#at least this time i remembered to schedule it rather than actually posting it at 1 AM lol

[gale-force-storm]

You Are...

You are a sunbeam, Warm and bright, Your heat sinking into my bones, And making me sigh in contentment. I bask in you, Like a cat in a window, Like a lizard on a stone, Like a person on a calm and quiet beach.

You are the wind, Swift and bracing, Rushing by and leaving me breathless. How I love getting swept up in you. A flurry of movement, Of powerful excitement, And then a calm, Before the storm thrills again.

You are the stars, Sparkling in the night, Beautiful and captivating. A swath of wonder in a sea of darkness. You are full of stories. Your own, And those which others read into you. I prefer the map you make of yourself.

You are a man, Complicated and messy, Full of contradiction, And all the lovelier for it. A beating heart, A racing mind, Eyes full of warmth, And a soul full to bursting with love.

Like the deepest forest, Like the most compelling book, Like the vastest ocean, Like the most riveting puzzle, Like the richest music, Like the most moving poetry, I could spend the rest of my life Getting lost in you.

[ryukatters]

swipe right — k. bakugo x fem! reader

✮ a/n: i remember seeing a post on here a long time ago about a character making a fake tinder profile for their gf and realizing how many people want her. (if someone knows the OG post please lmk so i can link it!) so now i present to you: bakugo falling to his knees in the middle of your apartment bedroom for the exact same reason.

✮ content/warnings: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp but when do I ever write him as being otherwise??

✮ summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

✮ word count: 4.2k (i'm so sick)

Bakugo can remember how this all started. In very vivid detail, actually. He remembers because Kaminari had pissed him off so much to the extent that it took him a very substantial amount of effort to refrain from bashing his friend’s face in.

It all started during the last monthly hangout amongst Bakugo and his friends— one day out of the month designated to make sure that they all had time to catch up with one another despite their busy schedules.

Everything was normal, with all of them getting more than enough of their fill of food and alcohol while idly playing video games and talking about random topics to fill in the silence in Kaminari’s living room. 

Perfectly normal, until Denki decided to open his stupid mouth, at least. 

He goes off on a tangent about a trend he saw on social media where someone makes a fake Tinder profile for their partner to see how many matches they’d get. He proceeds to tell Bakugo that he should try doing it, for “funsies,”— to which Bakugo scoffs at. 

“Aren’t you curious, Kacchan?” Kaminari smiles cheekily, wrapping an arm around his blond friend’s shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bakugo’s becoming visibly more upset with every passing moment. 

“Your girlfriend is really pretty,” Mina chimes in, sticking her tongue out when Katsuki whips his head to glare at her. “I’m still surprised she’s with a grump like you.” 

Kaminari butts in, “I bet there’s a whole line of guys around the block just waiting for a chance to get with her. I mean, just look at her! Hell, I’d even let her peg m—”

For a moment, Bakugo swears he wants to bash Kaminari’s face into his flatscreen. And for a moment, he lets that impulsive thought win— getting up and grabbing two fistfuls of Denki’s shirt before promptly getting cut off by Kirishima.

“Alright alright,” Kirishima forcibly pries Bakugo off of the other blond, pushing him off to the side. “That’s enough, you two. Kaminari was just messing around. I’ll admit, it wasn’t a good joke, but no need to hurt the guy, okay Bakugo?” 

Kirishima knows that Kaminari wasn’t being that serious, but Kirishima can also admit that what he had to say held some ounce of truth. And Kirishima knows Bakugo well enough to see how your boyfriend tends to be rather skittish and protective with matters concerning you— which is exactly why Eijiro had to stop him before it was too late. He really didn’t feel like preparing for Denki’s funeral or helping hide Katsuki escape from a homicide charge.

And that was that…up until a few minutes ago.

Katsuki’s tried to forget that conversation. But try as he might, his mind betrays him and can’t help but wander back to what Denki said that night.

He trusts you of course, and has complete faith in your relationship. However, he’s curious to a fault, just about perhaps too curious for his own good. 

How badly could this end?

As it turns out, this whole scheme seems to be playing out very poorly. 

Dozens of photos of you— screenshotted from your social media accounts— fill Katsuki’s screen. He had to choose photos you uploaded yourself, because most of his photos of you were either too…suggestive or too domestic (and he wants to be the only one to see you in those moments).

He swipes through “your” profile one last time before clicking “done” to officially put you on the market. And just like that, Bakugo’s met with the faces of men who are nowhere near your level. He goes through the batch of profiles, scrutinizing each one he comes across. He’s (un)surprisingly selective with the ones he chooses to swipe right on— making sure that they’re at least somewhat conventionally attractive. To his surprise (or dread, rather), his phone pings right away with a notification from someone who swiped back. Another ping. A message. 

You free tonight? 

Bakugo scoffs. He looks through the guy’s profile— a picture of him at a party with his arms around some girls, another with him doing a victory pose presumably after hiking, and one with him holding a fish. He feels his mouth curl in disgust, about to give into the urge to reply and give this guy a piece of his mind, before he realizes he’s pretending to be you. He takes a deep breath, closes out of the app, and puts down his phone. 

He’s starting to regret this.

Bakugo’s phone has gone off 15 times in the last hour. Bakugo has also felt the need to strangle some stranger through the phone 15 times in the last hour. Your (read: his) profile has existed for less than 60 minutes, and you already have a whole address book of nobodies trying to link with you and get a quick fuck. 

He feels the familiar beginnings of a headache creeping up the back of his skull. He thinks he might need a drink. Why did he decide to do this again?

In hindsight, he probably should have known this is exactly how it was going to go down. 

What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

Yeah.

He was never great at self-preservation in the first place. So this, the feeling of overwhelming jealousy, frustration, possessiveness brewing up a storm threatening to pour out of every single fiber of Bakugo’s being— was no surprise.

He watches as the numbers at the bottom of his screen increase steadily, before tapping on the star icon. 

‘99+ likes!’ it reads. Over 99 people who saw your profile and thought you were beautiful. Bakugo pales, and he can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of his neck. He grips his phone, knuckles turning white. Is he shaking from anger or nervousness?

Anger because all these guys think they even have the slightest chance with someone as amazing as you. Nervousness because what if you decide that they do? You wouldn’t actually leave him for one of these guys, right? Right?

None of these men would walk through hell and back for you. They don’t know how you like your coffee, the details of your skin care routine, how you like to binge watch shows and talk Katsuki’s ear off about them (not that he ever minded, of course). They don’t know you, not like he does. Katsuki looks at you like you hung the moon. In fact, he’s pretty convinced that you did. Everything good in his life— the warmth, the color, the joy,— is encompassed by you. He’d be damned if he lets some greasy little nobody take that from him. Because the moment Bakugo fell in love with you, you became a part of him— inextricably and indefinitely. Loving you has become so intrinsic to him, that even the mere thought of another person loving you or looking at you the same way he does has him going insane. Not that anyone could love you like he did, though. That thought brings him some comfort, but not for long. 

One last notification he sees sends him spiraling. Bakugo swears that he can see red. That’s when he deletes the app, and throws his poor phone in some random corner of the living room, which is markedly one of the smarter choices he’s made as of late. He marches to your bedroom with a fire burning in his chest. 

He stops short of the door and finds you sitting at the edge of your shared bed, fresh out of the shower. You’re applying lotion, and he watches the cream absorb into your skin wordlessly, in awe at how overwhelmingly beautiful you manage to look in the most prosaic of tasks. For a second, he almost forgets the reason he was upset in the first place.  

Your hair is still damp, water droplets accumulating at the tips, and Katsuki feels his mouth run dry the minute he watches a stray bead fall and make its way down your neck and stop perfectly in the dip of your collarbone. Your very existence is forever etched into his heart, every inch of you carved into his memory, but even still he can never get tired of looking at you. At every angle, in every lighting, he needs to see you in it. You could call him obsessed, but he’d simply laugh and agree, because what’s so wrong with that? Especially if it’s you. 

You’re one to be studied— to be adored, Katsuki thinks, to the greatest capacity. It’s what you deserve. And what better person for that task to fall upon than him?

He finds himself naturally gravitating towards you, his finger tracing the same exact path the water had carved just moments before, wordlessly. You try to pay no mind, but it’s difficult as you realize just how close Bakugo was and how your towel barely manages to cover up your most intimate parts. One wrong move and you’d be exposed. With how things were playing out, and the predatory glint in the blond’s eyes, you don’t think your boyfriend would be too perturbed with your current predicament. 

Katsuki presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before he crouches down. Suddenly, you’re at eye level with one another, his hot breath tickling your lips. You think for a moment he’s going to kiss you so you lean forward, lips waiting. But he merely grazes them before he sucks a deep bruise into the juncture of your neck, biting slightly. 

You’re barely given any time to react before he’s grabbing the hand that’s securing your towel and ripping it away, the offending garment falling off your body. Your flesh prickles with goosebumps as its exposed to the sudden chill.  It’s quickly replaced by the heat of Bakugo’s body as he pushes you lightly, your back hitting the mattress. He crawls on top of you, muscular thighs on either side of your hips, your head placed conveniently between his forearms. He’s trapped you, a nonverbal challenge for you to try and escape. 

You’re a work of art, he thinks, but much more valuable than any pièce de résistance framed in any museum. 

Beautiful, yes, but far too blank for his liking. He wants to ruin you, make you his own personal magnum opus. And so he does. 

He presses a clothed knee against your bare cunt, pressing firmly. His lips continue their assault on your neck, leaving angry purpling bruises in their wake. Rough hands find your breast, and you moan in surprise when he gives both of them a harsh squeeze as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. Katsuki kisses you like a man dying of thirst, hungry for everything you can offer him and more. It’s all too much already, the way he’s kissing you has your mind reeling, and you have to turn your head away for a moment to catch your breath. Katsuki thinks it’s a moment too long without you, so he coaxes you into locking lips with him once more. A wave of mischievousness washes over you, prompting you to take your boyfriend’s lower lip in between your teeth, biting down lightly. 

You feel his breath hitch, before he lets out a low groan as he grinds his clothed dick against your bare wetness. He returns the favor, sucking on your bottom lip before letting it go with a wet pop. He pulls back with a lazy smirk, his lips pursing together to scatter messy kisses down the base of your throat and down your chest, alternating between sucking and biting at the flesh. 

He gives you a good once-over, scanning every surface, committing them to memory. You feel the need to curl into yourself with how intensely those vermillion eyes are piercing into you, memorizing every single curve, scar, freckle like he’s done time and time again. 

He drops down to his knees, broad shoulders bullying their way in between your legs, forcibly prying them open. He grips your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, and drags you down the mattress until your legs are dangling off the bed.

“Jesus, Kats, be more gentle.”

