows that looked foreign on his face. "I know you have a lot to lose, too, but you have family who will support you no matter what. Here," He said, indicating more than the school, you recognized, "We only have each other."

"You just said everyone got over Charley—" Was he the kid with the glasses and the Timberlake frosted tips? "—why wouldn't they do the same for Wally?"

"It's different. Listen to me—" And then he said something that startled you back a step, your eyes bulging. Your name tumbled from his lips like he'd known you his whole life. Not your full name, no. It was the nickname Aurora had used when you were a baby. Ajay raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Please, just listen. I'll go get him, but understand," There Ajay paused, reluctant and no less determined to get his point across, "He's with the others right now and I can't think of a reason to get him alone at midnight on a Thursday. Not after everything that happened today."

"So bring them." You challenged, eyes narrowed, standing taller, because, honestly? If Ajay knew about you then what the fuck was the point anymore?

He might not have openly confessed that your sister had interacted with him of her own volition, but he didn't need to. You could sense his sincerity; his willingness not to disrupt the status quo. He wouldn't have sought Aurora out, and you hadn't seen anything from him in your years at the school to indicate he was the type of ghost to stalk the living. Not like Dreamy Dawn who insinuated herself into students' spaces to rifle through their things.

So, Aurora had dallied with a ghost, too, and no unearthly horrors had been unleashed upon her, why not say fuck you to a lifetime of indoctrinating magical gospel and do the same?

Ajay seemed uncertain, momentarily quiet as he thought about what to do. Clearly, he'd assumed you'd back down. Run home to bed, hide under the covers, and wait until tomorrow to find Wally. Yeah. Not happening. Not while Simon was on the cusp of expulsion. If you didn't find something to incriminate Anderson, something that would get Simon off the hook, you'd never forgive yourself.

"Do it, Ajay," You said, just a tiny bit smug when his head snapped up at your use of his name. "Bring. Everyone."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally had felt your presence as soon as you'd stepped through the barrier. A sweet honey tug in his gut that made his gums itch and his scalp tingle. He wanted to get up, go find you, hold you, kiss you, tell you how much he'd missed you since you'd left in a state that had broken his heart.

But he couldn't. Rhonda's change of heart toward Maddie and Charley had been hard-earned and Wally was far too nervous to do anything to rock the boat. Rhonda sat at the coffee table, an old yearbook open in front of her as she explained to Maddie what had happened to cause the Devils to become the Bandits.

Charley was curled up near Wally, back rested against the couch, at peace now that his place amongst their group had been reinstated. To Wally, it'd never been in question, and he doubted Rhonda would've let Charley's exile last more than a week, but still, it was nice to see Charley comfortable and content. Right where he belonged. With them.

The question of telling Mr. Martin about Maddie and Simon came up, Maddie making a promise that Wally and Rhonda had discussed at length after Simon was dragged away by police. Wally and Rhonda had just suggested they follow Charley's lead instead, Charley then wondering where to go from there, when Ajay poked his head into the library.

He must've heard what Charley had asked because he stuttered, "Um...guys...there's someone here who I think can help you," gaze darting around the room before resting on Wally.

In that second, Wally knew exactly what was about to happen.

He leapt to his feet, ready to dash circuits around the school to find you, when Ajay halted him with an intentional, hard stare. Something akin to how his mama had looked at him when he'd been about to blurt information she hadn't wanted her Book Club to know.

The others stood, circling Ajay with a dozen questions, Maddie's voice above the rest as she pecked for answers about Simon. "Is he here? Is he okay?"

Ajay quieted them with a wave of his hand, "All I can say is I'm sorry for not telling you about her sooner." He leveled Wally with a look. It spoke volumes, told Wally to keep his mouth shut and follow Ajay's lead or Ajay would do unspeakable things to him for the remainder of their shared afterlife. Wally gave a minute jerk of his chin that Ajay received with an almost imperceptible quirk of his lips.

"She can see ghosts," He explained to the others, "And she wants to help."

"Who are you talking about?" Maddie questioned while Rhonda and Charley stood behind her in varying degrees of shock. "Who is it?"

Ajay swept an arm, a gesture for everyone to follow him to where he'd tucked you away. "Just. Come with me."

He set a quick pace and, as Wally caught up to walk beside Ajay, he understood why. The others had shorter strides and, although keeping up pretty well, lagged behind a small distance. It was still wide enough that Wally could whisper without being overheard.

"What's going on?" He had to know. "Is she okay?"

"I swear to every god in the Hindu pantheon, Clark, if you two get caught, I am not holding your hand through whatever Charley and Rhonda do to you," Ajay warned under his breath, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

Ouch. Violent, but okay. Wally got the message, loud and clear. Despite Ajay's stiff manner, Wally deeply appreciated his friend helping him avoid disaster. He realized it wasn't just for his sake, but for yours as well. If not handled delicately, shit could hit the fan. He didn't think those in the Afterlife Support Group were too big a risk, but he couldn't be sure how knowledge of your abilities would affect the Loopers. Mina notwithstanding, obviously.

Ajay led them up the flights of stairs to the roof exit—a hatch ladder that scaled up to the already open portal above. "You come up last." He said, hushed, before the others joined them in the cramped space, "And for the love of God, Wally, do not get too close to her. "

"Got it," Wally replied, shuffling back to allow Rhonda, and then Maddie and Charley, to climb up after Ajay. There was no way to know how the connection between you and him would react once he laid eyes on you, but he'd do his best to honor Ajay's wishes...there'd be some kind of effort made, at least.

Already he felt the connection stirring to life, his blood pumping faster, pulse humming in his ears, breath quickening. Fuck, he was sure his pupils were completely blown, the smell of vanilla on the breeze reminding him of how your skin had tasted as he'd nipped and licked your neck in the theater last night, the tight little keens you'd made driving him crazy—

Ajay's head appeared through the portal, a look of total disappointment on his face, "For fuck's sake, bro, pull yourself together," he growled and reached a hand in to help Wally over the metal lip and onto the gravel rooftop.

Chagrined, Wally took a few deep breaths through his nose—which helped about as much as you being pressed flush against him would have—and he shook his head, his hands, one foot after the other, in an attempt to work out some of the electricity that sparked under his skin.

When Wally finally glanced up, the others had you surrounded, Ajay sticking close to your side and putting everyone in their place with a matronly stare.

You were so damn close and all Wally could think of in the moment was sweeping you into his arms and holding you forever. You were adorable in the same oversized sweater you'd worn yesterday, looking particularly tiny under the bulky fabric. Your hair was mussed as if you'd just climbed out of bed and...oh shit god damn. He blazed a hot trail down your body with his eyes and had to bite back a groan when he saw that your thighs were bare, your cutesy sleep shorts doing nothing to help Wally's steadily worsening predicament.

Ajay flashed him another look of disdain which served to reel Wally's desire back in. Alright. He could do this. He could be normal about you. For sure.

The others seemed to part like the fucking Red Sea as Wally stepped toward you. In his periphery, he could just make out Rhonda's deeply suspicious expression, Charley's narrowed eyes, and Maddie's woe. Shit, that's right, you probably had no idea Maddie was there. Had he mentioned that to Ajay? Crap, why couldn't he remember?! Should he say something?

He had to keep his eyes on everything except you—the ground, Rhonda's Oxfords, Charley's shoulder—as the connection crackled and licked like fire inside him. Wally tensed every muscle in his body, stiff as a board and probably emanating the most awkward vibes the others had ever seen from him, but he managed to maintain control.

Of course, keeping a level head and maintaining control wasn't really in Wally's wheelhouse. Not off the field, anyway. And especially not around you.

Like chimes in the wind, your voice clinked through the silence, a simple "Hi," forcing Wally's head up and his gaze to lock on yours, beautiful, marbling swirls the color of galaxies.

His breath caught and it was at that moment that he knew he was fucked.

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY - PART TWENTY-TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[crowsoundsonly]

beautiful.

pair: matt murdock x neighbor!fem!reader

word count: ~4.1k

summary: your hot neighbor comes by to check on you when he hears some unusual sounds coming from your apartment.

warnings: a bit of an awkward reader for the first part but she gets it together :D; smut (at the end and i marked when it starts !) fingering (f rec); one use of y/n; guys i've never actually done any ceramics or pottery so i apologize for my ignorance to anyone who actually knows what they are doing. i tried. :) i also recognize that this isn't very realistic and that you probably wouldn't be doing this with your neighbor u barely know, no matter how hot he is, but you know. fantasy and fanfic and all.

a/n: hey guys!! it has been FOREVER since i posted a fic !! i wrote this today and am kind of impulse posting it lol. i've fallen deep into the matt murdock rabbit hole and i don't think i'll be emerging anytime soon. i hope you enjoy the fic !!

The feeling of wet clay in your fingers has always grounded you. Having converted a corner of your small New York apartment into a space for your hobby, you enjoy going to your pottery wheel and creating to the melodies of your favorite songs. Tonight, you needed the outlet more than ever.

Your mind spins as you shuck off your jacket at the door. You stride to your closet to pull out the t-shirt you always wear when you sit behind the wheel, trying to focus on hurriedly changing your clothes, begging your mind to leave alone the horrifyingly embarrassing interaction you just had.

Minutes before, you had approached your building with your headphones shoved in your ears, so you had failed to hear your neighbor, your hot blind neighbor, calling out to you to hold the door. You only noticed him when the door didn’t close properly due to his body being wedged between it and the frame. Ripping your headphones out of your ears, you apologized profusely, yanking the door open for him to awkwardly shuffle through, holding his cane out in front of him before retracting it to his body. 

“I am so sorry! I am so sorry I didn’t hear you,” you exclaimed, stuttering out an explanation that you hope is sufficient enough to permit his forgiveness. “I didn’t hear you. I had my headphones in. I am so sorry.”

You clutched your headphones in your hand as you let the door close behind him. If you were not so rattled, you would have taken the time to really look at him. You have never had the pleasure of actually talking to your neighbor. You have only ever caught glimpses of him on the stairwell dressed in suits, very much like the one he was sporting today.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured, “I run into more doors than I’d like to admit.”

At his words, you noticed the easy smile that adorned his features, leading you to believe that he was not really hurt, physically or otherwise. Still unsure as to what to do and still stunned that you were talking to him at all, you just nodded your head.

“Being blind and all,” he supplied when you didn’t respond or laugh at his joke, making you realize that you had nodded to a blind man.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could get out, not specifying what you were apologizing for.

“You closing the door on me didn’t make me blind,” he joked, trying to help the awkwardness.

“No, I’m sorry. I know. I just realized that I had nodded at you and you couldn’t see it. I’m sorry,” you said, the headphones in your hand digging into your palm, sure to leave an imprint because of how tightly you were clenching your fist. 

Your ears burned with embarrassment as heat flashed over your skin. You watched him laugh a little, his shoulders shaking slightly. 

“I think you have said sorry more times in the last minute than I have heard in the last month. Don’t feel bad. I’m fine,” the man said as he began to step forward. “I’m Matt, by the way.” 

He stretched a hand out for you to shake, but you had forgotten the headphones in your hand, so as you reached out, they clattered to the floor. 

You cursed quietly, embarrassing yourself even more, apologizing yet again. You shook his hand quickly, supplying your name before bending down to gather your things at his feet.

“I’m beginning to think that you have some sort of complex,” Matt teased as you stood up, much closer to him than you should be upon first meeting. You were close enough to actually see yourself in the reflection of his glasses and smell the cologne he had on.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered for being so close, taking a step back, wanting nothing in the world other than to dart away and hide in your apartment and hope to forget this whole interaction.

All Matt did was laugh at your apology, set his cane back down on the ground, and begin tapping in front of him. 

“It was nice meeting you,” he said politely as he found his way to the elevator. “Have a good evening, Y/N.”

“You, too, Matt. Sorry again.”

Your feet were stuck in place as you watched him get on the elevator, chuckling to himself. When you finally came to your senses, you began running up the stairwell, your stomach in your throat as you replayed the entire interaction with your hot neighbor in your head on an extremely embarrassing loop.

…

When Matt made it to his apartment, he stripped himself of his jacket, pulled a beer out of the fridge and sat down. He knows that he shouldn’t invade your privacy, but he was curious about what you were doing. It has been a few weeks since your first encounter at the door, and Matt’s curiosity about you has only grown. You have run into each other a handful of times since, but you tend to skirt away before the conversations can get beyond anything simply cordial.

On occasion, he will find your apartment with his ears and listen to the sound of you singing along to your music. There is often an unfamiliar sound coming from your apartment as well, one that he can’t pick out, especially when you have music playing over it. The sound is always a bit wet, so his mind initially thought of something a little more lewd than he should allow himself to think about you.

Matt listens for a moment longer, enjoying the sound of you humming and singing quietly. He was about to let his mind drift away from you until he heard a distinct clatter and a string of curses flow from your lips. He doesn’t hear anything for the next few seconds as he waits to see if you are okay. It feels like hours have passed before he hears you shuffling around your apartment, picking things up off the floor, sighing and muttering as you go. His curiosity gets the better of him, and before he can reconsider, he grabs his cane and walks out the door, intent on knocking on yours.

…

Groaning quietly, you scoop the clay off the floor. You had lost focus and control, leading you to make a mess at your wheel. With your rescued clay in hand, you begin preparing it to be molded again when you hear a knock on the door.

You are not expecting anyone, so you jump a little at the sound. Glancing down at your hands still holding the wet clay in them, you are at a loss at what to do. You shuffle to the door, peaking through the peephole.

At the sight of your neighbor, Matt, you step back and curse to yourself, embarrassed that you look a mess at the moment. He is blind, but you still don’t feel particularly presentable. Another knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts, and in a bit of a panic, you call out, “Come in!” 

The door slowly clicks open and your neighbor peeks his head through before opening it up all the way. He’s wearing slacks and a white dress shirt, tinted glasses covering his eyes, obviously having recently come home from work. You wonder how he could look so good in such a simple outfit, admiring the way his torso tapers down into his hips.

“Hi, Matt,” you breathe, clutching the clay in your hands, realizing that you are dripping a bit in your doorway. “Is everything okay?” you ask, still confused as to why he is at your door.

“I guess I was coming to ask you that. I was walking by and heard some thuds and wanted to make sure you were okay,” he smiles, leaning slightly on his cane.

“Oh! Yes,” you rush out. “I’m fine. I was just doing some pottery and I, um, my clay kind of flew off the wheel a bit. Would you like to come in for a minute?” 

You had asked the question before really considering what that could mean. Without hesitation, Matt agrees and steps through the door with a few taps of his cane.

“You make pottery,” he states, a smirk on his face making you feel like there is some joke you aren’t understanding behind his words. 

“Yeah, I converted a bit of my apartment into a studio for it,” you say as you start to walk further into your apartment. The clay in your hands starts to weigh heavy as you realize that it is keeping you from leading Matt around. “Sorry, let me put my clay down and I can help you to the couch.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt says, followed by your name. Your heart stutters at the sound of your name on his lips. “I can get around fine. Am I facing the right way at least?”

Your mind is racing, trying to catch up with what is happening. You thought that your embarrassing first encounter would have turned him off of ever wanting to get to know you, but it doesn’t seem to be deterring him.

“Yes, just about four steps in front of you is the back of the couch.”

You watch him begin to maneuver around the room before coming to your senses and swiftly setting your clay back down on the wheel. When you turn back around, he has settled into the couch and is folding up his cane.

“Let me wash my hands,” you mumble, striding to the kitchen to scrub the clay off your fingers.

Matt begins making conversation, asking, “How long have you been making pottery?”

He is kind to ask, seemingly genuine in his interest. Over the sounds of the faucet you answer, “I took a class in college. Picked it up as a hobby and have been doing it ever since.”

You can hear him hum as you turn off the sink, drying your hands. Tentatively, you join Matt on the couch, sure to leave a cushion of space between you.

“Do you want something to drink? Beer? Water?” you offer, standing before he even has time to answer.

“Water would be great, thanks,” he replies. You notice the way his lips turn up in a smile and his head cocks to the side as he talks, finding it quirky, if not charming.

You take a few deep breaths at the sink, calming your nerves that have your mind in a jumbled mess. Your hot, well-dressed neighbor is sitting on your couch, happily engaging in small talk as you sit in a ratty t-shirt and shorts. “What am I doing?” you quietly ask yourself as you pick up the glasses off the counter and bring them to Matt, waiting patiently on the couch.

When you offer him the glass, he thanks you softly, bringing the rim to his lips. You can’t help but watch intently, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of doing more with those lips than watching them.

“What do you do for work, Matt?” you ask quickly, trying to distract your own mind from your wandering thoughts.

“I’m a defense attorney. My friend and I have a firm we started together,” he says as he puts his glass down on the coffee table. You are impressed that he even knew it was there, but before you can think too long about it, he has asked you the same question.

“I’m an English teacher,” you say between sips. “At the high school on 76th. Twelfth grade.”

“Admirable,” he laughs. “I hated my English teacher.”

“Everyone who doesn’t end up studying English hated their high school English teachers,” you joke. “What did they make you read? Grapes of Wrath?” 

This only causes Matt to laugh more as he nods, “Worst book I’ve read in my life.”

“Yeah, that one is a tough read,” you concede. “But at least it’s better than The Odyssey.”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he smiles.

You are not exactly sure what Matt had hoped would happen when he knocked on your door, but you are sure it wasn’t to discuss literature.

“I’m sorry. I can somehow always bring books into the conversation. Is there something I can do for you, Matt?”

He shakes his head slightly, smile only growing wider. “No, I love reading so don’t apologize for talking about it,” he assures you. “And like I said, I was just coming by to make sure you were okay.”

“Right,” you breathe, nodding and smiling. “I’m fine. Just the clay.”

The two of you fall into easy conversation for the next hour, getting to know each other. You discovered that you both frequent Josie’s, the bar around the corner, surprised that you have never run into each other there. He teases you about your first meeting, calling you out for the plethora of sorries you said. 

You enjoy talking to Matt. You find that it is almost effortless to do so. The conversation is seamless and you eventually make your way back to the topic of ceramics where you had started.

“Can I listen while you work?” he asks you. “I have always wanted to try pottery but never got around to taking a class.”

Shocked that he is asking to stay longer, and that he is asking with such surety, you agree. 

“Yes, of course. You’re welcome to. Would you, um, would you like to try it?” 

You glance again at his clothes which are far too nice to be doing pottery in, but you asked the question before you ever considered that.

“Could I? I would love to, if that’s okay,” he says, looking adorably eager.

“Of course. It is a little bit messy,” you say, getting up to find some clothes for him to change into. “Let me grab you some sweats or something.”

Shifting through your drawers, you find a pair of sweatpants big enough for him to wear. You bring them out and find that he has already unbuttoned his shirt, giving you a clear vision of his incredibly toned torso. Your breath catches at the sight, eyes unmoving as he removes the article entirely. 

“I found some sweats,” you mumble, your throat suddenly dry. “I can find a shirt, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses, grabbing the sweats from your hands. “I don’t want to get all your clothes dirty.”

You breathe out a quiet, “Okay,” before leading him gently to the bathroom to change his pants.

When the door has closed behind him, you let yourself catch your breath, mind going into panic-mode as you comprehend what is about to happen. You are about to teach your hot, blind shirtless neighbor, Matt, how to work with wet clay. How in the world did you get here?

Suddenly, the door is open and Matt is shuffling to the middle of the room, glasses and dress pants removed. You grab his elbow and guide him to the stool in front of the pottery wheel. He sits down, and you let out a quiet breath.

“You ready?” you ask, pulling up another stool behind him.

“I’m ready,” he answers as he stretches his hands out to find the clay. 

You start the wheel up and guide his hands with your own, reaching around him, one arm going over his bare, sculpted shoulder, the other weaving under it. Your skin tingles as your arm presses into his side, hyper aware of every centimeter of contact. Wet hands push and mold the clay, helping it take shape.

You can hear his breath falling short as you help him cup his hands over the clay. You talk softly, whispering directions and guidance.

“You’re doing great, Matt. You’re a natural,” you praise, causing his breath to hitch.

“I have a good teacher,” he whispers as his head leans back slightly to direct his comment to your mouth.

When you have a good round shape going, you press his thumb into the center gently, your chest pressing into his back in order to angle his hand correctly. Your heart pounds in your ears, hips shifting on the stool.

“Beautiful,” you breathe as the clay begins taking the form of a small cup. “You were perfect.”

“Thank you for teaching me.”

When your project is complete, you take your hands away from the clay and slow the wheel down until it comes to a stop. You do not move from your position around Matt yet, instead electing to guide his hands to the bowl of water you have beside the wheel. You submerge Matt’s large, calloused hands in the water, gliding your fingers over his palms in an effort to loosen the shell of clay forming around them. Your fingers weave through his as you clean them, the feeling of his knuckles catching on yours has a subtle heat surging to your core. You feel the raised scars that litter his hands and wonder who he fought to get them. 

Matt’s eyes are closed as you work with his hands, your chest still pressed to his back. You hear him whisper your name, drawing your eyes to his. You know he can’t see you, but you feel his attention on you, making your skin flush with heat. He leans in slowly, his nose nudging yours before finding your lips with his own. 

The kiss is slow, soft, unsure. Your breath flutters out of your nose as his lips begin to move. The feeling of his beard scratching at your chin causes your stomach to tighten and hands to grip his in the water. His tongue comes to press against your top lip, silently asking for entrance. You grant it as you tilt your head, finding the angle where your lips perfectly slot with his.

“Matt,” you mumble against his lips, causing him to pull away slightly, “come with me.”

You stand up slowly and wrap your hands in a towel, drying Matt’s with it as well. He stands up quietly and links his hands in yours, shuffling behind you. You guide him to the bathroom and turn on the spray of water from the shower head. 

“I’m just going to wash your arms,” you explain. You know he could wash them himself, but you want to have an excuse to keep touching him. Your heart hasn’t stopped its steady thumping since you sat behind Matt at the wheel, and the pace only quickens when you help him put his beautifully toned forearms under the water. 

For being so confident on the surface, Matt is exceptionally quiet. You expected maybe a few more suggestive comments or pick up lines, but instead, Matt has kept silent, only mumbling small thank you’s and hums. His eyebrows knit together in what looks to be contentment, almost bliss. 

You run your fingers over his arms, fingernails scratching at his skin, rinsing away any remaining clay. When you have finished, you begin washing yourself, and having sensed this, Matt stops your movement and replaces your hands with his own. He quietly glides his palms over your forearms, scratching over your wrists. The tender actions have your breath coming in shallow pants as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Beautiful,” Matt whispers, parroting your comment from earlier.

You pull your hands out of the water, turning it off. Matt’s hands never leave your body. They slide up your arms and cascade down your waist. His lips find yours again as your wet hands weave their way through his hair. You gently press your hips to his which causes his breath to catch and hitch in a way that has you pressing yourself even further into him.

After a few more kisses, Matt pulls away for a second and removes his hands from your waist to loop them around your wrists.

“No one has ever been as gentle with me as you have been,” he says in a voice that is barely audible. 

“You deserve it, Matt,” you say before leaning in to kiss him again.

(Smut begins here)

The two of you make your way out of the bathroom and back to the couch where your glasses of water were left unfinished. You lay down and guide Matt to the space between your knees. His hips press into yours, your core clenching and burning at the friction. Lips find each other as one of  his hands comes to rest above his head while the other nudges its way beneath your shirt at your hip.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, eyes open and gazing unfocused at your collarbones.

“Yes,” you breathe, “more than okay.”

At your words of consent, his hips start moving against your core, igniting a fire below your navel. His hands, still damp from the shower, slide up your bare waist, skimming below your breast. You had rid yourself of your bra when you had come home from work, completely unaware that you would be in this position a few hours later. Because of this, Matt has unadulterated access which you are more than happy to grant him.

Your hips roll into his, back arching when his thumb grazes your nipple. He hushes the quiet sigh that escapes you with a kiss, sliding his hand down your back. His lips move behind your ear, down your throat, and over the exposed skin of your collarbone. His hips have not stopped their slow circles, and your own meet him in rhythm. 

You can feel your panties becoming soaked by the second, and as if he can read your mind, he pulls you up to straddle his lap, his hand coming to press gently to your core. You gasp at the pressure which elicits a smile and a hum from Matt.

“Can I touch you here?” he asks quietly. 

You nod and whisper, “Please.”

“Can I take these off?” 

Before he can help you, you stand up and slide your shorts down your legs and climb back in his lap.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, the words shooting straight to your core. You clench around nothing, your hips rolling in search of friction. Shaky breaths flutter from your lips, and the sound drives Matt crazy.

In one motion, Matt kisses you hard and open mouthed as his fingers push your panties to the side, pressing into your wet core. You suck in a breath at the feeling of his fingers swiping up and down, finding place inside of you. They move in and out, nudging the spot that has you arching and keening in his lap.

“I like listening to you,” he murmurs into your lips, capturing them in a kiss that has you moaning into his mouth. “Your breaths. Your moans. Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

His words draw a sigh from your lips, your hands clutching his bare shoulders as his fingers drive in and out of you. Covered in you, they find your pearl, pressing and stroking. It doesn’t take long for the coil in your core to tighten, your eyes to clench, and your hips to roll against his fingers.