“Shhh. I know you like it when I’m not gentle,” he chuckles. As if to prove a point, he pulls you down even further, giving a harsh bite to your inner thigh. He smiles deviously when you yelp. You try to pull at his hair but his reflexes are too quick, pinning both of your wrists down on either side of you easily. “Besides, this is the perfect height for me to eat you out, dontcha think baby?” 

You want to chastise him for being so crass, so Katsuki, but the words die on the tip of your tongue the minute he gives a sweet, loving kiss to your clit, sucking lightly. 

“You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this except for me.” 

You’re not entirely sure what brought this on, but you find it hard to complain when Bakugo drags his tongue from your throbbing clit to inside your pussy, drinking everything you have to offer. 

Your hands automatically try to find purchase in his blond locks, struggling against the vice grip Katsuki has on your wrists. He decides to take pity on you, loosening his hold so you can slip your hands into his hair, moaning appreciatively when he feels you tug. He rewards you by flicking his tongue on your clit over and over again, just the way you like it. He does it until your moans begin to pitch higher and higher, the same way that they do when you’re close. He doesn’t stop his ministrations even after you cum, riding out your orgasm until your thighs are shaking from overstimulation. He pulls away from you with a loud pop, taking in the sight before him. 

He runs a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. “So fucked out already and we’re barely getting started, baby.”

Your mind is barely processing his words before you feel Katsuki’s erection brush against your stomach, his clothing haphazardly discarded on the floor. He taps the head of his dick against your clit to tease you, a feeling of satisfaction swelling when you cry out from under him.  

He watches in fascination as strings of your arousal cling to him. He positions his length at your entrance, locking eyes with you as you hold your breath in anticipation. Katsuki likes you like this. Needy for him. 

 “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?” He slips into you with a stuttered groan. 

Katsuki’s always been big. You never get used to the initial stretch, no matter how many times you two fuck. Still, that doesn’t stop him from sliding in with ease from the slick of your last orgasm. It easily coats his cock as he gives a few experimental thrusts. He groans in rapture. How do you manage to feel so good every time? It’s enough to drive him insane. Perhaps he already is. 

“So fucking perfect, no wonder why all those losers want you.” He mutters out the last part, and you’re not sure if you caught that right. 

“What?” He chooses not to respond, and you aren’t given the opportunity to think any further before your legs are thrown over his shoulders, Katsuki’s weight effectively pinning you in place. The stretch knocks all the wind out of your lungs, and all you can do is cling to Katsuki, nails leaving red, angry lines on his well-defined back.

He wastes no time before he starts drilling into you, hips slotting in between your legs perfectly. The position has him pressed against your clit, and your entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze, with Katsuki holding both the power to have it burn even brighter and the ability to extinguish it. And you’re almost there, you can feel your soul slowly ascending, your room filled with hymns of pleasure, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, threatening to unravel along with your sanity. Katsuki can feel it too— the way you’re squeezing him tighter, how your gasps and moans have climbed just a note higher, how absolutely ruined you look, how he’s responsible for your current state. Which is exactly why he wants to push it even further, he wants to see how much you’ll break for him— and only him. 

Katsuki cuts you off right before you can reach your peak, pulling out but making sure just his tip is inserted. You come to and take a look at your lover and marvel at the sight. He has a crazed look in his eyes. The way he smirks is absolutely wicked. 

You feel distraught— having been so close but having it ripped away from you. You give your boyfriend a petulant pout.

“Katsuki,” you whine, slapping a hand against his sweaty chest, “Why’d you stop? I was so close!”

“Because I didn’t want you to cum yet,” he says simply. “You’ll be good for me, yeah? I’ll give my baby what she deserves, as long as she’s good.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. That won’t do for him.

As much as he loves seeing you indulge, he feels a need to punish you— at least a little bit to even begin to atone for being the wicked temptress you are. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Bakugo growls, gripping your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks, causing your lips to purse slightly. “I said be good, okay? Wanna take my time with you.” 

There’s a moment of respite, until you sigh in defeat, knowing better than to argue with him lest you wanted to dig your own grave. “‘Kay, ‘ki.”

He flashes you a smile. Obedient, just how he likes you. “Good girl.”

Katsuki draws his hips back, thrusting just enough to fuck his tip into you. He’s teasing. The amount of willpower on his end it takes not to cum is nauseating. 

“You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” he rasps, one hand finding their way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. Your hands reflexively grab his wrist. 

All you can manage is a fucked out moan. Katsuki has to resist the urge to coo, about how he’s managed to turn you into a cockdrunk mess in such a short matter of time. The wave of possessiveness that’s been gnawing at the depths of his soul begins to seep out, and he’s reminded of the reason why the two of you are in this position in the first place. 

He gives your throat another squeeze and a rough slap to your clit. “C’mon princess, answer me. Say it.” He slowly adds more and more pressure until your ears grow hot and air feels like a precious commodity. 

“I-i’m pretty,” you manage to gasp out, tears spilling from your lash line as you begin to lose yourself between the space of pleasure and pain. 

Good. Always so pliant for him.

“That’s right, baby,” he concedes. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He punctuates the last word with a deep thrust, right against that spongy spot that feels so good. You’re so sensitive that it’s enough to send you spiraling into your second orgasm, walls spasming around him uncontrollably. 

Katsuki stills, staving off his own release with all the restraint he can summon. He silently thanks whatever divine forces are out there that he didn’t cum the minute he felt the first clench of your orgasm. 

He grits his teeth as he wills himself to move, trying not to get lost in the wetness that envelops him. You’re babbling now, senseless moans filling Katsuki’s ears like a sweet melody. 

“Kats, please, I’m too sensitive—” You’re shaking now, muscles trembling with every thrust. 

“But I’m not done with you yet,” he says simply, drawing his hips back with a particularly rough thrust. You choke back whatever you were going to say with a loud cry. “What’s your color, baby?”

You take a moment to answer, brain trying to comprehend the words just uttered to you. You look at Katsuki firmly, “Green.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, the drive of his hips beginning to shallow. He’s close, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. But for you, he tries. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, shivering as goosebumps dance across your skin. 

“Say it,” Katsuki pleads, thrusts growing sloppy by the second. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, ‘ki.” 

With that, Katsuki’s fate is sealed. He’s left groaning as a flash of pleasure shakes his very soul, filling you up with so much cum that it dribbles onto the mattress even while he’s still inside you. You follow suit, an embarrassingly obscene rhythm of squelching noises fill the silence as you spasm around his dick. He collapses on top of you, but he’s still coherent enough to not dump all his weight on you. 

Your labored breaths fill the room as the two of you come to. Katsuki pulls out of you with a wince, still a bit sensitive. He gives you a peck on the lips before he drags himself down, settling in between your legs much like he was earlier. 

You tense up, “Kats, wait—”

Any and all protests cease the moment Bakugo works his tongue inside of you, slurping lewdly as he drags out the mixture of your cum and his, swallowing. He tries not to stimulate your puffy clit in an attempt to be merciful, but you still feel yourself steadily climbing to what would be your fourth orgasm this session. While the past three have been intense and drowning, this one comes to you in waves, dull pleasure invading your senses as Katsuki continues to eat you out to clean you up. 

He pulls away when you finish, your slick and his saliva coating his chin before he wipes it off on the back of his hand. You stare at his half-hard erection with a half concerned, half quizzical look. “Do you…” you lick your lips, “need help with that? I’m a little sensitive down there  but I could use my mout—”

“Nah, I’m good babe,” he says earnestly, flashing you a smile that he only ever shows around you. “I’ll be back.” With that, your boyfriend leaves the room only to come back with a bottle of water. 

“Drink.” You comply, finishing half the bottle graciously before handing it to him. He downs the rest before he settles next to you on the bed, laying on his side. You mirror him, shifting your body so that you’re both facing each other. 

Katsuki reaches out, finger idly tracing random shapes and lines onto the bare skin on your hip. He has a pensive look on his face, one that he usually doesn’t hold after stolen moments like this; it’s an expression he wears when he’s in deep thought. 

“Baby,” you call out. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha thinking about?” You watch as a hesitant look flashes across your boyfriend’s face before he shakes his head.

“S’nothin’. Just thinkin’ about us two.” He speaks lightly. It’s always been difficult for him to voice his inner thoughts and feelings, so he tends to beat around the bush. You’ve learned that if you ever want something out of him, you’d have to pry a little. Katsuki always indulges you though. 

“What about us?”

“Do you- do you think you’ll ever get tired of this?” He repeats himself, clearing his throat. The question is followed by a weaker, “...of me?”

You think it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever asked, because the answer should be obvious. “I’d never get tired of you, Katsuki. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replies automatically, “but if I ever do anything that upsets you, or if I get too much for you, or if I—” he’s rambling now. Yes, it’s difficult for Katsuki to talk about his feelings, but once you manage to get him to open up, all the walls of his self-made fortress come crashing down and it’s up to you to pick up the pieces. 

“Baby,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips, cupping his sharp jaw with one hand. “Look at me.” And he does— ruby eyes meeting yours. “I love you because you’re you. And I choose to be with you everyday. It’s not always gonna be perfect, no relationship is. But I know that I will always wake up and choose you.” 

You can see the anxiety melt away from Katsuki’s body, shoulders slumping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Love you too, sap,” is all he says before he’s pulling you against his chest, squeezing you into a bearhug. You two stay that way until both of you are lulled to sleep. 

You’re laying in bed with Katsuki, both of you dozing off when you hear a slight buzz from your phone on the nightstand. You squint as you try to read the notification, and make out that it’s from your friend.

Denki Kaminari: So did it work?

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, giving a quick glance over your shoulder to check on your boyfriend— fast asleep. You turn back to your phone, your thumbs making quick work at your keyboard. 

You: Just like I said it would. Thanks Denki :)

Writing belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not share my work on Tiktok.

[absolutely-esme]

Monster!Tim Coraline AU part 2

A while back, I posted an Idea I had For a Combination of a Coraline AU and a Meta!Tim AU. It's here assuming I made the link correctly.

Well, I had more thoughts on the matter, so I'm making another post.

First off, I want to expand/clarify on how Tim's powers work.

Tim fights (or otherwise challenges) various supernatural things and gains power from defeating them.  I touched on this before and mentioned that it was because it was symbolically similar hunting and eating prey.  I would like to talk a bit more about what this entails. 

Upon achieving victory, Tim takes a bit of power from the defeated opponent and incorporates it into himself.  Tim can gain abilities this way or just boost his own power level a bit.  He does not physically eat any part of his opponent.

The opponent is left a bit weaker, but does not lose abilities completely and is not permanently damaged.  They can get their power levels back up given some time.  Think of it like donating blood, they’ll be a little weak and woozy for a bit, but no lasting harm is done.  Now, I cannot stress enough that this is because of the choices Tim makes. 