“I’m so close,” you mumble, sighing and moaning as you chase your release.

“That’s it,” Matt says softly. “Let go.”

At that moment, the pressure in your hips releases and you let yourself come on his fingers, clenching around them as his thumb rubs over your clit. He guides you through it, kissing you as his other hand cradles your head. 

“You were perfect, sweetheart,” he says, his praise soothing as you come down from your high. Your heart starts slowing its pace as you melt into Matt. He pulls his fingers out and wraps his arms around you, taking you in as you collapse into his form. You sit silently together for a minute while you catch your breath. You listen to his breathing, your face pressed into the crook of his neck.

“Matt,” you say, at which he hums in acknowledgment. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”

He lets out a laugh that comes out more like a huff. “Of course. I’m glad you were okay.”

“Do you want to come over again? I could show you how to make a bowl next time.”

He laughs but does not give an immediate response. For a second you thought that he was going to say no, your body panicking, your heart rate spiking, but before you started overthinking everything, he answers, “I would love to. And I’ll bring dinner next time.”

a/n: thank you so so much for reading !! check out my masterlist with a few other fics if you want more !!

[sweatyracoon]

Misanthropic

Misanthropy - A deep dislike of human kind

A/n: Changbin needs more love :'(

Warnings: none. Fluff, pet names, pretending to dislike Changbin, anxious reader, for all genders

You were a loner. It wasn't a secret. You had a scowl on whenever you were near people. It kept them from addressing you, and that was your goal.

You hated people.

It was quite ironic, especially since you worked with more than you cared for. JYP studios drafted you as a staff member for a group of male idols, which meant you made bank.

It also meant you were with people twenty four seven. Money was more important to you than your comfort, it seems.

This didn't go unnoticed by your coworkers.

They often called you greedy and a bitch due to your attitude and behaviors. You never bothered responding to them, not wanting to dig yourself into a hole. You also were above such childish antics.

You barely spoke, and have only ever spoke to Bangchan and Jeongin, not daring to speak to the rest. The boys were who made you nervous.

It was a normal day for you, except it started off horrible. You spilt your coffee on your shirt before even walking into the building, a person bumping into you.

You hissed at them with words you shouldn't have used, scaring them off quickly.

Once you got to work, all anyone said when talking to you was commenting on your shirt and choice of drink.

Snarky comments reached your ears from different voices, and you were sure that anyone that looked at you saw the steam fuming from your ears.

Your teeth clenched together when someone bothered you, not wanting to snap like you did the guy that made you spill your coffee.

You needed this job.

Today was a SKZ episode filming, so you were helping set up the forty or so cameras everywhere you could, ignoring the chatter surrounding you.

It was a shame you couldn't listen to music.

You would obviously listen to Stray Kids, but only because you liked them. You didn't feel obligated.

The boys were messing around, making it difficult to concentrate on the wires pooled at your feet.

Changbin noticed you were more tense than normal.

He had taken an interest in your ever since you became employed with them.

He loved the way you held your ground, and how passionate you were at this job while everyone else was laid back.

He saw when you took leadership when you were frustrated. How you snapped your fingers when no one listened to you.

But today, it looked like you could rip someone's head off with one glare.

It frightened him.

He saw you gripping the camera stilts with the threat of pain as you forced them together with a pleading look in your eyes.

You were angry.

Changbin wanted to know why. He wanted to know who set you off. He wanted to pound them into the ground since they made you fragile.

He wanted to see your light smile.

"Hey y/n! Why aren't you done yet? We're about to start filming," another staff called at you, making you freeze.

You looked around at everyone else still setting up, and then back at the boys who were still messing around.

It was your breaking point. His condescending tone broke you.

"Seriously? Get off your phone you dick! I've been working all day while everyone else is busy making snide comments at me and my damn stained shirt. So what? Shit happens!" You yelled, storming off after you threw the metal bars in his direction, barely grazing his calf. He flinched.

You left the room only to collapse in the hallway just outside, grateful no one followed.

You knew you probably just blew it, but you couldn't help it. Your temper had never been the greatest.

You closed your eyes as your breathed deeply, drifting slightly.

Changbin came out not that long after, pausing when he saw your still frame sitting against the wall, your knees pushed up to your chest, your head tilted back.

"Y/n?" It's his first time talking to you, but he loved the way your name sounded on his lips. "You okay, jagi?"

"Don't call me that," you scoff at him, opening your eyes to look at him.

He was standing in front of you, a concerned look on his face. It almost made you feel sick.

"Sorry," He apologized while sitting with his back against the wall opposite of you.

"It's fine. You just don't know me enough to call me that. Manners," You ramble, not really comfortable talking with the idols much.

You didn't mind the guys. If it were just you and tem, you think your anger would be in control. But the pestering staff. Your a ticking time bomb.

"What happened?" He asked, fumbling with the hem of his shirt, wrinkling it with his actions.

"What do you mean?" You ask back, eyes unfocussed, a dot on the floor grasping your attention.

"Coffee? Hot chocolate? What do you drink that's so dark?" He points at his shirt where the stain is on yours.

"Sorry I can't enjoy Americanos like you and the boys," you grin, covering it with your legs.

"I'm not gonna judge you, y/n. I like the sugary taste with extra pumps of syrup...don't tell Hyunjin," He whisper yelled to you, making you giggle suddenly.

Changbin decided it was his new favorite sound.

"So you cheat, basically?" You smirk, raising a brow at him.

"Yeah," He laughed, both of you sitting silently for a few minutes before he snapped, making you jump.

"I have something for you, wait here!" He jumped up, leaving before you could question him.

When he came back, he looked slightly out of breath.

"I hate running," he scoffed, tossing something that landed in front of you. "Here,"

You grabbed it, watching as it unfolded in your palm.

It was a shirt. One of his, actually. It was one you recognized well. You had seen him wear it often, and it made your heart flutter.

"It's my favorite," he stated, you turned to look at him.

"I know. You wore it last week in the community vlog-" you gulp. "Thank you, Binnie," you whisper, tugging it over your own ruined shirt.

While it was over, underneath, away from his eyes, you stripped your soiled shirt, pulling the entire cloth through your left armhole.

Fully changed, you stood with a light smile, making Changbin swoon over how cute the smile was paired with his large shirt over your small body.

"So you can call me Binnie, but I can't call you jagi? What world do we live in?" He grinned, taking your shirt from your hands.

You decided to let your attitude show for the better with some humor.

"One where the women rule," you grin back playing with the hem of the borrowed shirt.

His face brightened, relieved that your able to lighten up around him.

"One where you rule," He muttered, unsure if you heard him. His ears and neck were flushed as he stares at you.

"You know, most people suck. You aren't so bad, Bin," you giggle, pulling him into an unexpected hug. "Thank you."

He stood in shock before wrapping his arms around you, squeezing.

"Your welcome, jagi," he responded.

"I think I could get used that, I guess." You laugh when you pulled back.

"Yes, my queen/king," Changbin mocked your previous claim, but believe that you could be the one to rule his heart.

[stealthily--nobody]

Proud of you

Summary: Curufinwe can never be good enough. Not even when he tries.

Also on AO3

Curufinwe was not crying. He was definitely, absolutely not crying one bit. And if there was leakage from his eyeballs, they were not tears. And if you absolutely had to classify them as tears, it was not because he was sad.  

Because he wasn’t sad. Nor was he in any way heartbroken. 

It was just that, well, he was disappointed. In himself most of all. 

Father had always stressed the importance of excellence and self-learning and pushing yourself past your limit. Curufinwe wanted to be just like Father. He had always tried to live up to those ideals. He made sure to wake up before the sun every morning to stoke the forge fires, stayed up long past story time writing down his next designs and fell asleep imagining hammer strikes. 

He was doing his best. And yet, it wasn’t enough. 

Today was supposed to have been the culmination of his hard work, of his multiple revisions of his designs and proof of his efforts. Father had taken the entire family to visit their grandfather at Aule’s forges and Curufinwe had prepared himself to present his newest design to not only his father but also his grandfather, the best and second-best smiths of all the Noldor and most of Aman. 

He’d made the entire design in secrecy and had entered it into a local competition under a false name waiting for his father and grandfather to choose it as the winner before revealing himself. He could imagine the proud smile his father would give him and the exuberant congratulations his grandfather would heap on his skill. It would be everything he ever dreamed of. 

Only, it hadn’t won. 

He had somehow lost to one of his grandfather’s newest apprentices who’d only touched a forge hammer for the first time half a decade ago. Curufinwe had been in a forge his whole life and had been working at his father’s side for the last 20 years. 

How was this possible? His design was superb with its triangular interlocking structure and steel folded carefully in the hottest fires he could find. He had stress-tested the model bridge himself and it hadn’t experienced any stress when he put his whole weight on it or when he tricked Huan into sitting on it. 

So why had he not placed at all in the competition and instead told that his design didn’t enhance the beauty of Valinor? 

What about it wasn’t perfect? 

But Father and Grandfather weren’t supposed to know that he entered (he couldn’t tell them since he messed up), so he couldn’t be sad or mad or say anything about the competition. He had kept himself very presentable all through dinner and then through grandfather’s stories. It was only after Grandfather had disappeared to do something for Aule that Curufinwe was able to wander off on his own out of their grandfather’s home and into the forest surrounding it. 

He wasn’t crying. He was just a little mad. He just wanted to be alone for a little bit and brood over how unfair the ruling had been. 

And he needed to bury his bridge before Father or Grandfather found it and found out that he’d been the one to build it. 

And so, the forest. He had found the perfect spot, close enough to the house that Mother could call for him but far enough away that no one would see him dig the hole. 

Each shovel felt bitter and he tore at the ground with vigour. Maybe too much vigour that he didn’t realize he’d been found until he heard Tyelko speak right in his ear, “I didn’t know you entered the competition.” 

Curufinwe turned to stare at his brother and kick him in the shins. “I didn’t. I’m just getting rid of some junk that I don’t need anymore.” 

“By burying it in the forest?” Tyelko rose back to his full height so he could tower over Curufinwe and only smirked when Curufinwe glowered. “I’m pretty sure I saw that bridge at the competition. It was so ugly.” 

That was it. Curufinwe tossed the shovel to the ground and threw himself at his brother, punching and tugging and kicking. “It’s not ugly! It’s structurally sound and capable of supporting 10 times any other design presented. The triangles make it stronger. It’s perfect and functional and the judges are stupid for picking the low-lying suspension over this one.” 

“Let me see it then!” Tyelko pushed Curufinwe off of him with strength far exceeding Curufinwe’s child body and snatched the bridge from the half-dug hole. He then held the bridge in two hands before cracking it over his knee. 

Or he tried to. The bridge held and Tyelko dropped it as he swore. Curufinwe kicked Tyelko for good measure and plucked the structurally sound bridge back up. 

“You weren’t kidding about it being strong,” Tyelko moaned even as he rolled back to his feet. “That’s impressive Curvo.” 

“Father and Grandfather didn’t think so,” Curufinwe muttered as he returned to his hole. 

“Hey,” Tyelko pushed his head until Curufinwe was staring up at Tyelko's mud-stained silver locks. “It’s impressive. Even if Father doesn’t see it, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be proud of your work.” 

That made no sense to Curufinwe. “Father is the greatest smith ever. If he doesn’t think it's good then it isn’t.” 

Tyelko sighed in a way very reminiscent of Maitimo and pulled Curufinwe’s hair until he was sitting beside his brother. “Father is not all-knowing. I’m certain he didn’t even think to test the prototype’s strength. If he knew you’d made it, I’m sure he would be proud of you.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” Curufinwe argued, “Father says he’s proud of us when we do anything. He was proud of Maitimo when he started working in Tirion and when Makalaure composed that awful ballad and when Carnistir made that awful tapestry in pastels and when you killed your first deer. He’s not really proud of the work. He just says he is!” 

Curufinwe was panting and kicking at the ground. It was only after that he realized his words and looked up at his brother with guilt boiling in his gut. But Tyelko didn’t look too mad and instead leaned back against a tree and hummed. “He is proud. He’s proud because he’s our father and he’s proud of all our achievements, even yours.” 

Curufinwe didn’t agree. What was the point of Father being proud of Curufinwe’s project just because he made it? Did that not mean he could be awful at it and Father would still pretend he liked Curufinwe’s work? He wanted to be recognized and praised for his skill, not for being Father’s son. He worked hard and he was good at what he did. Why could Father not see past his own bias and just appreciate Curufinwe’s work?! 

Tyelko looked at him once more with an inscrutable look before he ruffled Curufinwe’s hair and told him again, “Father would be proud. I’m proud of you, squirt. You put a lot of work into this project and you should be proud of your work.” 

“Why. It doesn’t matter, does it?” Curufinwe snapped, parroting the feedback, “This is Valinor. No one cares about structural stability. Only ever how beautiful the building is.” 

“It’ll have its uses one day,” Tyelko promised him, “And until then, remember, I’ll always be proud of everything you do. I promise.”

[cloudlessly-light]

Sunshine (one-shot)

A/N: What no filth who is this? I’m honestly not sure what this is, it wasn’t supposed to be angsty and then it still became… well this. We’re playing a little fast and loose with the timeline in this one, but just go with it okay? And please enjoy!

Title: Sunshine Summary:I will not betray him, or his father.  Word count: 3,9k Rating: General Warnings: Mentions of death, grieving, kinda angsty

Emily never thought she would find a family, a real family. It wasn’t what she grew up with, it wasn’t something she found as she got older. Until him. Aaron Hotchner was everything she had ever wanted, and of course she couldn’t have him.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, that the man she found so attractive was not only her boss, but he was married and had a son. So she ignores the way her stomach flutters when he touches her, pretends she doesn’t feel her heart ache at times when she thinks of him.

But life happens, Aaron ends up divorced and they grow closer, build a friendship that’s more than small talk at work. He invites her over to dinners, she goes to the park with him and Jack, the three-year-old a whirlwind of energy. She finds herself falling in love with him but she never tells him. He was still mourning the loss of his marriage. Of Haley.

She doesn’t fault him for that, can’t blame him for not feeling the same way she did. Having him as a friend wasn’t a consolation prize and being allowed to spend a weekend with Jack was something she treasured.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” She sings to herself as she cuts a tomato for their salad.

“You sing good.” Jack is suddenly beside her, all smiles and wide eyes.

“Thank you Jack.” She picks him up so he can sit beside her on the counter and watches to make sure he’s steady before picking up the tomato slices and puts them in a bowl.

“Again.” He grins and she chuckles.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

Things are slowly starting to work themselves out, Aaron seemingly coming to terms with his marriage and finding some sort of balance between seeing his son and working the hours they have to. And then, barely a year later George Foyet comes crashing into their lives in a way no one expected.

As he heals from the injures Foyet had caused him, she takes care of him. It’s small gestures, groceries at his door, new bandages when she knows he’s run out, a silent support as he angrily drinks away the pain of not knowing where his son is. It’s the first time an unsub has won their personal battle against the BAU. But it’s not the last. Foyet wins again as he murders Haley, and in his pursuit of revenge he turns Aaron into a killer too.

He doesn’t regret what he did, she knows he doesn’t. But she could still see flashes of something close to guilt sometimes. Aaron wasn’t his father, he didn’t want to turn to violence, and she reminds him that’s not what happened when she needs to, the words whispered in the quietness of his apartment as Jack sleeps down the hall.

When she watches Aaron at the funeral she wants nothing more than to hold him, show him the support she knows he needs but won’t ask for. Instead she holds Jack’s hand when his father needs a moment alone.

“Emmy, is mommy cold in there?” He asks as he watched the hole in the ground with the coffin of his dead mother and Emily wants to cry. She doesn’t, instead she kneels next to him, not caring that her heels dig into the dirt as she did.

“No, she’s not.” She sees the way Jack tries to understand what is happening, how he tries to wrap his mind around something he’s far too young to comprehend.

“Is she gone forever?” His bottom lip trembles with the question and she knew that if Foyet wasn’t already dead, that she would have killed him herself for making him feel this way.

“Honey, you might not be able to see her, but she’s not gone. Because we remember her, we love her.” She holds his small hands in hers and when he squeezes them tightly she squeezes back.

“Daddy too?” He asks just as Aaron starts to make his way back to them, his dark eyes shining with tears he doesn’t want to let fall in front of his son.

“Yeah, dad too.” She gives Aaron a soft smile as Jack hugs her close, his head buried against her neck.

“Thank you.” Aaron mumbles quietly as he watches his son grieve for the first time.

They’re called away that same night, and everything in her tells her that she should stay. They weren’t ready, any of them. And she didn’t want to leave Aaron alone. When he calls her later that night she isn’t expecting it. He didn’t ask for help, it was one if his biggest flaws.

“I’m sorry to call, can you talk?” His voice is strained, exhaustion and hurt in every word.

“Of course.” She sits down on the bed in her tiny hotel room and hears sniffling on the other end, Jack’s cries getting louder as Aaron walks towards his bedroom.

“He asked for the song, I didn’t know what else to do, neither Jessica nor I can get him to sleep.”

“It’s okay Hotch, hold the phone to his ear.” She blinks away tears, it had been a rough day, she couldn’t even imagine how a four-year-old would feel.

“Emmy?” She hears his voice, small and shaky, fragile in a way she hopes to never hear again.

“Hi sweetheart.” She can hear the emotion in her own voice, but forces it away. “You want your song?”

“Mhmm.”

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey…” She sings it softly, over and over again until finally Aaron is talking, his voice just above a whisper.

“He’s sleeping. Thank you Emily. Thank you for everything.”

When they hang up she finds herself wondering how life could be so cruel.

The first time they kiss, everything about it is wrong. He’s still mourning, he’s drunk on scotch and heartache and she’s there, as the unwavering pillar of strength he’s gotten used to.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles when she pushes him away with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t have.” She agrees, but she’s not angry at him, how could she be when she knew that all he wanted was a moment to forget. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel her entire body recoil with the feeling of him using her as a way to escape. “Don’t do that again please.”

The silence is tense between them as he stares at her, his eyes slightly hazy from the multiple drinks he’s had.

“What if I want to?” He finally asks and she feels her heart rate increase as she swallows harshly. This is what she had wanted for years, had wanted him to show any interest in her and now it was all wrong.

“You’re drunk.” She chuckles dryly, the sound sarcastic as it falls from her lips and she tries to stand from the couch but his hand on hers stops her, warm and secure in his touch.

“I wanted to kiss you before everything.” He admits and for a second her world seems to stop and she can’t do anything but stare at him. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an eternity until she sighed heavily.

“You’re not ready.” She tells him, the words hurting as she does stand this time. “It’s not our time.”

She leaves with a sinking feeling in her gut, not knowing if she made the right choice or not.

The next day he’s at her doorstep, early in the morning and dark eyes intense as he looks at her but not walking through the door to her apartment.

“It’s not up to you to tell me when I’m ready to move on.” He tells her. “Now if you don’t feel the way I do, that’s one thing. But you don’t get to decide when I’m ready to move on.”

She can’t seem to form words, her brain barely comprehending what he was saying. He must take her silence as rejection because he turns and starts to walk down the corridor, gets almost halfway to the staircase before she brings herself to speak.

“I do.” Her words make him stop to look at her and when she speaks again he starts to walk back towards her. “I do feel the way you do, I just never thought you would feel the same.” By the time she’s finishes he’s standing in front of her, his warm hand gently holding the back of her neck.

“Well I do.” He kisses her and this time it’s different, even if it’s only hours apart. His lips are soft but determined against hers, his hands careful as he pulls her against him and she finds herself wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

It’s the start of them, the start of the family she never thought she’d have.

For a while, things seem to be falling into place, they find happiness and love together, and she slowly starts to feel like she’s home. She reads bedtime stories to Jack at night and helps him with homework after school. It’s domestic in a way she never thought she’d have. And she’s never been more content.

“Emily!” Jack lunges himself at her, had run towards her the moment he saw her as he walked out of school.

“Hi sweetheart.” She kisses the top of his sandy blonde head opens the car door for him. “Did you have a good day today?”

“Yes!” He’s almost six now, curious about life as he rambles about everything he’s learned that day.

She listens intently, happy that she could pick him up when Aaron had to stay late at the office.

“Oh, and guess what!” His voice rises slightly in excitement as he digs through his backpack to pull out a paper. “I got a star because I got all my answers right in math!”

“That’s great sweetie, I’m so proud of you!” She smiles at him in the review mirror and she sees the thrilled look on his face.

It’s the quiet kind of life she had dreamt of as a child and for the first time in a long time she feels safe.

But of course, life doesn’t always turn out the way you want and her past comes chasing after her.

Ian Doyle is the second unsub that wins his fight against the BAU and when she’s sent away on a plane she knows that she’s broken in a way that might never heal. JJ sits beside her, holding her hand but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to, because there are no words that would make things better.

“I don’t know what he told Jack.” She whispers suddenly, dark eyes shining with tears as they meet clear blue ones. “He’s lost so much already and now I’m putting him through this.”

“Emily, you didn’t do anything. If you want to blame someone, blame Doyle.” Her hand squeezes hers and Emily grips it tightly in return.

“I just wish I could have said goodbye.”

It’s something she thinks about often, the fact that she never said goodbye to the boy she loves as her own. She wonders what Aaron told him, how Jack was doing, if her family was okay. It’s six months spent being half a person, every inch of her longing for DC, for them.

And then she gets the call.

She’s coming back and after watching Doyle die as she holds Declan in her arms she knows that the nightmare is over. The second she’s alone with Aaron she throws herself in his arms and he’s holding her just as tightly.

“I missed you.” She whispers against his neck and his grip gets impossibly tighter.

“I missed you too.” He kisses her temple and breathes her in. “I missed you so much sweetheart.”

When they finally break apart he notices the lingering tear on her cheek and he carefully wipes it away with his thumb.

“It’s over.” He says like he doesn’t quite believe it, and to be fair she doesn’t either.

He tells her about Jack, tells her that for weeks Jack had asked about her, had wondered when she was coming home, had complained about his toast because they weren’t as good as hers. She laughs at that, somehow the relief of knowing that Aaron hadn’t told him she died so intense she was close to crying again.

“I couldn’t do that to him.” He explains quietly as they sit in the house they had bought together just months before Doyle showed up. “I couldn’t tell him you were dead, so I said you had gone away for work, but that you loved him and missed him.”

“I’m so sorry.” She sighs, fingers brushing hair away from her face in frustration. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Do not apologize for a choice I made. If anything I’m sorry, I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

In the silence of their home they somehow found peace, together.

They find their way back, after everything one thing was clear, they wanted to be together through everything. But spending months apart, spending six months alone, had changed her. He noticed before she did, that she wasn’t happy, wasn’t content in the way she used to be. But she tries to ignore it, because she was home, with them.

“Emily?” Jack asks from the doorway to their bedroom, it’s late, too late for the eight-year-old to be up on a school night.

“Jack, what’s wrong?” She puts the book down that she was reading as she waited for Aaron to come home from work. When he doesn’t say anything, simply kicks his foot softly against the floor she sits up and leans back against the headboard. “Jack?” She says softly.

“I had a dream.” He mumbles quietly, so quietly that she almost didn’t hear him. But it’s words she’s heard before, words she’s heard every so often for four years now. But he hasn’t had them in a long time now.

“A nightmare?” She lifts the covers as he nods, not really meeting her eye and she hates that he’s ashamed of having nightmares of the day when his mother died, like he’s ashamed of having them. “Come here.”

He walks quickly towards her, buries his face in her neck just as he did when he was younger and she gently scratches her fingers through his hair.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” She sings softly as she gently strokes his back. It had been years but it still had the same effect on him, slowly calming him and giving him comfort. Eventually, she feels him relax against her, his breathing soon evening out and once she’s sure that he’s asleep, she cries for everything they had lost.

A year goes by and things doesn’t get better, Emily a shell of her former self. And it’s not working anymore. Their relationship had gotten strained, she was shutting herself off from him and in return he felt at a loss. They couldn’t ignore it anymore, knew they were fighting a losing battle.

When she gets the call from Easter it’s like something falls into place. Aaron knows she’s going to accept the offer before she says the words herself, knew from the moment she told him.

“You should go.” He tells her, even as his entire body hurts from admitting that. “You’re unhappy here.”

“I-I don’t want to go, I want to be with you, with Jack.” She’s angry, furious at him for wanting her to go, for even suggesting it.

“You want to take it.” He says calmly but his voice is thick with emotion. “I love you Em, I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone, but this isn’t working and you know it.”

“Aaron-” She blinks away tears, tears of anger and sadness and regret. Because he was right and she hated that Ian Doyle still had power in her life even from death. “What about Jack? What about us? Come with me. Please come with me.”

“You know I can’t sweetheart. It wouldn’t change anything” He feels his own eyes tear and he sighs. “We’ll explain it to Jack together, he’ll understand.”

“No he won’t, you know he won’t.” The door opens right as she’s about to break down and Jack walks into the kitchen with his soccer under one arm.

The young boy takes one look at them and stops in his tracks. Even as Emily forces away the tears and Aaron tries to keep the sadness off his face, it’s like he knows. He had heard them fighting, had noticed the changes between them. He’s more receptive than most children, had already learned from his father how to read people, had been through too much not to be observant of his surroundings.