Tim chooses to use his powers in the gentlest way available.  He chooses not to take more than they can safely part with.  He chooses not to simply consume them completely.  He chooses to pay careful attention to how much power his opponents can afford to part with and whether or not they are in a position to weather the recovery safely.  Tim grew up looking up to Batman and Robin.  He believes in harm reduction. 

That’s why the supernatural-leaning rogues fear him so much.  Their instincts are very aware that this is a predator that has simply decided not to kill them today.  He probably won’t next time either, but he could easily make a different decision at any time.  At least some of them are not entirely aware of their ties to the supernatural or why the third Robin inspires such primal existential fear.

The thing that drives Tim to keep doing these challenges is not primarily a desire for power (though some of the abilities he gains are useful), but rather because it makes the hunger more manageable for a bit.  It doesn’t stop it, but it takes the edge off for a little while.  Tim was incredibly suspicious of this at first.  He knows full well that his condition makes a point of being inconvenient and that it is easy to spiral out of control in a way that makes one dangerous to oneself or others.  He remembers how miserable the fallout of trying to eat to fullness was.  He made a careful study of the challenges and how they affected him.  He kept meticulous notes on his mental and physical state.  He also created and stuck to a very rigid schedule on how often he would allow himself to “hunt,” and made a point of not taking too much from his “prey.”

Tim starts off pretty close to a baseline human and gathers abilities over time.

When he is very young he gains improved stealth and the ability to sense secrets.  For a little while, that’s all he has, until he learns that there are other things in Gotham he can challenge.

 While he was still very young he collected the ability to make his fingernails razor-sharp, the ability to climb like a goat, some minor enhanced strength (just enough to somewhat offset the disadvantage of being so tiny), partial immunity to slipperiness caused by water (from the many rain/fog/whatever spirits to be found in a city as gloomy as Gotham), increased impact resistance (don’t know what that thing was, but Tim’s not sure if he actually beat it or if it was just so high above his level that it felt safe to feed him a scrap of its power purely out of curiosity over what he might do with it), and a bite like a beartrap.

Then the Beldam incident happened.  He got a lot from dealing with the Beldam because that wasn’t an ordinary challenge (by his way of doing things).  The Beldam was too powerful, too dangerous, too impossible to contain, too sneaky, too focused on targeting vulnerable victims who won’t be missed in time for any sign to be found.  Tim had to stop her for good right then and there because he only had one shot.  Even if he survived and escaped (which wasn’t especially likely if he held back at all) she would go right on killing children.  There was no way to put the Beldam in Arkham even just until the next breakout.  No way to track the Beldam.  No way of protecting other isolated, vulnerable children without lethal force.  So Tim killed the Beldam and consumed it entirely (he has to think of the Beldam as an it, he can’t afford to do otherwise). 

From defeating the Beldam, he gained a supernatural knack for fiber arts (especially spinning, weaving, and sewing), the ability to control things he makes with these skills to a certain degree, the ability to see through buttons he’s sewn on things, some slight shapeshifting, minor space-folding on the level of making his pockets a bit bigger on the inside, and illusory powers that allow him to make things seem a bit nicer/brighter/more pleasant.  He also gains a pretty huge general power boost that goes into enhancing his existing abilities.  He takes to spinning some very strong cord and keeping a few skeins on his person at all times because it’s useful for a number of things and makes a pretty good weapon, especially with his ability to manipulate it.

The shapeshifting isn’t much on it’s own, but it can combine with other abilities he’s taken on to let him make greater changes and take on forms that better support use of his powers.

After the Beldam incident, Tim’s power levels increase a good deal very quickly, allowing him to challenge and defeat stronger opponents and collect stronger abilities.  Tim continues wandering, continues fighting, continues gaining power. 

(Trauma?  What Trauma?  He’s fine.  It all turned out okay in the end.  The Beldam is dead.  The souls she trapped are free.  Tim totally doesn’t have complicated feelings about killing her.  It.  Tim is fine.  Tim totally doesn’t have nightmares about an evil Batman with buttons for eyes.  You would not believe how fine he is.)

He collects some extra senses that allow him to maintain greater awareness of his surroundings.  He gains the ability to produce and maintain a very small fire (like a candle flame on a tealight) at his fingertips.  He gets quicker reflexes from something he probably wouldn’t have been able to beat prior to killing the Beldam (he had to tank an uncomfortable number of hits in that fight).

He gains the ability to find and use what he decides to call shortcuts. They’re these odd little throughways tucked into out of the way places that he can pass through and go from one place to someplace a fair distance away.   One of them is an odd little opening in a wall between a dead-end alley and a rooftop on the other side of town.  The shortcuts don’t look odd or out of place.  He mostly recognizes them by vibes.  If he had been born with this ability rather than gaining it later in life he probably wouldn’t have realized that there was anything odd about the shortcuts or that no one else could see them.

…

Tim goes on doing his thing, pretending he wasn’t traumatized by the Beldam, and even managing to heal a little despite his somewhat unhealthy handling of it.

Then Robin dies, and Batman loses it.  Now Batman is self-destructing and looks like he’s going to take all of Gotham down with him, the Other Gotham Nightmares are back, and Robin is fucking dead. 

Tim is not okay.

Tim tries to get someone else, anyone else, to deal with the situation because a violent, out of control Batman is a pretty massive trigger for him.  No one else who seems like they might be able to do anything for Batman is willing to intervein.  Batman is getting worse.

It looks like Tim is going to have to be the one to do something about this.

…

When Tim eventually begins his training to be Robin, it is such a hassle learning how to fight without his powers.  Batman and Nightwing think he’s incredibly clumsy when he first starts his training and wonder just how the heck he managed to follow them undetected for so long.  Then the clumsiness clears up more quickly than they would have expected, and they are concerned that he might have had a concussion when he started training and they didn’t notice. 

It’s actually because he has to re-learn how to get around without using his powers in a way that Batman and Nightwing would notice, and he’s started to forget how to account for large bulky items that aren’t tucked away in a pocket dimension.  That said, he did do it all without powers in the beginning so he’s re-learning rather than learning something new for the first time.  Also, he figures out pretty quickly that he can use the stealth he got from secret hunters and the goat-like climbing ability he got from a Jersey Devil because neither Bruce nor Dick realizes just how unusual Dick’s childhood level of ability was.

While Tim is operating as the Bats’ emotional support child, he uses his illusion powers from the Beldam to look cute, comforting, healthy, and un-concerning.  When he’s not with the Bats, he drops the illusion and just goes about his business with his actual appearance.  When he has some shit to get done far enough outside of the Bats’ sphere of influence that he can be reasonably confident he can avoid them finding out about it, he turns into something out of a scary movie.

Guess who gave digital art a try? Here we have Emotional Support Tim, Regular Tim, and Cryptid Tim.

I hadn't originally planned for Cryptid Tim to be showing that much skin, but i had to spend a lot of time figuring out the anatomy before I could figure out how to dress him, and by the time I realized what I was doing, i'd put so much work into the shading on the ribcage that i didn't want to cover it completely. Tim won't actually dress like that in Cryptid form, I just worked really hard on the anatomy. I should do more art to figure out his actual Cryptid Garb.

I went the stretched out, spindly monster route for Tim's Cryptid form because his magic/condition is called "afflicted with gluttony." I know a lot of artists make monsters based on the concept of gluttony heavyset with lots of excess fat tissue, but I feel like it makes sense to have a gluttony monster look hungry, like no matter how much it's eaten it's nowhere near enough.

The gray-ish skin with darker gray hands was just because I thought it would look spooky, and redoing the hands once they were done felt like it would be a lot of work. Hands are hard. Especially with foreshortening.

[sydnikov]

Sunkissed (pt. 3)

Link to Part 1, Link to Part 2

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov/female!Reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Summary: Thanks to a few meddling friends, your anger and hurt towards Andrei begins to dissipate when you realize that not much about him had actually changed, and was still the same guy you used to remember. A playful day spent in the sun and a close conversation under the moon only brings the two of you closer, revealing the feelings Andrei had been dying to say since the moment he saw you again.

Warnings: Cursing, hinting of body dysphoria, vague hinting of sex in the end maybe?, angst, tooth-rotting fluff (y’know, the usual)

A/N: Don’t ask me why this was posted a month later than I said it would be 😶... Anywaysss, alas, the long-awaited part 3 is here!! If you’ve stuck around this long, I applaud you because I know it’s taken me forever to post this LOL please comment and reblog, ily all

Translations:

¹Солнышко - Little sun

The morning after the boys arrived was a hard one to wake up from. You weren’t able to sleep in, for instead you spent the night staring at your ceiling as the faint sounds of gentle breaths and soft words disrupted the silence you were used to.

When the beginning of sunrise finally appeared over the horizon, you just decided to get out of bed since you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping with the sun shining in your eyes. Heaving a sigh, you slid out of bed and threw on an old hoodie to keep the morning chill from nipping at your skin before quietly walking downstairs to the kitchen.

Lucky for you, the room was entirely empty as you were the first one awake. It wouldn’t be for long though, because rarely ever were hockey players able to sleep in due to their rigorous traveling schedules.

At least you had a few moments of silence, you breathed out a gentle sigh as you poured your coffee, the warmth from the mug welcome to your chilly palms as you propped a hip against the kitchen counter, staring at the ocean waves as they reflected the beginnings of early sunlight.

As the sun steadily climbed over the horizon, you took your time to think over what it was exactly you were feeling.

Or, rather, what you were feeling about Andrei.

Sad? No, but there was definitely a bittersweet taste on your tongue at being reunited with him.

Angry? Oh, most definitely, but really only at yourself.

Excited? You couldn’t really tell if you were being honest. The nervous butterflies in your stomach were something you were used to when around him, but your heart racing at the long looks he was giving you was something that definitely wasn’t there before.

And the way your breath hitched at the slow, heavy footsteps you recognized coming down the stairs wasn’t helping you figure out how to feel about said-Russian, either.

You didn’t turn as you heard him enter the kitchen, his footsteps coming to an abrupt stop as he most likely saw you standing by the window. You felt rather than heard the way his mouth opened as if he was looking to speak, but in not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere he luckily kept whatever he wanted to say to himself.

Though as he went to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, you couldn’t help but take a small peek. His hair was messy, and he was wearing a loose t-shirt that still managed to cling to every muscle on his body. Damn it.

“Good morning,” You quietly murmured in an attempt to ease the tension, hoping the sight of your tired eyes and messy bedhead wouldn’t suddenly deter him.

But Andrei still smiled, a small one full of endearment as he looked over your sleepy form and really, he couldn’t help but wonder how it took him so long to finally see what was right in front of him.

The meaning behind his look was lost on you—watching him watching you, you were slightly skeptical as to what he was thinking but simultaneously felt too tired to really care.