Jack’s dark eyes find Emily’s.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

The silence tells him everything.

Almost four years go by and in those years she finds herself again, betters herself. She speaks to Jack every week, speaks to Aaron regularly as well. And even though it hurts knowing that they could have had a life together, it hurts less as time goes on.

“Hi Em!” Jack greets her with a toothy grin as she calls on skype, still at the office but refusing to miss their weekly call.

“Hi Jack, how are you?” She smiles back at him.

“I’m good. I miss you.”

“I miss you too honey.” She promises him, because she does. She misses him with every fiber of her being. But she doesn’t want to make him think about it too much, so she quickly speaks again. “How did your game go?”

“I scored three goals.” The look on his face lets her know just how proud he is of himself. “And after Beth bought me pizza to celebrate.”

She feels the blow to her stomach that she always associated with Aaron’s new girlfriend but forced the feeling away. Because they never really fell out of love, she was pretty sure she would always love him. She didn’t blame Aaron for trying to move on, because she wanted him happy even if it wasn’t with her. But the times when they saw each other when she traveled to DC it was clear, the love they shared would never really disappear.

“That’s great, sweetie.” She gets out and as Jack continues to talk about school and life and soccer she listened with fondness.

Sometimes she couldn’t believe just how big he was getting.   

When she gets the call that Aaron and Jack have gone into victim’s protection she’s on the verge of panic for weeks. They had been through so much already; Jack had been through too much. She moves back to the states without a second thought, because she knew she would not rest until Peter Lewis was behind bars.

He’s the third unsub that wins against the team, the loss of Aaron something so close to breaking them all. She realizes that this is what he felt like all those years ago when Haley and Jack were gone, the not knowing, the worrying, the longing, it was close to unbearable.

And then Scratch tricks them, again.

When she wakes up after the car accident she immediately knows that something is wrong. She’s in pain, she’s in a warehouse and she is alone. The torture is unbearable, as she lays there with screws and metal in her legs, thinking that not only her career was over, but she also wouldn’t see Aaron again. Then Lewis gives her an out, offers her pain relief and for a moment she thinks that she would give in to him, the pain getting to be too much, but the second she finds out what he’s after she knows that she would rather die than give him what he wants.

“I love Jack; I’ve watched Jack grow up. I will not betray him or his father, so it doesn’t matter what you do to me. I will not break.”

And she doesn’t. When she thinks that she is dying she’s at peace, knowing that Jack and Aaron are safe.

But Peter Lewis doesn’t get to win for a second time and as she watches his dead body on the ground she feels nothing but relief.

It’s only a few days later that there’s a knock at her door and even though she hasn’t heard that knock in years she knows who’s on the other side of it. And for a second she can’t breathe. When she opens it he’s standing there, as handsome as ever, older, somehow softer and she realizes that being away has done him good.

“Aaron-”

“I heard what you did, what you went through.” He lets his eyes travel over her face, bruised and swollen but still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“I would have done it again.” She can feel her heart beating in her chest, can barely believe he’s standing in front of her. “There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.”

“I know.”

For a few moments they just look at each other, a silent understanding between them.

“Are you back?” She finally asks and when the corner of his mouth tugs into the smile she had always loved she felt like something was falling into place. A missing piece of her finally making her feel whole.

“I am.” He takes a tentative step towards her and that’s when she realizes that they’re still standing in the doorway. She lets him in, closes the door behind him and when she turns he’s closer, so close she can smell his cologne. It’s the same as it always had been and she breathes in the familiar scent. When he carefully rubs his thumb against her bruised cheek she sucks in a shaky breath as she leans into it.

“I’m not dreaming right?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper as he closes the final distance between them.

“No, sweetheart.” He brushes some hair away from her face. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” She lets one hand rest against his chest, feels his heartbeat against her palm, beating fast and hard in his chest. “Are you staying?”

“If you’ll have me.” He whispers and tears she hadn’t noticed before shine in his eyes as he looks down at her.

She had never been more sure of anything.

“Yes.”

Jack is almost as tall as her now, a teenager that’s had to grow up much faster than he should have. The moment he sees her he’s running, tall limbs and his sandy blonde hair a little darker than it used to be. He’s looking more like Aaron now, dark eyes and a heavy frown.

She doesn’t realize how hard she’s hugging him, doesn’t realize that the wetness on her face is from tears of relief. Then she hears it, a soft, gentle hum against her ear as she holds him close, Aaron watching from a few feet away.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey.” Jack mumbles, his voice darker than she remembered.

“You’re home.” She cradles his face in a way she knows he would have found embarrassing if it were under any other circumstance.

“So are you.” He smiles and she chokes out a laugh.

Emily never thought she would find a family, a real family. Until them.

[uncreative-cryptid]

Valerian Intimacy Levels

more or less a draft tho cause tbh did these while sick and dont have motivation to fully go through them BUT i may edit/change things in the future as i continue to feel things out for this oc so .. draft

look shiny rocks i found on pinterest to distract you!

Intimacy Lv. I

A Haunted Aura To anyone merely passing by, Valerian would seem to be an odd fellow. Cheery demeanor, coy smile, and exaggerated gestures, it was easy to write him off in passing as nothing more than eccentric.

However, is knowledge of the many minerals in Jinzhou have been invaluable to many seeking to know more.

From salesmen, to painters, to even exiles, knowledge on valuable minerals and their many uses comes in handy.

However, many have made note that whenever Valerian is asked of the minerals in Tiger's Maw, the air about him seems to change ever so slightly, yet the strange shift is brushed off quickly.

He will always offer his information, perhaps mention he used to do explorations in the area, but has since retired from that line of work as his wanderlust has him going further along than ever.

Intimacy Lv. II

A Wild Unknown: Tamed If you asked any of Valerian's siblings, they would have told you he was a rebellious child even against their parents.

Rough housing in the yard, running away from house maids, jumping in muddy puddles beside the ladies in long dresses; Valerian was a known force by his parents as unable to be tamed.

Even into his teen years, Valerian was a difficult child, who shunned his parents' favor of his younger siblings outright to chase and explore the outside with the family dog.

Swinging from trees, throwing stones at passing folk, chasing nearby green tailed rabbits, digging holes with the excarats, Valerian was truly a spirit untamed.

However, it only took one encounter with a girl from his school, for things to change.

Fondly, Valerian will recall the way he sat on his heels, listening to her sing as she danced down the road, and his unceremonious fall from the branch he'd been occupying.

Intimacy Lv. III

Wanderlust Despite being quite rowdy, and shunning the sciences of the New Federation, Valerian made good marks in school and would find himself desiring to know more of the world.

"Come with me," Valerian said, holding a woman's hands in his own. "Come with me, and let's explore together. Your dancing, your voice .. it deserves somewhere better than here!"

Both hands grasped around her own, and Valerian looked at the auburn haired woman as he pleaded with her, yet despite his fluttering heart, his smile was as bright as the sun.

"Let's run away together,"

"Valerian-"

"I'll build us a house, and make you new jewelry, and I'll buy that grand piano you've always wanted."

Valerian had fallen to his knees, looking into her eyes as he couldn't control his laughter when she smiled back at him, truly, for the first time as the weight of their family names melted away.

"I do."

She replied.

Intimacy Lv. IV

Heartbeats in C Minor "Easy, easy!"

Small hands slammed the ivory keys, metal strings vibrating violently to the aggressive hit, but his laughter warmed the space as he picked up his daughter.

"No need to be so aggressive, sunshine, the piano isn't going anywhere."

"I want to play like you!"

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint."

Valerian sat at the piano with his daughter on his lap, thinking briefly of how to begin their first lesson.

A few plunks here and there, and soon she had a grasp of the simple tune. Quietly, as he was watching her work her way through the small tune, a small recorder was set nearby on the little side table while the smell of stew began to fill the little home.

"Great job, sunshine."

Intimacy Lv. V

Kaleidoscope

The rain pulled upwards from the grounds.

Screams and wails echoed all around, the scent of blood and smoke heavy on the humid air. Figures of mist passed by, disappearing when they hit his shoulder.

Eyes wide, irises glancing around for anything that made sense, pupils blown wide from the adrenaline.

Blood coated his face and shoulder. The Tacet Discords laid about, empty shells scattered all around, the man on his knees as he looked at the two bodies that laid before him.

He had sworn they were monsters, beasts, wrought in thickened skin and purple flesh, with piercing yellow core and wide open maw.

Air barely left his lungs as the grip on the pistol loosened slightly.

"You really are a monster, after all, aren't you?"

A voice spoke.

He'd sharply pointed his gun towards the voice, head turned to look, eyes blown wide with fear, and understanding.

The rain brushed up his face, catching on his jaw, but the tears fell down his cheeks like a waterfall, the light of his resonance gleaming like a kaleidoscope through the waters.

[thevampireladyambrosia]

So You Think You Can Run?

Pairing: Gloxinia x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Nanatsu No Taizai (The Seven Deadly Sins)

Content Warnings: Primal play, CNC, degradation.

Kisses with Gloxinia always start so soft. His smooth, unchapped lips press against yours ever so tenderly. Gentle praise and declarations of love flow from his mouth like he worships you. And you suppose he does. His hands find your erogenous zones and apply just the right amount of pressure to turn you on.

But it always intensifies. Grows into something more intense. Something primal. And this time is no different. So when Gloxinia pulls back from the kiss and tells you to run, you don't hesitate. You bolt.

Even though it's not the fairy king's forest you know you don't stand a chance. You both play hide and seek together in different forests quite often. And he always finds you so swiftly you wonder if he cheats at the game. You know he doesn't though. Because you've established no real rules to be broken.

You run as fast as you can, looking for somewhere to hide. Anywhere. You spot a large pile of leaves. It's a strange find. You were expecting to find something like a hollowed out tree trunk. But this will do, you suppose.

You dig a hole in the pile then fill it in on top of you. You're quickly covered in leaves. You try to calm your racing heart and slow your breathing. You're out of breath from the run. You try to stay quiet.

Perhaps there's a better spot to hide, but you wouldn't know. You wish you had time to scope out the place. Now that the adrenaline has worn off slightly you hope there's no snakes or something in this pile of leaves. You know that it's statistically likely that there's at least a spider. You just hope you don't see it. It's not that you don't like them, you just don't like to be surprised by them.

You scream as something wraps around your wrist. You're unceremoniously yanked into the air. Leaves fall off you. You're face to face with Gloxinia, a predatory glint in his eyes.

How did he find you so fast? Regardless of how, he did. And he has that look. Like he's going to take you right here and now. And you know he will. He always does. You squirm.

“Let me go!” You say it for your own enjoyment. Some sick part of you deeply enjoys struggling. Just to be fucked into your place.

“I don't think I will,” replies Gloxinia simply. He's undressing you now. Your clothes fall to the ground. The first time Gloxinia had made love to you you had been scared. Being in the air meant you could fall. But now you trusted him. Enough to pretend to fight back too. He wouldn't ever drop you.

His clothes join yours in little piles on the ground. To be fair, he only wore pants usually. He shoves into you in one movement. It would hurt if he hadn't been so thorough in arousing you earlier. You moan.

“Does the pretty slut like that?” He coos.

You can't help moaning again as he begins to thrust into you. His cock hits all the good spots. You clench as he makes you see stars.

“I think she does. After all, she's practically milking my cock. Such a good whore.”

His words go straight to your cunt. You feel something building. You know you're going to orgasm, as the knot in your stomach tightens. Everything feels so good. He smirks, lips pressing against yours.

Your orgasm hits hard. You see white and go completely boneless in his arms. You barely process the warmth of his cum filling your cunt. He stays locked inside of you for a while.

When he finally pulls out he has that soft expression again.

“You did so good for me. So perfect.” His voice is gentle and soft. He slowly flies to the ground. He picks up all the clothes, still holding you. He then goes into aftercare mode.

As he kisses your face and frets over you, you smile. You wouldn't have life any other way.

[battyskorpyionn]

Hey there, I just found the post you made about the seablings in a more 'realistic' timeline, and noticed your tags.

So I, as a headcanon gremlin, am now asking you for that 'long ass list of headcanons', if you wouldn't mind.

I FORGOT ABOUT THAT LONG LIST IVE MENTIONED

um

i will say i never wrote any down aside from the ones ive posted BUT i still have a bunch hidden in my brain. also, i will be mentioning some of the headcanons ive already posted.

so here we go!

SEASON ONE

•even though its canon that Gem and Fwhip are siblings, i like to think that Sausage is apart of their sibling relationship in a found family sorta way

•like lizzie, Jimmy is also an ocean cryptid-demigod whatever they are. They are siblings, so it makes sense to me

•Xornoth was originally from rivendell before he was corrupted, basically was taken when he was a baby.