It didn’t matter what he thought of you anyway, right?

Right?

Andrei took a small sip of water, relishing in the way it soothed his throat. “What are you doing up so early?” He asked, having never remembered you to be much of a morning person.

Then again, as you pleasantly reminded him that night so long ago, he didn’t know everything about you, either.

You shrugged because even you didn’t really know the answer. “Couldn’t sleep much. Besides, I’ve already made a habit of waking up when the sun rises, so why stop now?” Your smile was lighthearted and honest, wanting nothing more than to fall back into playful banter like you used to.

“You? A morning person?” He tilted his head with a small grin. “The world has gone crazy.”

You scoffed playfully, rolling your eyes. “Shut up. You still don’t like coffee so I’d say we’re even.”

“Milkshakes are better.”

“That’s…” You shook your head, actually laughing, your mouth agape in disbelief. “That’s debatable.”

And the two of you stood there in the kitchen, giggling quietly and staring at each other as if you couldn’t believe the other was right there in front of you. Eventually, you both fell quiet, the comforting silence welcome as you reveled in being in each other’s presence again.

As you sipped your coffee, lost in thought and the serene beauty of the beach outside the window, you failed to notice Andrei’s longing gaze as he watched the morning light kiss your cheeks, wanting nothing more than to be able to hold you close under the warmth of the sun.

“Is the beach nice at this time of the year?” The Russian soon spoke up, and you turned to him with a glowing smile at the prospect of describing your new home to him, and with that Andrei could already tell how much this small strip of land along North Carolina’s coast meant to you.

“It’s amazing,” You gushed, and immediately you had his rapt attention. “The weather has just started to cool off so it isn’t unbearably hot anymore, and the water still feels amazing so it’s okay to go swimming.”

“Is it not hot all year long?” He asked with a slight tilt of his head, genuinely curious.

“We’re in North Carolina, ‘Drei, not the Bahamas.” The nickname slipped from your lips without a second thought, and once you realized what you said you almost wanted to take it back, but the way his face lit up had you returning his small grin.

You forgot how easy it was with him, and the amount of unresolved issues between you just... Didn’t matter at that moment. You had your best friend back, and you convinced yourself for now that that’s what was most important.

Andrei bit back his grin as he took another sip of water, feeling his heartbeat pick up at the sound of his old nickname falling from your lips. He’d missed you so much. It made his heart beat so fast that, in the heat of the moment, he tried sitting up, just about to open his mouth and—

“Good morning!”

Martin bounded down the staircase resembling an overexcited puppy, his hair the epitome of a rat’s nest, and the delicate moment shared between you and Andrei was gone.

The two of you shared a glance, him looking back at you with a slight raise of his eyebrow that let you know the two of you were thinking the exact same thing.

Martin, you little shit.

“Morning. Did you sleep well?” You asked your friend, biting back a yawn as you watched him pour his coffee.

“More or less,” The Czech player shrugged. “I never sleep well in different places, and the sun woke me up.”

You winced, smiling softly. You’d forgotten to warn them to keep their blinds closed as no matter where you were at the beach, if you didn’t have them shut then you had no chance of sleeping through it. “Yeah... Sorry about that, I forgot to warn you.”

Martin shrugged, an easy smile on his face as he finally turned to face you. “Sepe and Turbo are already up, I heard their voices from their rooms. They’ll probably be down in a bit.”

You couldn’t help the slight disappointment you felt at the news, because that meant the moment you shared with Andrei was now definitely gone.

It’s fine, though. Just friends. Remember?

Sure enough, a few minutes after Martin delivered the news, the three of you in the kitchen turned your heads as a sleepy Sebastian and Teuvo made their way down the stairs, looking like they just rolled out of bed even though they’d already been heard talking.

“Did the sun get you guys too?” Martin asked with a shit-eating grin, cheekily dodging the arm Sebastian swung to punch him in the side.

You snorted into your mug of coffee, watching Andrei step in to keep the grumpy Finns from jumping poor Martin. “Yes, yes, the sun is a bitch, now finish drinking your coffee so we can go to the beach.” Wisely, he ignored the disgruntled looks they sent him.

“What’s got you in a chipper mood?” Sebastian asked his teammate as he settled down beside Teuvo, narrowing his eyes at Andrei.

The centerman was perceptive enough to catch the quick look his Russian friend sent you at the counter, and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly because of course. Andrei went to open his mouth, but Sebastian just shook his head.

He already knew, anyway.

The group remained in the kitchen for a good several minutes after that, and once they all finished their coffee and breakfast they agreed to get ready to spend the day at the beach, with Teuvo even suggesting that they even grill outside.

You then proceeded to protest, saying that you didn’t have enough food to grill out… But then Teuvo opened the freezer to reveal several pounds of meat they had snuck in the night before.

And so here you were now, adjusting the straps of your swimsuit and trying to convince yourself that you looked fine. Maybe not model fine, but you looked okay, not as good as her but—

You stopped yourself quickly. No. You weren’t letting yourself go there. Not with Andrei here.

Casting yourself one last glance in the mirror, you released an anxious sigh before exiting your room, biting nervously at your lip as you heard numerous voices downstairs. But luckily, they all seemed preoccupied with packing water and snacks, leaving you to slowly battle your anxiety because these were your friends. They had never judged you before, so why would they now?

Sebastian asking for your help without even spending more than a second looking at you reminded you of this fact, and you were able to reluctantly calm your nerves as you helped him stuff a cooler full of ice.

Only, the anxious flips and somersaults your stomach had been doing earlier came back tenfold when you heard Andrei coming down the stairs, and you hoped your stumble as you tried lifting a box wasn’t noticeable.

Except these were your best friends, and they noticed everything.

“Hey, you okay?" Sebastian asked quietly, peeking his head around the counter to get a better look. He’d heard the rather loud fumble of the box in your arms and when he looked over, he saw you anxiously wringing your hands together with a troubled look on your face.

You opened your mouth, attempting to respond but words just wouldn’t come. You couldn’t stop your eyes from looking over at Andrei where, unsurprisingly, he looked mouthwatering in his swim trunks.

Sebastian saw your eyes drop to your body, and it clicked almost immediately. “Hey, hey, look at me,” He quickly approached you, gently tilting your face up with his hands when you wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You’re beautiful, okay? And amazing and thoughtful and everything a bunch of idiots like us could ever want.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile, your eyes watery as you shook your head so he would stop his sweet ramblings. Your face was on fire from his rigorous complimenting, but your thoughts were silenced and you were reminded once more of how thankful you were to have your best friends here with you. “Rosa’s a really lucky girl, you know that?”

Sepe shook his head, a small grin on his face.

“Thank you, Sepe.” Sebastian needn’t respond with words, for the bright smile he sent you was enough.

Breaking free from the bubble of insecurity that held you captive before, you cast a quick glance around you to find that nobody else had seen the delicate moment you and Sebastian shared.

Not that it would have mattered, but… You looked towards Andrei again, but instead of your stomach churning with nerves and self-consciousness, you only felt tingles of excitement and anticipation.

Feeling better with Sebastian’s words running through your head, you finished packing for the day with the rest of the boys and finally began to make your way out through the convenient back entrance of the house, adding yet another reason to relentlessly thank your friend later on for letting you stay.

The sun was harsh as you made your way toward the water, but luckily the breeze did its job in cooling you down. It also helped that it was early September, leaving the weather more bearable.

This didn’t stop the sand from heating up to unbearable temperatures, though, as early September was still hot.

Practically all four boys let out various sounds of pain as their feet came in contact with the sand, for while Europe got scorching hot in the summer, too, it was nothing compared to living in the southern United States.

Andrei cursed in Russian, Sebastian made some weird strangled noise of distress, and Teuvo and Martin just sprinted toward the water.

You couldn’t decide if you wanted to laugh or ask them if they were okay.

“How do you stand it?” Andrei asked, out of breath as he hurriedly stepped onto the towel you set down for him.

You shrugged, biting back a smile. “You get used to it after a while.” You spread out your own towel over the sand. “And it helps that I didn’t grow up in Russia.” You raised an eyebrow at Andrei, your smile mischievous.

“Russia still gets hot, you know,” He said, watching as you began scrounging around in your bag.

“And yet you still act like you’ve never walked on a beach before,” You retorted, not even bothering to hide your smile at his scoff. “Hey, have you seen the sunscreen? I could have sworn I brought it,”

“Is this it?” He asked after reaching into one of the bags, and sure enough he was holding the bottle of sunscreen. Right as you thanked him and went to grab it, Andrei suddenly yanked his hand back and held the sun protection just out of your reach.

“Andrei,” You warned, narrowing your eyes.

“Take it back first,” He grinned, watching you scrunch your nose in confusion. “About me having never walked on a beach.”

You crossed your arms. “Why would I take something back that’s true?” Your tone was serious, but your expression was lighthearted and playful as you watched your friend narrow his eyes in challenge.

Andrei shrugged, a faux innocent expression on his face. “Come get it, then.” He waved his arm with the sunscreen out of your reach, watching you scowl with a shit-eating grin.

You both knew he was practically double your size and thus made trying to beat him in, well, anything physical was bound to end up in failure.

But, damn it, you wanted your sunscreen, and maybe you didn’t particularly have a problem with tackling him to get it, either.

You stared at him for several moments, and when Andrei’s eyes darted away for a mere second, that’s when you lunged. With an evil grin, you fell face-first onto his chest and sent the two of you flying into the sand. Andrei let out a girlish scream as you climbed up his chest, your bodies shaking with unrestrained giggles as even with your hand on his face, he still managed to keep the sunscreen just out of your reach. “Damn it, Andrei!” You screeched as suddenly you lost your balance, conveniently landing on the sand right next to him, and not one to waste an opportunity Andrei quickly took advantage of your momentary distraction to trap you beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, panting with exertion as he leaned over you with a mischievous smile while you scowled at him from below. “Did you want this?” He waved the sunscreen above your head, and when you tried to make a grab for it he quickly pinned your arms to the ground.

You opened your mouth to protest, a meager insult on the very tip of your tongue as you stared up at his eyes, and that’s when you suddenly realized how… Close you were. With his face merely inches from yours and his body pressing down into your every nook and cranny, you had a hard time reminding yourself of all the reasons why being in this position was a bad, bad idea.

But you were always weak when it came to Andrei, even after all this time away… Your face heated up as your eyes remained locked, and before you did something stupid (like kiss him) you kneed him in the stomach, delighting in the pained grunt he let out before you quickly took back the sunscreen and retreated to a safe distance away.

You grinned triumphantly as the Russian sat back down with a frown. “Thank you!” You said, ignoring his defeated muttering as you turned around to finally relax in peace.

Though with Andrei settling down beside you on his own towel, it was practically impossible to ignore his presence and the lingering tension between you. That moment you shared before… It was close, almost too close.

You felt like you’d finally reached an equilibrium with him, and you didn’t want to mess it up with any more close calls like these. The last thing you needed was more ammo to start a fight.

You pretended that you couldn’t feel his eyes burning into the side of your face as you readjusted your sunglasses and laid on your towel. You weren’t sure what was running through his mind and weren’t sure if you wanted to find out, either.

A couple of hours passed quietly, with nothing but the sounds of passing seagulls and the rising and crashing of the waves creating a serene atmosphere that lulled you to sleep. It was that stage of REM where you were just at the cusp of consciousness to be aware of your surroundings—aware enough to hear the sounds of footsteps walking through the sand.

But you were so comfortable… There was a nice breeze going that contrasted nicely with the heat, and you really just didn’t feel like moving even when you recognized a voice to be Sebastian’s.

“You coming, ’Drei?” he said, and from what you could gather without opening your eyes was gulping down fresh water.

A colony of seagulls passed overhead and their cries stole your attention for a moment, long enough for you to realize the two men beside you were still talking when you finally tuned back in.

“—asleep?”

“No—actually, wait, yes, I think so,”

It was Andrei’s voice, speaking from somewhere beside you.

“What?” you said, your voice nothing more than a mutter as you gathered the energy to awaken. “‘M not asleep,”

Squinting against the harsh glare of the sun, you honed in on Andrei’s face which currently had a smirk on it. “You have sand on your cheek.”

Sebastian snorted, and you hurriedly rubbed the sand off your face.

“Ass,” you mumbled with little mirth, turning away when you felt the beginnings of a smile break through your faux irritation.

The Finnish centerman settled down on the towel on Andrei’s right just as the Russian leaned over to poke you in your most ticklish spot. “But I’m your ass,” he replied cheekily, avoiding the arm you swung to hit him with.

Teuvo and Martin soon approached, the latter stomping through the sand and Teuvo, to no one’s surprise, sneaking around the back. “Stop flirting with each other and go back to sleep, Jesus,” Martin said, plopping down right in between you and Andrei.

Several chuckles came from the others, and then, “Pass me the chips, yeah?”

The five of you continued relaxing and reveling in the atmosphere of the beach, with you eventually laying back to read a book as Sebastian and Teuvo floated in the water while Martin and Andrei played volleyball. It was comical because you couldn’t decide between watching the two Finns get pummeled by the waves or Martin and Andrei hitting the volleyball as hard as they possibly could at each other.

Holding back your laugh when Martin launched the volleyball right past Andrei’s head, you looked up from the book you’d barely read a page of and saw the sunset, which had turned the horizon a brilliant shade of pink with fiery streaks of orange and golden yellow painting the sky.

You’d lived on the Outer Banks for many months now, and yet the sight never failed to take your breath away. There was something special about sharing the wonders of your home with the people closest to you that made the moment that much more memorable, you thought.

As you stood there, eyes lit with the glow of the sun, Andrei happened to look up from retrieving the volleyball Martin had blasted across the beach and had the breath practically stolen from him.

Because there you stood, hair blowing with the wind and your body outlined by the fading sunset in the horizon, and he was struck with yet another regretful thought of wondering how and why he had let you go.

Martin shouted an offensive name his way, and Andrei watched as you turned towards the duo, a bright shade of pink dusting your cheeks when you realized you’d caught the Russian staring. He opened his mouth to speak, but yet again was interrupted by his teammates.

“What the fuck is taking you so long—” Martin complained.

Sebastian had a smirk on his face as he exited the water. “He’s occupied, Neci,”

“Who’s occupied by what?” Teuvo, following Sebastian and as clueless as ever, asked.

Andrei threw the volleyball at Martin’s head. “I hate all of you.”

If the saying, ‘boys will be boys’, had a definition, you had a feeling it looked something like this.

Ducking your head to hide the flush of your face, you quickly changed the topic. “Ready to head back? The sun is setting now so it’s going to get pretty chilly.”

They agreed, and after packing up all of the beach equipment you had brought down – not without interruptions, of course, as biteless insults followed by playful punches kept the group distracted – you trudged back to the beach house.

Teuvo disappeared somewhere inside, and Andrei and Sebastian headed to the backyard to start up the grill with all of the frozen meat they’d smuggled in the night they arrived. You and Martin, meanwhile, were enjoying being back in an air-conditioned room and were content to watch the two hockey players outside argue over what to grill first.

“Sebastian has probably already said this already, but you’re different,” The right-winger said, looking at you curiously.

You took another sip of water. “You mean a good different, right? I would hate for all this self-healing to go to waste…”

Martin laughed. “No, definitely a good different. After… Everything that happened back in Raleigh, it’s good to see you so happy.”

You smiled appreciatively at your friend, and it was silent between the two of you for a moment. Then, you couldn’t help the way your eyes shifted back outside to the main reason ‘everything’ made you move away in the first place.

“He seems different, too. In a good way.”

“He wasn’t the same after you left,” Martin stated, boldly. “Julia was good to him, do not get me wrong, but…” he trailed off, looking at you as if he wasn’t sure he was supposed to be explaining this to you in the first place.

You stopped pretending Andrei didn’t occupy at least ninety percent of your thoughts, though, so you couldn’t help but pry for more information about him. “But what?”

The Czech player grinned, then, as if he had a secret he wasn’t going to let you be privy to.

“She wasn’t you.”

There was a triumphant shout from outside that interrupted the moment, and the two of you turned to find Andrei gleefully placing steak on the grill while Sebastian was crossing his arms with a scowl.

“Looks like Fishy lost to Svech,” Teuvo suddenly appeared, and you squeaked as you jumped around to find him standing next to Martin as if he’d been there the entire time.

The left-winger looked at you innocently, sipping from the glass of water he’d taken from the counter. His introvertedness was something that had drawn you to him in the first place, why you got along so well—and it was also the reason you had mini heart attacks every time he snuck up on you.

“What?” the Finn asked, looking between you and his teammate curiously. Martin grinned, exchanging silent words with him. “Nothing. Should we go join Sepe and Svechy before they actually start hitting each other?”

You nodded immediately, Martin’s words still playing on repeat in your mind. She wasn’t you. What did he mean by that?

The next thing you knew you were sitting outside on the patio, five chairs surrounding the fire pit crackling at a steady pace. The steak the boys had cooked was delicious, and the conversation easily kept your mind off of what happened inside earlier.

“You totally have blisters on your feet,” 

“Do not!”

“The bottoms of your feet are red, Martin,”

You and the other three boys dissolved into laughter at the look of disgruntlement on the Czech player’s face, but even he couldn’t resist the hilarity of the situation and let out a few chuckles, too.

The wind had slowed down by this point, leaving the fire to crackle and spread its warmth all around. Sunburns by fire were, in fact, a thing, so while everyone else was absorbed in conversation you quietly slipped away to give your overheated skin a break.

Your absence, however, did not go unnoticed.

As you quietly snuck past the gate that led to the beach, Andrei’s eyes immediately locked onto you as you ventured down the beach and watched until your figure was no longer visible.

Mildly concerned but most of all curious, he too slipped away while Martin, Sebastian, and Teuvo were in a heated debate over who got the best tan.

Sinking his feet into the cool sand, Andrei took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark before searching for you, eventually locating your figure standing at the water’s edge.

Silently, he approached from behind before moving to stand next to you. He didn’t offer any words, content to merely be in your presence, and you only shot him a quick glance before turning back to the ocean.

If you were being honest, you weren’t surprised at all to find Andrei joining you. You kind of expected it, was hoping for it, almost.

The rate at which you were falling for your best friend all over again scared you like nothing else before, but here, in your home, surrounded by peace and love and friends who supported you?

It almost made you forget what brought you back here in the first place, why Andrei and feelings just didn’t mix.

So, you said nothing. You stared straight ahead, at the stars’ reflection over the dark water, the lulling sound of the waves filling what would have been an awkward silence.

But, Andrei, ever the extrovert between the two of you… The silence was killing him, your silence was killing him. Even after months he still knew you like the back of his hand and knew you were deliberately holding back.

He just had to find a way to convince you that he was worth it—even if he hadn’t been, before.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice just barely loud enough to be heard over the waves.

You looked at him in confusion. “For what? You haven’t done anything.” And, truly, he hadn’t. Andrei was clean in your book; you’d finally started to forgive and forget, willing to leave it all in the past. The determined look on his face, however, said he had every intention of visiting that torturous night you tried so hard to forget all over again.

“Not now. I haven’t done anything now. But back then, the night of my engagement,” Andrei grumbled out that last word. “I was terrible. There was no excuse, is no excuse. You mean everything to me and yet I treated you like nothing.”

You stared at him as a torrent of emotion crashed through your body like the ocean waves. And yet, with the wind making a disastrous mess of your hair with the moonlight outlining the soft lines of your face, Andrei had never been more in love.

How dare he get engaged to another woman when you had been right here in front of him all along?

“What?” you managed to squeak, mind racing to process the words that just left his mouth. “What are you saying?” you said, softer, almost afraid to hear his answer.

You were taking a chance as you stepped closer to him, trying to get a better look at his face. He was opening up to you, for real, this time, and you wanted to make sure you understood every word that left his mouth.

“I didn’t realize then how my words damaged you. How what I said only pushed you away when I meant to do the opposite,” his volume was only a touch above the roar of the waves, and yet you were still drowning.

“And I didn’t realize how much you meant to me—mean to me, because every time I stared into Julia’s eyes I only saw yours. I guess that wasn’t enough for me to connect the dots.

“When you left that day,” he took your hands in his own, tangling them together. “You took a piece of me with you. You own my heart, ¹Солнышко, and I am so sorry it has taken me this long to realize it.”

There it was again, that name. Solnishko. Little sun. You hadn’t heard that nickname since the night of your big fight, and it lit something back up inside your heart you hadn’t even realized had gone dark.

Your eyes welled with tears, and still, Andrei had never seen a more beautiful sight. He moved closer, slowly bringing his arms up so you could move away if you wanted, and when you didn’t—he did the one thing he’d wanted to do the moment he first saw you again.

Andrei pulled you into his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist for the contact he’d been yearning for. He took in a shaky breath, kissed the top of your hair, and whispered sweet nothings to you as you cried.

And your body shook, hands gripping the soft fabric of his shirt because you were never letting him go again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m here now.”

“Don’t leave me again. I can’t take it. Not now—”

“I’m not going anywhere. Never again, I promise.”

As your voice cracked on another sob, Andrei moved his hands to cradle your cheeks, bringing your foreheads together. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

If you were Andrei’s sun, then he was your moon. He was your calm, your safety, your anchor as the deep blue did its hardest to rattle you.