•Scotts antlers grew when he found the aeor exor lore book.

•fwhip tripped one time and fell into a BUNCH of gunpowder, he had to make sure to not go near anything fire related until he could get it off

•pearl isn't an emperor, shes just a simple farming lady. the only reason why she was ever classified as one was because Sausage and a few others said she was a emperor.

•because of Sausage, he made Pearl a saint by a complete accident and never realised it.

•Gem has a whole room dedicated to amethyst. She sits in it when she needs to calm down.

•joey almost tripped down the stairs leading down to his temple one time. the only reason why he didnt fall was because he had an elytra on.

•(this one is kinda hermitcraft related) with how the empires fell, Joel couldnt find Lizzie and after a few months/years of being unsuccessful. He decided to go with Grian (before you ask, YES Grian was on the empires s1 server if you didnt know) and together the two went to hermitcraft s10.

•scott and xornoth battle it out using their horns

•shrub threw a mushroom at xornoth once when he scared her

•shrub fell down the massive hole she had dug and almost died

•Katherine is like 8ft tall

•Katherines crown is a flower crown that has a undying spell on it. (basically, this means that the flower crown cant die)

•when pix went missing, he got lost in the desert and unfortunately died.

•pix has some shelters from the sun scattered around his empire

•pix occasionally forgets to add a candel to the vigil and only remembers once someone reminds him

•Xornoth could have killed shrub to complete his plan, but decided to wait for the group to come.

•when Xornoth was in the crystal, he cursed at scott for making him jewellery

•Scott and xornoth occasionally get their horns stuck on things

•some things in the alternate reality that scott brought him and xornoth into, remind xornoth of the things from the original reality

•Xornoth has as much control as scott does in the alternative reality

SEASON TWO

•Lizzie uses crutches to help her walk on two legs

•lizzie wears a pink wig

•stratos only gained the floating buildings when Joel was made a god.

•joel was a scrawny boy before he got made an 11ft god

•sausage has a BIG axe, he uses it as a weapon and to cut trees more effectively.

•one time sausage got his big axe stuck in the ground and struggled for half an hour to get it out

•fwhip sometimes goes through other emperors chests for gold

•if proper technology existed in empires, gem would definitely have solar panels everywhere in her empire.

•Even though ollie and gem are meant to be opposites, i personally think its fwhip and gem instead.

•sometimes ollie goes to peoples empires in the middle of the night to dig through unwanted items and people thought he was a racoon

•joey is some sort of animal hybrid, possibly a parrot

•even though joeys empire might be to hide from skeletron, he built a huge ass gate that would give him away in an instant.

•joey putting his empire next to sausages was definitely a decision he did on purpose.

•Jimmy is actually a good sheriff even when he was made into a smaller version of himself

•the mayor of tumble town definitely went missing, Jimmy was in his place in the meantime.

•messing with the fae was a really bad decision for jimmy, as it cursed him for the rest of his life.

•the skull that scott had found was originally xornoths skull.

•xornoth exists somewhere in season two, probably really far away though

•sorry im a xornoth enjoyer i gotta hc him in s2

•like sausage, katherine has a big sword instead of an axe

•shubble one time threw a potion at someone who scared her (like what shrub did)

•pix is really fond of different types of rock, he and fwhip sometimes just talk about them

•though fwhip does mention how the specific rock tastes.

•Shubble has really strong teeth and jaw. she ate rock one time so i gotta hc that

•False went missing, people just assumed she fused with her hermitcraft self or something(please forgive me i dont know falses lore in empires so this one might be canon)

•even though lizzie and jimmy arent fish anymore, they still have a connection to the ocean and to eachother.

•lizzie was the first to find the rift, when she told people about it she was called crazy.

thats all!

i do have more headcanons, i literally just cant remember anymore than what i wrote.

[okamikami1996]

How "From" Should End

In From it has been realized that there is something that has caused all the chaos and death that the people stuck in the alternate universe are experiencing. We may have met it at the very end of the season finale in season 3. It was the voice on the phone that spoke to Jim near the end of season 1—“Your wife shouldn’t be digging that hole”—his voice is identical. We have also learned from Fatima that the creatures that are coming out at night are the parents of the children whom they sacrificed for eternal life. Okay, so, my parents have watched the Lost and believe that this is going to be one of those “they were already dead and in purgatory” endings. I refuse to believe that they would make the same mistake, but just in case, here is what I think should happen in the last season-- or seasons...

One possible backstory:

Once there was a happy little town full of good, law-abiding people—however, some were not so happy with their stations in life. One of them is a milkman, another looks like she may have been an outcast, and the signature old woman who killed two characters in the first five minutes of season 1, episode 1. All of these are people who certainly could want eternal life—people who have a major ego, believe they deserve more in life. The fact that they sacrificed their kids like that showcases that ego and also desperation—and those are two things that demons feed on. The seven fallen angels want to claw their way from the depths of hell, but they can’t escape unless they have sacrifices. I’m thinking that they tried to escape from hell by using the bodies of the children as vessels to walk upon the earth once more. There’s a problem though, the children-- whose hope and faith had been kept alive by Jade and Tabitha's past lives-- had strong wills. Not only that, child spirits have always been pretty horrific after they die and haunt the world they left behind so early. So, when they died and their bodies were taken over they created an alternate dimension to imprison the newly reincarnated fallen angels and the people (now immortal) that sacrificed them. The reason that the parents become mummified during the day is because the fallen angels are angry that they failed to complete the ceremony properly. There are movies where spirits are able to create alternate dimensions to entrap others; Gehenna or Nirvana are two terms that have been used before to describe these places. Nirvana was used in the Corpse Party franchise to describe the dimension that Sachiko created to entrap students who failed to complete the “Sachiko Ever After Charm”. Gehenna was used in a movie of the same name to describe a space where five people got trapped after they trespassed on holy ground. One person had to stay behind and live in a hellish immortality until the characters entered again and the process started once more. In any case, the child spirits create their own nirvana (or Gehenna) to entrap the evil that was brought into the world. Their spirits are acting as seals to keep everything trapped inside. The reason that there are random buildings in the town is because the newly created gehenna either took the shape of things that the child spirits are very familiar with or because some of the town had been sucked in while they were creating the dimension. If some of the town had been sucked in with them, it might be a nice flourish that these buildings had already been tainted by miasma and were therefore unfit to stay behind. As for the song Jade played; it is the song that summons the heavens to come and purge evil. When Jade played the song in his first life, he nearly succeeded in calling down the angels to defeat the newly resurrected angels, and Rafeal had thrown down his spear-- it hit the earth and shattered a part of it. These pieces of rock were imbued with holy energy and became the talismans we all know and love. However, the song that Jade played is incomplete, therefore unable to completely call down heaven. The boy in white was originally going to be the vessel for Lucifer, however Michael ends up getting entrapped in his body instead. The reason the boy in white doesn’t look like the rest of the children is because his consciousness has combined with Micheal- an archangel. As for why everyone gets sucked into their gehenna, it is either at the will of the children who want the cleansing of evil to be finished (in other words Jade has to finish the song) or at the will of the fallen angels who are biding their time and feeding on the fear, misery, hatred, and despair of all the poor souls who get trapped there.

Another Possible Backstory

We have pretty much the same elements as the last except the parents are actually attempting to help the fallen angels escape and in order to do that, they set up their gehenna to suck the vitality, hope, and goodness out of the victims. The children’s energy is what is keeping their gehenna active as they are being kept in a perpetual nightmare. The children’s nightmare is what gives the strange phenomenon life in gehenna.

The present:

Okay, so those are the backstories, now we get to the present. Tabitha, Jade, Ethan, and Julie need to find the missing scores to the song so that they can call the angels and cleanse evil. Meanwhile, Boyd finds out that he is the newly chosen vessel for Lucifer who is trying to corrupt and break him so he can take over his body. The new police officer, Dani, begins to be manipulated by the evil creatures of gehenna to turn the townspeople against Boyd. Jade finds what he thinks is the missing score and calls down the angels, but it is interrupted by the creature that killed Jim and ends up calling upon Armageddon. The score he played is for the trumpets of the revelation. Julie tries to master her storywalker power to save Jim because she believes that if she can prevent his death they may be able to alter the future so that the apocalypse doesn’t begin. She doesn’t know exactly why her father might be able to stop the apocalypse, however, she goes back in time enough times to try and find the answer. See the “Bucketful of River” from Buddhism for reference. We find out that Jim’s mother (who taught piano) knew the true score for the song that calls upon heaven to cleanse evil. Jim ends up surviving just long enough to give Jim the true score. Fate unfortunately cannot be completely altered, and Julie only manages to extend his life. It turns out the Julie’s power has to do with the new set of apostles. The other apostles are: Victor, Sarah, Elgin, Fatima, Marielle, and Randall. Gehenna continues to try and corrupt the others. Beelzebub is the one who has been tormenting Randel. The only apostles who haven’t been succumbed to the torment of the fallen angels yet are: Victor, Marielle, Julie, and Randall, as they haven’t sinned yet. Boyd is falling out of favor with the townspeople as Dani has begun to turn them against him. Kenny remembers a legend about Gaki (hungry ghosts) and believes that the monsters who come out at night are a type of Gaki. See the Origins of the Segaki Festival. He tries to lead a ritual to cleanse the souls of the monsters, but it fails. Jade plays the song that calls down the heavens and the cleanse begins, but the fallen angels—who have thrived in the tainted dimension—try to pull the entire town into hell where they can bide their time and try again in the future. Kenny tries to have the people cleanse the spirits again, however this time, they try to cleanse the child spirits. They all chant different prayers and offer up something of importance to them, cleansing the spirits. The spirits all revert back to their form before they died, and they create a nirvana to keep the townspeople safe therefore saving them from being taken to hell. The fallen angels manage to escape, but all the evil that tainted the earth is purified and everyone appears outside of a forest. Everyone is exhausted, but in the distance they hear a search party looking for some of them. They all call out and are found by the search party. Fade out as everyone is brought to safety

Hopefully they already have something that isn’t the same kind of lackluster ending as the one in Lost. I can pray right? The writing is very good so far, which is why I am so invested in this show. I just don’t want one of those endings that is the equivalent of someone throwing up their hands, saying “the end” at a random cliff hanger, and dropping the mike with a “boom” before walking lifelessly offstage. Like, I will die...

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Hilltop Temple

Words: 2,425

AU: God of Storms

For: @chaseha-wing

Perfect.

After weeks of scouring every inch in and around Tonika looking for the perfect spot, he’d finally found it. His old teacher had been the one to find it and suggested it to him when he expressed his annoyance at being unable to find a location, but how he finally found the spot didn’t matter at the moment.

What mattered what that he had found it, and it was perfect.

Better than he could have imagined.

“Here,” he declared, turning to smile at the man who had led him all the way from the castle to here. “We’ll build it here.”

“I thought you might like it,” his old teacher, Choza, smiled back. “I was just looking for a nice spot to read, but when you told me about your search, I remembered this spot.”

“A perfect spot to read,” Gai chuckled. Growing up he’d always watched as Kakashi always showed up for a visit with a new book in hand. Over the years he’d even selected some book he thought his friend would enjoy, and felt his pride swell whenever he saw Kakashi holding one of those books. “He would love it.”

“You speak as if you know the god personally.”

Remembering that not everyone knew the identity of his ‘imaginary friend’ Gai turned his back at his teacher and stared at the land in front of him. The hill wasn’t big, providing only enough space for one large temple or perhaps two small ones if he wanted to push his luck. The more he looked at it, though, the more perfect it seemed.

Kakashi had never been a big fan of showy items. As Gai grew up he’d noticed how his friend’s face scrunched up with a look of disgust whenever someone mentioned a huge offering to one of the gods, or even when Gai had told him about his father’s plans to build a giant temple dedicated to the god of storms.

One small temple, just big enough to fit an alter and perhaps one beautiful but simple statue, would be more than enough. Kakashi might still complain about it, but it was the least Gai could do.

He owed his friend the world after yelling at him for refusing to return his deepest most passionate feelings. If he’d known back then just who Kakashi really was he would have held his tongue.

He would have accepted that as much as he loved Kakashi, they could never truly be together.

He hadn’t though, and in his hurt, he’d lashed out at his friend. Sent him away from his room in with such hurtful words. He had come to accept that he may never be lucky enough to see Kakashi again, but now that he knew who he was.

What responsibilities he had.

The least he could do was ensure that he had a temple dedicated to him, no matter how simple it may be.