Your laugh was wet as you cracked open your puffy eyes, moving your hands atop his and clutching them like they were your lifeline. “You’re just trying to butter me up so you don’t have to kidnap me to take me back home.”

Andrei didn’t deny it. He shrugged, biting his lip to hide a smile as he brushed the hair out of your face. “Hopefully I won’t have to go that far. I’ll go wherever you are, even if I have to drive two hours every day to see you.”

You pulled back at that, pretty sure your hair was tangled from the wind but not really caring how you looked at the moment. “You’re sure?” you asked.

Andrei nodded. Yet, your insecurity persisted.“But what about—”

He interrupted you by slamming your lips together, rendering you speechless. Happily picking up on your slack, his lips soon turned gentle rather than demanding, loving, and then slowly pulled back with only a sliver of air left between you.

“Don’t say her name when I’m with you,” he breathed, eyes lit with a passionate blaze. “She’s gone. It’s only you, it’s only ever been you.”

You huffed, feeling another onslaught of tears coming. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“Because I know you. I love you.” The Russian stepped closer.

“‘Drei,” you said, voice bordering on a whine. “I don’t think—”

“Please don’t shut me out. Not now, when I just got you back,” Andrei interrupted desperately, seeing right through the apprehension on your face.

You laughed wetly, rubbing the tear tracks from your cheeks. “And here I was, finally moving on, and now is when you decide to throw me for a loop.”

The Russian looked a little confused, unsure of what to make the smile on your face paired with the perceived harshness of your words. “Do you remember our fight?” you then asked, not giving him a chance to even think through your last sentence.

He nodded his head warily, again taking your hands in his own. “I try not to,” he admitted. “I hate thinking of how much I hurt you.”

“Do you remember what I said to you that started it?”

“You said you loved me,” he replied almost immediately, and you watched the way his eyes seemed to fall quickly after.

He thought you were going to say you didn’t love him, not anymore.

“I still do,” You knew you made the right decision the moment his head shot up, surprise and adoration coloring his face at your confession. “I don’t think I ever stopped, even though—”

Andrei, yet again, interrupted you with a toe-curling kiss that left you dizzy, flustered, and ecstatic all at once. “You just made me the happiest man in the world.”

You laughed, finally letting yourself lean into his body and let him support your weight. He was comforting, and he kept you warm in the unrelenting wind.

A round of obnoxious cheering came from the beach house, the sound breaking the bubble you and Andrei were in. You tensed up again at the reminder that you weren’t alone, not really, and you were going to have to face the world again, only this time with Andrei by your side.

The forward said your name and your eyes fluttered back to him nervously to find him watching you with concern. “You’re tense,” he said, rubbing one of your shoulders as he towered over you.

You let out an anxious breath, trying to relax your shoulders at Andrei’s touch. “Sorry. I’m just… What does this mean, now? For us?”

“Well,” he said, gently tugging your right hand so you’d intertwine it with his. “We’re going to let the boys settle their bet once they see us together—”

“They were betting on us?” You balked. Of course they were.

Andrei merely shot you a grin before continuing. “Then we’re going to enjoy the rest of this break, and then I will take you back to Raleigh with me so I can show everyone that you’re mine now.” Upon seeing the look on your face, he quickly clarified. “If you want to come back, that is,”

You merely raised an eyebrow.

“I won’t make you, if that’s what you want. I know you love it here, and—”

It was your turn to interrupt him as you reached up to drag him down by the collar of his shirt and reassure him of your desire. He let you lead the kiss, groaning at the slow, teasing drag of your lips before you abruptly pulled back.

“I have to get things settled here, say goodbye to my mom again, but… I want to come back,” You bit your lip at the heat in his eyes, knowing what your words were doing to him. “I miss the guys. I miss Raleigh, and I miss being there with you.”

“Okay,” Was the only word he seemed to be capable of speaking, looking at you as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were in front of him. “Okay,” he repeated, more confident as he laced his fingers with yours.

The two of you shared a smile with hope and excitement for the future, knowing that this was only the beginning of your story together. How stupid of you to think how you thought it ended oh-so-long ago…

You made your way back to the beach house slowly, reveling in the long, meaningful glances and soft smiles witnessed by no one but the stars. Your bubble of privacy was strong until you both became visible and then it was broken by one of the guys yelling, “Fucking finally!”

Rolling your eyes, you merely scoffed as you opened the gate and met them back at the pit. “Oh, shut up,”

Andrei’s eyes sparkled with the firelight, skin flushed pink with the onslaught of teasing he was receiving from his teammates. As you settled into the same chair, they said he was whipped and already looked lovesick, and the hooting and hollering only picked up as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

Most of all they were ecstatic; their two best friends had finally found their way back to each other after months of hopeless pining.

Andrei too looked happy, as if all worries had left his mind in the short time he’d been here. It warmed your face just thinking about when you'd have the night alone, knowing he was going to make it up to you with more than just his words alone.

And there was a distinct glow on his cheeks, too, you thought, visible despite the lack of natural lighting.

Andrei asked if he was sunburnt, having felt the unrelenting heat in his skin. “No,” you said, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in his eyes. “I think you’re just sunkissed.”

A/N 2: I think this is the first time I’ve felt happy with how I’ve ended a fic. Now y’all see why I changed the title though 😏 I think I managed to wrap it up pretty well, and with how many asks I got on if I was gonna finish this series y’all better blow this tf up 🔫 (kidding!! But not really)

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[boxheadpaint]

new pen tips arrived 2) lubic and vinny are getting along 3) it seems to think i am making a numbered post and i cant be bothered to fix it. anyway the cats like eachother a lot and have successfully worn themselves out from tussling, now vinny follows lubic around like a tiny nervous shadow while they play weird games together. its very sweet and its good to see the two of them happy. just hoping lubic doesnt rub any bad habits off on him, like scarfing a can of cat food left out on the counter momentarily by accident. oh well

missed something this week and im wondering if its why im experiencing weird vertigo right now. gonna have some soup about it at least and fix it next week. i need to get more pants at some point if i dont want to wear belts all the time, but im just way too picky about the look and material. ill wear the ugliest shirt known to man or a polo with 10000 holes in the back but non-corduroy pants that are slightly too form-fitting? would rather go with my thang out (lying for comedic effect

have lots of stuff to draw for other people and myself. i forget how insane i become when i cant draw on a computer. finding that i function better with options actually. like if i only have vegetables but i want candy, ill likely end up eating nothing. if i have both vegetables And candy though im more likely to eat the vegetables rather than the candy. this also goes for water and fruit juice, so maybe its like that for other things too. i wonder how i can hack this

turns out theres two different 'ECG'. i need to get another one, but i dont remember what the one i did was. it was the shorter one though. gonna need to schedule it for february due to other things going on, but for the most part this month heart has been tolerable.

1/20/2024, ill be able to wear what i like eventually

[least-carpet]

No, no, but now I want to read your ideas about how wwx is set to an implosion in 1-3 years. How do you get him there? In canon, he needed jyl's death, the wen siblings death, the world against him

Another neglected anon! Sorry for the late response and happy new year!

I actually think what we saw in terms of Wei Wuxian's devolution after Jiang Yanli's death qualifies as an explosion rather than an implosion, i.e. the force was directed outwards from the centre and killed whoever was in the blast radius. I don't think he'll do that.

I do think we see him implode earlier than that though, in the post-war period, where he drinks excessively (to the point that Wen Qing comments on it), he's unreliable, his moods are volatile, he self-isolates, etc.

To be fair, a certain amount of this is related to not having a golden core and practising demonic cultivation. However, I also tend to read it as a reaction to his war trauma, since self-medicating is a pretty normal response to surviving horrifying events?

Let me be clear that I don't think he always used alcohol like this—I think his partying as a teenager became a problem in adulthood. I think that was always a risk for him for a variety of reasons (we know that he survived becoming a homeless orphan and doesn't remember big chunks of his childhood, which tends to indicate trauma) but I don't think we see it happen until after the war, during which he saw and did some buckwild shit. I also don't know that he ever developed a physical dependence on alcohol, just that his post-war alcohol use looks pretty dysfunctional given its context and all the other choices he was making.

So. Given what we know about:

his behaviour in the post-war period;

his behaviour immediately post-resurrection, specifically that we see him desperately trying to avoid people, places, and situations that make him remember traumatic events from his first life;

his partner, specifically that Lan Wangji doesn't have a real barometer for what "normal" drinking looks like, and also has a tendency to enable Wei Wuxian;

where his partner lives, the extremely calm and controlled Cloud Recesses, where everything is on a strict schedule, therefore predictable and regular, and many activities Wei Wuxian likes are just not allowed—

We have a scenario where a person who thrives in exciting situations and likes working under pressure is living in place that is quiet, regular, and predictable. He is not supposed to drink there, but has a spouse who's willing to smuggle in as much alcohol as he wants. He has thus far throughout the story distracted himself from processing a long series of very traumatic events, and has only been willing to be in relationship with people who can't or won't hold him accountable. All of those feelings are waiting to explode out of the closet he's stuffed them in and fall on his head. And now he's often in a place where there's nothing fun to do...

Like, I think that it might take a minute, since the euphoria of new love will at least provide, you know, some positive feelings, which are their own distraction. (Plus all the sex! And night-hunting!) And Lan Wangji has many qualities that make him a real support to Wei Wuxian, and that might get him through that inevitable post-honeymoon period of quiet where all his feelings pop out and come for him. But I don't think that's going to be a fun experience for anyone?

TL;DR I think eventually he will have to stop running away and actually think about what he's lost, and we know what he does with Bad Feelings he doesn't want (excessive drinking, avoidance, withdrawal from loved ones). Grief and shame are gonna get you every time!

[sayitaliano]

Hello, I’ve been trying to learn Italian for a few years now (it’s been an on and off thing, depending on how frustrated I get lol), I feel like my discipline is not the best, and the fact that I can’t find a native to practice and ask for help is also pretty discouraging. Could you please give me a few tips as to what I can do to learn more in my current situation? Thank you 💕

Ciao!

For as frustrating as it may get (and I know what you mean here as a languages student myself), my main suggestion is to try and keep up a constant pace that allows you to study at least 15 minutes everyday (or a bit more 3-4 times a week, all according on your schedule ofc). I noticed an improvement once I started being more consistent in my practice (even writing just a sentence per day is better than doing a whole paragraph each month -eg. I've been writing a diary everyday, not just about random stuff but inserting different things like descriptions, answering questions, grammar stuff/sentences practice...). And ofc, the moment I decided I wanted to be more consistent, I had to start from basics again (and I'm suggesting you the same).

Set easy goals, plan reviews of what you have studied (even the week before), write in and listen to your target language (and also talk to yourself in it, like eg. describe what's around you or try to tell yourself what you should do; immerse yourself in the culture as much as you can -youtube is so of help with its many vlogs and shows and music...): I understand you want to run fast towards fluency but it's not said you need to reach it in a certain amount of time. Allow yourself to have days in which you see no progress or even think you're taking step backward. It's okay, it's all part of the process (we also have bad days in general, so be kind with yourself). We need for stuff we learn to settle a bit here and there, and therefore not making moves even for a week or two (or more) is normal. Go slow: moving fast is enemy when we want to learn and really assimilate what we learn.

Even if it's annoying to study, grammar is fundamental. And Italian grammar is not easy to learn so again it may take time according on what you are studying (nouns' genders, irregular verbs, articles, pronouns, adjectives.... try to start as easy as you can). If you rather, I'd suggest you buying a book for foreigners (I'm leaving you the resources masterpost, maybe you can find studying books but also other resources for your self studies)

I have collected LOADS of studying tips in the years on this masterpost (lemme add this since i cannot edit that post now) and... actually I know of a native who's trying to practice English (this said you can write a post about needing a "Penpal" and tag me, I'll happily reblog it here: many Italians follow me or you can use some other app). Don't give up on a native's help: being corrected when we make mistakes is so very important. It helps us remember the mistake we made and not do it anymore (or be more aware of it). Or find studying pals! I'm sure other Italian students would like to share and help you. Having others studying with us, may also help when it comes to consistency: we have no excuse but to practice at least every week and then we can practice together too. There's nothing bad in asking for help: if you don't know something, you cannot just try to solve it yourself, as you may not find the solution (or find a incorrect one): that way studying a language can really become frustrating to say the least as you may feel like you're in a hole and you cannot get out of it. Don't make it more difficult for yourself, make it easier. It's plenty of people who'd like to help you out and find themselves in your same position. You're not a bother, js.

All the best!! And ofc here I am if you need help :)

[echantedtoon]

In The Moon's Shadow (Yandere Kokushibo x Reader) Ch7 To Which The Emotions Uncoil

(IMPORTANT EDIT FOR THE STORY PLEASE READ: I have a real treat for everyone. After this chapter I will be working on the next few chapters at once since honestly..most of them are already done. Which means that the next three or four chapters will be posted at once. Stay tuned for when they arrive.

This will mostly be from Kokushibo's P.O.V. and spand over about a month.)

The sounds of the peaceful town was delightful to his ears. After dealing with the annoyance of his city and dealing with months of death littered battle fields, a place like this was perfect for a break in the schedules. Like the last time he came to this town he settled down in the cabin in the woods near the exit of the village. The place like Y/n said was indeed abandoned. No one had lived in it for quite some time judging by all the dust and cobwebs settled into the walls. But that's fine. The home was still in decent shape and it sheltered him from the weather outside. So it would suffice. He's had worse living conditions before. 

Things were going well.

His mother would be pleased with her gifts. Yoriichi would no doubt be married like he wanted, after all he already had their mother's blessing and even if their father disagreed with the entire situation, he had a single soft place for his wife. As long as she was so ill and fragile, their father wouldn't dare argue with anything that could possibly cause her stress. So more likely than not, Yoriichi would be able to fulfill his dreams. The peace talks although delayed looked promising and once his father was able to set a time to talk, perhaps this long useless war would finally end. News was that the head of the Kibutsuji Clan was ill and this might not survive until the end of this year which would leave his son, Muzan if he remembered the name right, the one who would take over. Rumor also had it that they were also tired of fighting so perhaps it will also finally stop.

Then he could finally go home for some well deserved rest.

Then perhaps he could finally focus on the duties he's been neglecting for so long. Being ready to take his father's place in the future. Taking over the care of his mother since his brother hasn't been listening to the doctors and making her rest. Finally get his territory back in order. Do something about the resource issue. Build his troops back up to standards.

But most importantly become married. 

His prospective marriage was put to the side as soon as this war started three years ago now. Only a small handful of noble women and women whom his father considered to be high enough status had been brought to him (four to be exact) and none of the four women were anything he found any interest in. The first had been rather beautiful, but she had been rather vain and spoiled only ogling him and not so subtly seducing him or trying to just for his status. He dismissed her immediately. They were terrible traits in a wife, and a mother. The next two barely spoke at all and all they did was cower before him. Fear was bad traits to pass down to his heirs and he was tired of them not looking his in the eyes as he spoke. The fourth was actually not too bad. Nice and polite and managed to at least look at him when he spoke...but she was too naive. She literally didn't even get the fact he was a demon until he literally pointed it out to her. Ugh. He still remembered the moment she asked him.

"Why do you have six eyes? Is it a new medical condition?"

".... I'm a demon."

"No. Really?! I never would've known! You hide it so well!"

"....."

His children were absolutely NOT going to have...THAT as a mother. He was supposed to meet another woman but shortly after his land was overtaken in the far east where most of the valuable resources like meats and weaponry came from. It was almost a blow to their entire territory.. Almost. But he'd soon be meeting them again once this war ended. He'd find a woman who'd bring dignity and pass down strong traits to his children. Someone-

Someone who could be firm but calm. Doesn't treat him like a lesser being because of a single difference. Someone who worked hard and someone who had turquoise...eyes..

....oh ....

 OH NO-

He was always quick to vanquish those thoughts from his mind. The sparking turquoise. He was only fascinated by the color. It was a rare color. One he hadn't seen before on anyone else. Man or woman. He just needed to get his head straight and focus on what was important. Which was his mother and then getting back to his post, which meant that he couldn't let obstacles get in his way. The girl needed to work. Her wench of a boss was in the way of delaying her work. Therefore logically the best course of action to ensure her best working pace would eliminate the obstacle in her way to eliminate the bigger obstacle in his way. Yes. That was the only reason why he threatened the old woman into treating her normally again. Surely. The old woman would think twice now before causing such headaches for her-..HIM and stop especially when he was around. 

But to be sure he walked past the shop a few times to check on her the first week....HER PROGRESS. To check on her progress.

A quick peek through the window of the door they left open due to the summer warmth, had confirmed his theory. Everytime he gave a quick look, she always saw her sitting peacefully at the table with one of the six candles and a small metal pencil like tool working on carving into the wax. Her peaceful face and calm smile reassured him that everything was fine. At one visit the old bat caught sight of him looking through the door from across the street. Her face paled and as fast as her old legs could carry her, she ran for the back. Her sudden movements caught the attention of the working woman who's head turned to watch her boss flee before she then turned to peer out the door. Their eyes made contact. She smiled brightly at him and waved. ...He quickly turned his head and walked away. It'd be best if he didn't distract her from her work.

He did not bother coming by the second week. She'd be fine anyways. He'd be busying himself with training in the meantime and hunting for food. The forest nearby did have a few nice fat pheasants, and a decent fishing hole. If only the fields up east were this plentiful with food...Too bad this wasn't Tsugikuni territory. Hmm. That's a thought. He'd bring up the idea of claiming this part of land to his father later, after all there was a lot of beautiful-... BOUNTIFUL things here. It could aid their resources until they stabilized. However the home he was currently staying at would hold a surprise for him once he returned. He senses the second presence within the home's walls before he even got close enough to the the door. 

Now who would be foolish enough to trespass in his temporary home?

The wild pheasant from his hunt was dropped to his feet with a thud. A hand gripping the hilt of a weapon. A woman's shriek echoed throughout the home as the door was quickly slammed open weapon aimed and raised. ... But then was lowered.

Turquoise eyes met six red and yellow ones.

"My prediction about you being troublesome proceeds itself." The long sword was slowly returned to its sheath with a small click. This woman was no threat. Even if she was very troublesome as stated before. "How do we keep meeting in the most inconvenient of ways?"

Large sparkling turquoise eyes blinked up at him from the floor. It was a woman. The same woman who was SUPPOSED to be working like he paid her to do, and yet here she was. On her knees with a scrub brush in her hands and a bucket of water next to her, near her also against the wall was a broom and a few other things too. 

"What is your purpose here?"

"I-..I came to deliver a few things to you but you weren't here," she slowly spoke.

"Clearly I wasn't. What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm cleaning." She blinked at him like it should've been obvious to him. 

"I can see that. Why?"

"Because I don't think it's fair for you to live in such conditions."...He slowly blinked. "This place was pretty filthy when I came inside. There wasn't anyone around so I..." Her gaze turned to the side and a hand shyly fiddled with the scrub brush in her hands. "I figured it was the least I could do after all your help. No one deserves to be forced to live in a dirty home."

The demon did not say anything but looked around the home. The cobwebs and dust was gone. What little furniture the previous owner left behind looked cleaned. And by the looks of her, she was almost done with the floor. 

A sigh escaped his lips. "I did not ask you to do this."

"I know but I wanted to. No one made me. Just let me finish up and I'll show you what I brought with me."

He only sighed and reached out to pluck the pheasant back off the ground. "Very well. But next time I would like to be notified of your visit to me beforehand."

She chuckled. "Fair enough."

He sat to the side patiently watching as she finished with what she was doing before tossing the bucket of water out and then returned to him with a smile. "I'm so happy you're back! I think you'll like what I brought you." He remained silent but watched as she brought over a few things. A pillow and a semi thick blanket being the first things handed to him. "Here. I have extras. It'll be better than sleeping on the hard floor." He silently took them from her lightly surprised. "Here. I also made you some food. I figured you might be hungry."

A rather large bento box was also given to him. Upon opening it, he found a rather decent amount of cooked rice and a meat and vegetable dish he hadn't seen before but it all certainly was home made. He just..stared at all of this unsure of how to feel about it but she wasn't done gifting him things. She also gifted him some soap for use during his stay there and lastly-

"I also brought a few candles I finished."

Already? It's only been almost two full weeks yet she was done with a few? He silently continued watching as she reached into a pocket sewn into her kimono and brought out two of the candles he had requested. The other things were pushed to the side so he could slowly take the two finished ones from her soft hands.  It was the blueberry scented one and the pink one that smelt like cherry blossoms. Each one had detailed work carved all around their surface. Rolling clouds floating across a blue waxy sky while their neighbor occupied Sakura flowers blooming so fiercely that he felt any moment real petals would come falling off their stems. Sparkling eyes watched anxiously as they were turned in his hands as six eyes carefully examined them.

"I-I started on a third. The design is simple so I'll quickly be done with another. ...Do you like them?"

He remained silent and still before a sigh left through his nose. "These are both acceptable." He nodded. "They'll do." She smiled brightly at him making him tighten his grip on the candles slightly. "How is your hand?" She blink. His head turned down to her hand. It was still bandaged so he couldn't tell how bad the wound was. But her eyes went even more wide as he reached out to gently grab it with surprising gentleness pulling it up to his eyes. "Is there any pain?"