“Something small,” he reminded himself as he took a step forward. Once he was standing where he wanted the temple to start, he lifted his left foot and dug the heel as far into the ground as he could. The hole he’d created wasn’t too big, but it was deep enough that his builders would be able to find it easily. “It will go from here to…” looking forward he examined the area for a quick moment before rushing forward and once again digging his heel into the dirt. “Right here.”

“that’s not very big,” following Gai to the other end of his self created boundary, he examined his work. “Will it take up the rest of the hill?”

Thinking about it, Gai shook his head. “No,” he answered, assessing the area once more before bolding toward the centre of the hill. Once there he repeated his previous two movements and created a new hole with his heel. “It’ will go up to here. That way if we ever want to build another temple beside it there will be space.”

Not a lot of space, but enough for another small temple.

“It’s uncustomary to built temples beside each other,” Choza reminded him. “And to build a temple so small. Are you sure this will be sufficient?”

“It’ll be perfect,” he declared, a proud smile stretching across his face as he admired the view of Tonika from the top of the hill. “You read me all the stories of the gods growing up. What do you think he would like?”

“Well,” thinking it over, Choza sighed. “I think, as strange as it is. You’re right. The God of Storms isn’t known for being showy or even wanting recognition. It might be small, but this would be the first official temple dedicated to her-“

“Him,” Gai corrected swiftly, his smile growing soft as he remembered the fierceness with which Kakashi had asserted his gender after Gai would retell him the stories that Choza-Sensei had read to him, and which he later learned to read on his own. “We have a lot to fix.”

“We can’t just change the stories we know, your majesty.”

“No,” he confirmed with a nod. “But we can create new ones. Ones in which the god is portrayed in the right way.”

“And you know for certain this is the right way?”

“I do,” gazing out over Tonika, the village that he had taken responsibility of when he accepted his father’s crown, he watched as the tiny figures of his villagers went about their days. It was a quiet morning so many of them would be spending time with their families or visiting with friends.

Meanwhile, their King was standing atop a hill watching them from the spot where one day, not too far in the future, they would be able to leave offerings to a God known for watching over their village since its humble beginnings.

A God who asked for little in return of his unending support.

“It’ll have a statue,” he decided. “With dogs. He has eight of them, right?”

“They’re made of the very lightning that lights up the sky during a storm,” Choza repeated the words from one of those many stories he’d read. “The guardians of storms, and the God’s most loyal companions.”

“Then a statue with the dogs,” he decided. “He’ll like that. And a small alter right in the centre, but also…” glancing around the area he imagined the temple in its final form. Tall walls made from the tree’s that grew around Tonika, painted in soft green’s that matched the outfits Kakashi would always wear on his visits. The roofs would slant down like the other temples, but inside would be simplistic.

A small alter in the middle and benches along the side for people to sit and relax. There was no better design he could think of that would properly honour the god he’d come to know.

The god that he had learned over the years to adore, even at the cost of his own heart.

---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3---<3

Bright pink petals danced through the air, carried by the gentle wind all the way from the Sakura tree’s down below to the temple high above Tonika. Temari’s winds were working wonders, and Gai couldn’t help but feel thankful for them.

Without those winds he wouldn’t have such a wonderful view on Tonika with those beautiful pink petals floating across his view.

“Here!” he heard Enkai, the new king of Tonika whose coronation had been held just yesterday. Gai had attended that too, and it had been such a wonderful spectacle. Now here the king was, standing atop the hill that Gai had once proudly declared would be the new sight of a temple.

It had happened many lifetimes ago, but he could remember every little detail about that day. The outfit his old teacher had worn, the feeling of excitement that had swirled inside of him as he proudly laid out the boundaries for the temple.

Back then he’d been a prince with dreams of building a temple dedicated to the god of storms. Now, he was a god himself sitting on the rooftop of that very temple he’d dreamed up. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the statue of Kakashi and his dogs that he’d had built especially for the temple was worn down.

There were even spots on each of the dogs, usually on their heads or noses, where the stone had been worn down more than any other part of the statue because every time someone visited the temple, they made sure to pet one or more of the dogs.

A statue wearing down slowly with love from the villagers of Tonika. That was something he’d never imagined when he’d decided to build this temple.

“Are you sure?” the old Queen, Ayako, asked with an uncertainty that reminded Gai of his old teacher. “There’s not a lot of room here.”

“But it’s here,” Enkai gestured with his head to the temple that Gai was currently sitting on. “What better place is there?”

“It would have to be small.”

“What do you think he’d like?” Leaning forward, Gai listened closely to what Enkai had to say. “A big temple in the middle of Tonika, or a small temple here atop this hill beside a temple dedicated to his husband. They only temple in all of Tonika, might I remind you, that is dedicated to his husband.”

“Yes, I get that,” Looking over at Kakashi’s temple, Ayako smiled. “You know there’s old stories talking about his past lives. If they’re true, then that would mean that he was the one who had this temple built.”

“Even better!” Throwing his hands up into the air, Enkai grinned, his brilliant white teeth shimmering in the sunlight. “We could even attach them. Knock out a wall-“

“Whoe!” Ayako cringed at the suggestion. “We can’t just knock out a temple wall. That would be…I…”

At that moment the sky above began to darken. Clouds swirled together into giant dark masses, and within seconds the beautiful Sakura petals that had been floating in the air were replaced with the light patter of rain drumming against the ground.

“Dramatic,” Gai teased.

“They understand,” Feeling his husbands shoulder brush against his, Gai grinned. Kakashi always had a way of knowing just when to show up, and today proved to be no different. Right when Ayako and Enkai needed guidance, he’d come swooping in with the answer they needed to hear.

“Let’s ask him,” Enkai declared, laughing in his voice as the rain soaked into his hair. Rather than standing out in the rain with her successor, Ayako retreated under the roof of Kakashi’s temple for protection. “Should we build a temple to Gai here?”

Smiling, Gai turned his gaze toward Tonika. The village had grown since the day he’d stood atop this same hill and declared it the location of a new temple dedicated to Kakashi. Yet, in some ways, nothing had changed at all.

“It’s perfect,” he declared, that same sense of pride swelling up inside of him.

As the words left his mouth a crack of lightning split through the air and slammed into the ground directly behind Enkai. Enkai jumped forward, a look of sheer panic etched across his face as he turned to examine the damage. Staring at the ground, that panic melted away and the excitement returned in full force.

There, burnt into the grass, was a small but visible burn mark.

“I think that’s a yes,” He grinned, earning a tired sigh from Ayako.

“Of course it’s a yes,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean we should tear down the wall.”

Knowing his husband, Gai quickly held up a hand to stop him. “don’t.“ he warned.

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“You could hurt her.”

“Never,” on cue, Bull rushed past them and jumped down onto the ground. The sound of his feet hitting the ground crashed through the air. A sound that Gai recognized all too well, but which he’d never had the pleasure of seeing in action before.

Thunder.

Once he had landed, Bull turned around and bolted straight toward Ayako. Only when he was close enough to her did Kakashi dare to make him visible to the two mortals standing below them.

Ayako gasped when she saw the large bull rushing straight for her. “No,” she warned, but it was too late. Bull rushes past her, did a hard 180 just before the doors of the temple, and came running back. There was no opportunity for her to stop him, and the next thing she knew he was barralling straight into the back of her legs.

She fell back with a screech, landing with a soft thud on Bull’s back. grasping for something to hold onto, she buried her hands into his fur and held on for dear life. Bull kept going until they were back at Enkai’s side, the new King fighting back a fit of laughter as Ayako was dropped at his side.

“I did not agree to a surprise shower,” the old queen grumbled under her breath.

“We had no rain for thirty-one years,” Enkai reminded her through his laughter. “You’d think you’d miss the rain.”

“Listen, I met that man exactly three times and there’s one thing I can be sure of.”

“What’s that?”

Taking the opening, Kakashi lifted a hand toward the sky and swirled his finger. As he did so the sky grew even darker and the amount of rain that feel increased ten-fold. Within seconds both Enkai and Ayako were drenched.

“He’s a brat,” Ayako answered while pushing her soaking wet bangs off her face.

“And that,” Kakashi smiled down at Gai, his eyes scrunching in the corners. “Is my cue.”

Knowing what was about to happen, Gai moved himself to the other side of the temple and watched as another bolt of lightning struck, this time hitting the side of the temple facing the middle of the hill. The walls splintered and cracked, and as the two mortals watched with a mixture of horror and amusement the wall crumbled.

The rest of the temple was left virtually untouched, but it was now down a wall.

“I think we have our answer.” Enkai smiled triumphantly while admiring Kakashi’s work.

“You think?” Ayako sighed. “Well, then I guess it’s settled. We’re building the other temple up here.

“Perfect,” Gai smiled. There was no better place he could think of for a temple dedicated to him, than right beside the one he’d erected for his immortal lover.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you dead in the eyes. squole. they're nature spirits. nymphs or some shit. no one can see them but each other. each nymph has an area that's theirs, and they can't leave their area, or at least not go far out of it. as long as living things reside in their area and put it to use, the nymph stays alive, so ofc they get worried when a player wants to build in their area. they're destroying plants and driving away wildlife, which is the nymph's main life source!!!! many have died or come close to it from builders clearing out the area and then abandoning their projects.

the nymph around felps' square was wary, of course, when felps showed up to start digging, but when felps declared that this would be a long project he would do entirely by hand, she was delighted. this would be a passion project, it seemed, and he wasn't closing off the area, so of course bugs and animals could still pass through or make their homes in her walls, and felps lived in the hole he dug, dedicated to making it his home. she enjoyed sitting on the walls and watching him endlessly pick out stone with his pickaxe. some other nearby nymphs didn't approve of the eyesore they thought her land had become, but she cherished it for the work her builder put in.

and then, all of a sudden, from across the wall, one day she hears a voice. a panicked, frantic voice, yelling.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU'RE DIGGING UP MY LAND! STOP, YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ME!"

She peeks over the wall, which is about as far as she can stray from her square, and sees a nymph on the verge of tears, watching a young man tear away at the ground with some insane machine. It clears immense amounts of land, far faster than Felps could ever dare to dream of.

She watches the nymph panic for a few moments, then cups her hands around her mouth to yell back.

"Hey! Are you okay?"

The nymph looks up at her, tears streaming down her handsome face. In a flash, she's up on the wall as well, crying in front of her fellow nymph.

"He's tearing up my land! All the trees, the grass, everything! I can't live like this!"

The nymph of the square looks down. Yeah, he really is ripping up everything. The land has been reduced to stone within a matter of minutes, and it just keeps going. The guy is probably clinically insane.

"There's going to be nothing left," the nymph of the new hole sobs.

The nymph of the square glances back at her own hole, unfinished but still impressive. She points at it. "Well, there's my land, and I'm still here."

The nymph of the hole sniffles. She leans forward to stare, wiping tears from her eyes. "Wh... it's just a pit. How...?"

The nymph of the square shrugs, giving her fellow nature spirit a reassuring smile. "My builder spends a lot of time there with his family. It's his home. That's why I'm still here. Do you know what yours is planning to do?"

The nymph of the hole glances back at her own landscape. She keeps her arms crossed, almost like she's hugging herself. "I don't know. I think he wants to make some machines or something?"

"Then he should be there pretty often, shouldn't he? I think you'll be okay."

The nymph's face screws up as if she's about to start crying again. "But it's uglyyyyyyy," she whines, almost childish.

The other nymph smiles. "I don't know, I think there's something cool about yours going down to bedrock." She walks backwards, towards her own side of the wall. "Besides, I rather like the look of your stone walls."

She catches just the faintest glimpse of a green blush on her fellow nymph's face just before she hops off the wall and heads back to Felps' Square.

She's gotten tired of being the only nymph with an "undesirable" build on her land. The one who houses Cellbit's castle is nearly unbearable in her superiority, the potato farm on the wall itself is typically very self-righteous, and her neighbor, the Favela, while usually quite chill, loves to brag about how loved and well-used her land is.

This nymph with the new hole? One that goes down to bedrock, no less?

She's looking forward to seeing how people react now that there are two of them.

[magicalgardenofhypnosis]

A request by @Ithegingy

It is May 5, 2024 excellent I think checking my Time Machine enable watch mechanism glows on the screen then vanishing from my sight.

Today is his birthday perfect just as planned I tap the screen watching the device fall off of my wrist forming a box in the palm of my hand.

I glee with excitement throwing the ball on to the fully carpet covered room the impact of it hitting the ground erupts in a mid bright light.

Stepping in to the fray he is deeply in heavy slumber after a long day on set so I take my time bidding it I walk to the closet opening it to view.

Getting a gander of the geekiness around him leaves me both perplex and in total type of judgement but I can see he does love tee shirts and jeans.

He loves to build sets, gaming computer but he is still vain I can see the painting he has obviously commissioned of himself prior to my arrival.

The plan is quite simple to actually with

very little effort deeply probe his brain in array of laser colors that maps the brains waves stimulating it in hypnosis waves.

Anyway! I slowly creep on to the bed slowly slipping past him holding the head board I raise myself up and dig in my pockets for the device.

Retrieving it a tiny circular device placing it on to the wall, I press the button let’s blare

a light scanning the room three more exact copies lays on the other three walls.

All four devices radiate light over entirety

of the massive master bedroom bouncing multiple colors schemes the commencing

the brainwashing.

I click the side of my watch then turn it to the side transforming him from the room as he switches him with an entirely new entity into the room.

The man stood in the dark watch the beam of light washes on to his face from all sides of the room and the figure moves a closer to the edge of the board.

In a matter of ten minutes Henry who is half asleep at this point feeling something is off tries to wake up fighting off every urge to

drift back asleep.

Above his bed from a ceiling remote flew in to the figures hands as he smirked with evil intent and he enjoys true power exchange like no other in history.

He excitedly presses the giant red button that is marked induction instinctively his press gets harder as it is layered with a pleasure point.

Reaching the optimal level the devices flip off the wall landing on Henry’s head like a helmet forming in resistance or his fatal retaliation.

The helmet projects a unique screen in a map scenario detailing his brain from top

to stem revealing how it works he checks out remote once more.

Pressing a second button marked dreamy without a thought Henry drops a million times deeper from a garden picnic a hole opens swallowing him whole.

Descending down from the sky a portal is opening falling through his nerdy side of his brain show cases with binary code I created on the wall.

He is left absolutely mouth agape in his and only his poor dark mind adrift with every set of memories he has ever experienced play on autopilot a thousand times over.

Meanwhile! The world past his domain can sense his own self destruction finding his way through the interface he arrives on the main page.

A few more buttons a photo copy appears of Henry Cavill showing how his beautiful masculine features sculpted to perfection some would say.

Name written in it’s officially changed to his bitchy highness Pretty Pussy Boi to his own hysterics it is truly funny for life because he controls him now.

Robotic arms pop from the device feeling him over ripping his clothes from his body then his underwear and seething in pain, pleasure and torture.

His body leaps up sitting on the pillow that is propped up from behind his back he lays on it with a smirk he rolls his eyes up in to his socket.

His eyelids close causing his body senses to go in to overdrive titalating all of his nerves as they send viscous fiery ramps of energy up his spine.

His body shook with his convulsions his cute cock is breaking out springing to life it point to the shy and cums incessantly shooting spurts.

The cum loads on to him each touch causes him an amount exhilarating excruciating pain to no end his body convulses so much more now.

He knew rolling on to his right side, left side back and forth some invisible figure pumps in to him as it humps him harder with even more energy.

The young man climbs on top of him spread on to him his hands touch every crevice of his body in to his hole, on his skin and he is now owned for life.

“Reprogram…reprogram…reprogramming is in processing.”

“Remapping him on your command.”

“Initiate project pussy boi”

“Searching…searching “

“Automatic induction “

“Entering subspace”

“Pleasure principles”

“Body is in bloom”

“Watch the cock “

“It’s sprinting I can see it “

“On your command he will cum”

“CUM”

“Hahahaha “

“Listen to me Henry “

“You are rock hard…I can see it in your pants “

“You can sense it”

“Rock hard…yes”

“You love to be rock hard”

“Permanently hard “

“The cock protrudes always”

“Constantly cumming”

“A never ending “

“Wishing to be touched”

“Need to fuck”

“I want someone to fuck”

“Jump him, fuck him uuuuhhhh”

“So hard as fuck”

“FUCK!”

“PLEASE!”

“Mmmmnnnnnn”

“Activate Pussy Bitch”

“Oh! yes Master FUCK!”

“I NEED YOU”

“FUCK YOU”

“Oooooohhhhhaaaaaahhhhhhh”

“Yes yes yes yyyyeeeeessssssss”

“Pussy Bitch rip me apart “

“Cant think”

“Only fuck”

“Made to fuck”

“Yyyyyeeeeesssssssssssss”

He leaps off the bed on to his new master in heat he stares him down then proceeds to kiss him.

His hands hasty in action begin ripping off his clothes leaving them in shreds his hand forms a palm.

Slipping one finger in at a time hearing his master moan the other hand goes in ready to fist him.

A hour goes by he can’t control himself any longer flicking off his underpants and slip in to his owner’s ass.

“Oh GOD! I can’t keep it in any longer”

“Oh oh oh! Aaaaahhhhhh”

“I am pussy bitch for Master”

The end

[marvelsimp]

Hope

Green and Red Masterlist

My Masterlist 

INCOMPLETE

Story is no longer self-insert, go to the masterlist to read the new reworked story!

Genre: action, angst, fluff, comfort 

Pairing: platonic!Jason Todd x reader, platonic!batfam x reader, secondary!Kara Danvers x reader

Warnings: offensive language, descriptions of violence, blood, dead bodies, and a panic attack

Description: Y/n Wayne, is dealing with her past and spending time with her girlfriend when she sees a mysterious figure that feels hauntingly familiar.

Y/n’s  Abilities: Trained in hand-to-hand combat and is trained to use most weapons.

Y/n’s pronouns: she/her

Word Count: 1642

It wasn’t like this was the first time that this had happened. Someone finds you on the bathroom floor gasping for air, wishing you were dead. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time either. 

“Y/n, look at me.”

You only ever saw flashes when you were awake, the blood, the crowbar, the body. Sometimes it would just be the sound, of screaming. Almost always screaming. The type that makes you nauseous. Sometimes yours. Sometimes your fathers. And sometimes his. God your chest hurts, you try to breathe but you’re met with fire in your lungs.

“Sis, I need… focus…at me.”

You blink hard, trying to dig yourself out of the hole you were in, you see dark hair which doesn’t do much in helping figure out who this is. But you can’t breathe, this shouldn’t matter. It’s hard to grasp what’s real, the sound of metal hitting concrete or calming whispers. They’re both fuzzy and feel wrong, this shouldn’t be happening. A hand on your face, its thumb attempting to soothe you. Dick. Dad would be rubbing your back, if you allowed him to be near you. It’s not like you want to remember but sometimes you feel like you deserve it. You get what you earn, right? You’re the one that survived.

“Start noting things in the room, to ground you.” His voice is shaking a little but it’s soothing nonetheless.

You see his face, Jason’s face, so clearly for a second. It’s covered in blood and you can’t help but stare. His dead eyes stare back. A hand guides yours, drifting over what feels like smooth ice, tile. You’re not there, it’s not the concrete of the warehouse. You’re not looking at your dead best friend, it’s just Dick. You grab his hand that's on yours and count his fingers. He’s real and that all you need to know for now.

That’s when you shoved him away.

***

You are sitting in the study with your head bowed down as your father paces across the floor. He’s fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket.

“We have to talk about this, it's been months.” You’ve only ever heard him this desperate once before. “At this point, you don't have to talk to me. Talk to Dick or Alfred, I can see if I can get into contact with your mom. I’ll get you a therapist or a priest, just tell someone. You’ve shut everyone out and you know that I’ve been here.  You know what I’ve lost and been through, you’re old enough to know and understand all of it now!”

You were on the verge of tears. You couldn’t look at him. His pain just increased yours. You wish you could just be done with this.

“Jesus, Y/n, let me help you,” he almost screamed. A sob escaped your throat. One that had been building up in your months-long silence. Bruce put his hand on your shoulder. “Please,” his voice broke and you wrapped your arms around his body.

***

“He needs this.” You looked down at a boy, four years younger than you. Who is currently studying a Batarang.

“I can’t. I can’t do this again.”

You turned to your father. “He’ll just go out on his own… He’ll die. You know it. Do you want that?”

“Will you be okay with this?” You could hear the sob bubbling in his throat. One that will never come out.

“Will you?” you breathe.

You both stood in silence. Afraid of what would come next. 

“He would hate this.” You laughed. “He would think that we’re replacing him. But we both know we’ll never be able to do that.” You start to walk away as your father just stands there. You pause. “Do it,” you command and he starts to descend the staircase.

*****

“Babe, we’re gonna be late!” you yelled to your girlfriend in the apartment you shared.

“Ready!” 

God, couldn’t you have super speed? “I hate when you do that.”

“I know.” she grinned, tucking back one of your loose hairs. “But you love me anyways.” 

You gave her an unimpressed smile. “There may be another reason.” You lunged your body out to stare obviously at her ass.

“Oh stop that!” She slapped your arm. You loved when that happened. When she gets frustrated and her accent comes out. God, what you’d do to give her everything she deserves? 

She doesn’t talk about it much, her home, Krypton. So you never ask, you know it’s painful. Or that it can be but the days she does talk about it, you allow yourself to continue the conversation but you never push. She’s told you stories about various gardens her parents would take her to, school, going to her parents' work, her friends, the birth of her baby cousin, and she’s shared some about the death of Krypton. She’s as healed as one could expect. 

Some days she’s just angry, you’ve seen the footage of her. She feels alone she lost everyone she ever knew. But she finds hope in Clark, Connor, and Jon. Sometimes even Krypto. She finds hope in you and you see it in her too that maybe your days will shine brighter. She struggles but she’s strong in more ways than one.

You kiss her lovingly, grab your purse, and lead her out the door of your shared apartment.

***

Kara giggles when you arrive at the Daily Planet, taking your hand and you go into the building. She puts her hand on your back as the elevator doors open to the top floor. Clark makes eye contact with you and smiles. He makes his way over and gives you both a hug. 

“Hiya, kid!” God, he’s so much but he doesn’t suck the life out of you at the very least. He invited you both because Kara wanted to see about talking to someone for an interview and you wanted to make a few deals with CEOs. 

“How’s Jon?” she smiles.

His smile grows. Is he glowing? Is that one of his abilities? “He’s doing great, since he started middle school he’s really enjoyed anything art…”

You see Lois walking that way, thank god. Clark’s great but is too nice for your taste.  

“…I’m really proud of him. He really seems to just want to help people.” Lois taps him on his shoulder. His face softens to something closer to admiration rather than pride. “Hi.” Her face reflects his, softening a little. You look at Kara and she looks at you. Her face is as soft as Clark’s and you know you are in bliss.

“So,” Lois starts, she grabs Kara’s arm, “I can start to introduce you to everyone.”

Lois leads Kara away and you turn to Clark. “Wanye Enterprises has a Banquet in two weeks. I would love to see both of you there. Either as friends or journalists, whichever you prefer.”

“I’m sure we could both find good stories to pursue there.” He pats the side of your arm, his face is showing pride again. 

He did see you grow up, you were what? Two or three when Bruce decided he need some extra help with you and Dick. You of course don't remember meeting him so he’s just always been there, your  Uncle Clark. You were seven when you figured out he was Superman, you were the one that told Dick. You thought it was obvious and that he should’ve figured it out.

“Send us the details for it and we’ll be there.”

You excuse yourself and find a few CEOs to chat with, you tell them of the Banquet and how it will help both Gotham and Metropolis. You convince some to attend, some to donate, and some to reach out to Kara for an interview.

After the incident, you decided to take a break from being a superhero and you focused on your studies. You climbed the ladder at Wayne Enterprises faster than anyone could expect. People like to say it is because you’re Bruce’s daughter but you quickly prove to them that you are worthy of your position. It took a little while for people to even consider calling you charming but once they did it never stopped. When you stopped being angry all the time was when you perfected your skills and began to excel at manipulating million and billionaires.

At some point during the night, your hair started to stand on end. You weren’t sure what it was but you were going to trust your instincts, it had saved your life more times than you could count. You could feel it in your bones something was wrong. 

People started to trickle out. By eleven everyone has left, it’s just four of you now. 

You all start to clean up, most things go in the trash but anything salvageable you pack up to donate. Once everything is cleaned and put away, Lois and Clark grab their things from their offices as Kara takes you by your arm and walks you to the elevator. She presses the button causing it to light up. Something is wrong, you look around while you wait. Nothing is different, nothing looks off. You’ve been here a million times and nothing has changed. You would know. That’s when you look out the window.

A figure outside on a rooftop. Your pulse is racing and you feel your body start to shake. Something is familiar about it. You let go of Kara’s arm, walking closer to the window. Each step is slow like you’re trying not to scare it away. Your instincts kick in and you couch down a little.

“What’s wrong?” Kara’s voice is deeper than usual. Serious.

A figure stands on a rooftop, he’s staring at you. Most of his body is obscured by the darkness but you do see a red helmet. No. This is wrong, he shouldn’t be there. This isn’t right. You blink hard and in the next moment, he’s gone. 

Next Chapter:

Series Rewritten with Helena Wayne as the main character

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