Her eyes blinked before her face lit up a light pink. "Oh. It's healing W-Well." She gently pulled her hand away and he stays still.. slowly closing from the lack of warmth from her soft skin. "T-There's not really too much pain." Her eyes shyly looked away. "It just stings every so often."

"That's good. I trust you haven't had trouble from that man then?"

"Sabo?" Her pretty smile scrunched into a frown. "Thankfully no. He hasn't been around since you told him off, but it is curious. My boss seems to have changed her mind about my punishment."

"I suppose she's not stubborn enough to keep up the bluff...You should return back and finish the task I entrusted to you."

She had left soon after and he was left to stare at everything before him. The food, the sheets, the clean living space-...Is this what came with being taken cared of? Well he supposed that he was always taken cared of this way. The maids always took care of everything he needed and the cooks always provided him with food at a snap of his fingers. Or in more recent years he's resorted to hunting and forging for food during these last three years because of the war and slept  wherever convenient. If he was lucky he'd be able to sleep on a soft patch of grass with a rolled up animal hide for a pillow. He never complained about it. He never saw the point of complaining, it wouldn't change a thing and only make him look like a fool. Everything was always either handed to him without question by his birth right or he had to struggle to obtain himself. 

....It was unheard of for someone to choose to do this for him.

Yet...she did. She chose to cook for him. To clean for him. To care for him. He supposed it was just all out of thanks for helping her even if he did it unintentionally. The candles were placed to the side. The food smelt..good. Chopsticks were used to shove into the dish and slowly raised it too a fang filled maw before it disappeared within. It tasted..good.  AMAZING. Perhaps it was only because he hadn't really had a home cooked meal for almost three years between the battlefield and home but it did taste delicious. Especially the vegetables and boiled beef. It was covered in spices and some kind of sauce he was unfamiliar with but he did enjoy it after eating plain roasted animals. ... Perhaps he should get her to cook the pheasant? No, no. She was already busy and he couldn't have anymore delays. He was already testing his father's patience with fulfilling his mother's request. A blanket was unfurled with a whoosh sounds..it was very soft and so doubt would keep someone warm. Spread onto the cleaned floor it went followed by a pillow just thrown down, and a body slowly sinking into it's soft surface. The pillow dipping to accommodate the head laid across it's surface. Six eyes stared at the ceiling free of cobwebs now.  It had been so long since his body had the comfort of something soft to rest on. 

It would be a nice change of pace.

Perhaps if she didn't have anything tying her down here or was married by the time the war was over, he should offer her a job as a maid in his estate. She'd certainly be a good addition to the staff. Hard working, focused, kind, caring, responsible, actually spoke to him as a person- Hmm. Or maybe she'd fit in better with the cooks? She could certainly make a good home cooked lunch. He could make her his own personal cook. Or maybe he'd make her his mother's personal maid. If she was able to care for that old wench so well then surely she'd care for his own mother better.

Or maybe...she could be his own aid.

Eyes closed banishing the thoughts from his mind. Turning his head to the left facing the empty old fireplace. He already had a few maids assigned to care for his room while he was gone to was. He didn't need another. Besides all of these were only based on a what if scenario if he actually decided to extend a job offer to her and only if she said yes. There was also plenty of other candidates that could make a better maid or cook than a woman he's only known for less than a year. There wasn't even any jobs that needed women in his estate other than a maid or cook..

Except for being a concubine.

The very thought of him having one disgusted him. He didn't see the point of having an endless amount of women annoyingly bothering him or trying to seduce him when he just wanted to get things done or have some alone time. It was too much hassle for something he didn't even need. However his father had suggested the idea of just having one for if nothing else just to bare an heir for him. He supposed it was a solution for his bloodline and would save him the hassle of finding a wife, but even so he'd need to find one that'd be a suitable mother so in the end it didn't solve anything other than he didn't have to marry her. He hadn't found any woman suitable for a concubine let alone a wife. What woman would do?

A brief picture of his ideal woman passed in his mind. A woman who smiled at him with wide sparkly turquoise eyes, draped in beautiful silks matching her beautiful soft eyes, her body adorned in the finest jewelry, her silky hair framing her gentle face, and soft lips letting giggles escape as she gave him a shy look with a smile gently holding his hand-

 CRASH-

He sat up panting, heaving for air. A nearby vase was sent flying across the home making contact with the wall from a throw, leaving spiderweb cracks in the wood and clay pieces all over the once clean floor. His eyes blinked one by one as he stared at the mess, only now becoming aware that his free hand had sunk into the wooden floor splintering it. Silence sank in the longer the demon sat there slowly processing his situation and what had just happened...A slow exhale left his mouth before a hand rubbed at his face.

"Troublesome woman. AWAY WITH YOU FROM MY THOUGHTS!!"

Gods was he this starved from any real affection that his mind is plauging himself with impossible scenarios with the first lady that showed him decency?! Sigh. Alright. First order of business after the war...Find a wife. He wouldn't allow himself to drag himself down to the level of a degenerate!! He decided to occupy his thoughts by going out and harshly training himself for the rest of the day to cleanse his thoughts. 

He decided to visit her again at work about halfway through the third week. Not because he was concerned about anything, but he was genuinely curious if she had finished anymore of his mother's candles. The door was still left open considering the extremely warm summer weather, and sure enough he saw her sitting there in her usually spot but no signs of her boss anywhere. Good. A rest for the ears.

She didn't notice him standing in the doorway at first until his shadow fell over her making her pause and snap a look over her shoulder... before smiling. "Well hello! I wasn't expecting you to come here today. Are you in need of anything?"

His head slowly shook no. "No. I simply came to see your progress. The timeline you gave me is almost over."

She smiled brightly at him and gestured to two candles set to the side. "I have two others finished and a third one nearly done. If you'd like to see them, you may."

He was already reaching out for them before she even finished her sentence. She did pause though when he leaned over her to grab both in one hand, his soft bangs brushing against her cheek briefly before leaning back up to inspect the two candles set in his hand. It was the green mint smelling one and the darker blue one that smelt like his mother's violets. Vines reached out and swirled within the mint's surface blooming realistic looking leaves. Waves rolled and crashed throughout the blue ocean in his palms. Beautiful work. 

A hum left the demon. "These are also acceptable. I will take them."

She smiled wider. "I'm glad you like them! I will admit, carving waves wasn't easy as I'd never done it before but I think I managed really well."

He hummed looking at the candles in his hands before glancing back to her hands. Her hand was still bandaged and it it was the peach scented candle. On it's surface was half a beautiful dove mid flight on its curved cylinder surface. This one probably wouldn't take too long for her to finish as it was a single picture instead of patterns all around it's sides. She started back onto it despite him still standing there watching. She seemed at ease despite the looming demon casting a shadow over her. Curious.

"...May I watch you work?"

She looked up at him surprised but soon smiled calmly. "Of course. I don't mind." Her eyes followed him as he slowly walked and chose to sit down to her right. He was still wearing that hat and moved his bangs to help hide his face. "Are you hungry? I made a pie earlier today."

"I do not want to interrupt your work only observe."

She was already getting up placing her tools down. "It's not a problem. Wait here and I'll be right back."

She left before he could even protest, blinking at her retreating form before a sigh escaped his throat with a shake of his head. She didn't have to and shouldn't have bothered but she did anyways. Ten minutes later she returned and placed both a warm red berry pie in front of him and a cup of hot tea with a smile.

"Here. You're probably hungry just walking around town waiting for me to finish."

"I busy myself by training constantly. Meditation also helps pass time." 

He slowly picked up two chopsticks and the plate that was given to him. Hmm. Smelt good. When was the last time he had a pie?  He gave it another smell, determined that it was fine to eat, and then just took the tools left to him to chop off a piece to lift to his mouth. The taste of sweet cooked berries, sugar, and the crunchiness of the crust filled his senses. All six eyes widened.

It was delicious.

His mouth despite his usual control watered as fangs chewed and swallowed.

"I hope it's alright. I haven't baked a pie in a while so it might not be as-"

She blinked as despite his usual composure and control, he dug into the delicious food. Bite after bite was had. When the sweet pie was already long disappeared into his stomach, it seemed to finally dawn on him on how rude he might've looked, he looked at her with slight embarrassment in his eyes about ready to apologize for his manners. To his surprise she was giggling holding a hand to her cheek.

"Well I never suspected someone would like my cooking that well."

"My apologies. I must've been more hungry than I realized. I'm ashamed of my rudeness-"

She waved him off. "It's alright. Eat slowly next time. You have a bit of berry on your face."

The demon blinked and raised an arm to clean off the wrong side of his mouth. The girl giggled again and just reached into her kimono pocket to pull out a napkin. He rubbed the side of his face and looked at his sleeve annoyed that nothing came off his face but paused when he felt something soft pressed against the other side of his mouth.  The demon's eyes stared into turquoise ones, and he felt something stirring within his chest. 

"There." He still didn't move as the plate was taken away with a smile. "If that's the case I'll get you another piece. There's plenty enough." She left again and two minutes later came back to him sipping on the tea she gave him. "Here." She said sliding the second piece in front of him.

He nodded. "I thank you. Forgive me for my behavior earlier. It shall not happen again."

"It's alright. By how fast you ate, it looks like you never had a pie before."

"I assure you I have. It has just been a while. Almost three years now."

She blinked. "That was about as long as the war lasted." Her eyes again glanced at his katana before she slowly sat down. "...Does that mean you fight in the war?"

He was quiet for a long moment before the cup was placed down and he again picked up the plate. "Yes but I don't like to discuss it with those who are not involved and who are innocent. It could only bring trouble...I would appreciate you do not tell anyone of this either."

She immediately nodded her head. It wasn't any of her business what he does and it doesn't involve her plus it wasn't her place to pry into his private life. They were acquaintances at best, and customer and employee first. Her hands silently picked up the candle again. Silence resumed for a while as he silently ate and she carved away on the candle. Eventually he took a moment to look at her.

"The owner is not here. Where is she?'

"My boss went to help her daughter-in-law with cleaning out her son's house today. So it's just me and you right now."

"Hmm. And has THAT man returned to bother you at all?"

"You mean Sabo?" His grip slightly hardened on the chopsticks. "No. He hasn't been back since you told him off thank the gods."

He relaxed. "Good... However I am curious on one thing. How did you come to work here?"

"My boss needed someone to help around her shop so she took me as an apprentice when I was a teenager and taught me how to make soaps and candles although she definitely has a knack for me being her maid too, but I would still rather work here than around drunk men at the inn. What about you?" Her eyes briefly glanced at him as she worked. "Why did you become a samurai?"

"It is an honorable family tradition passed down. I take pride in my path in life."

"You certainly seem to have the skill for it. How did you come to fight in the war?"

"Family duty. How did you come to carve?"

"I wanted to be a woodcarver but there wasn't any real opportunities for me to do that. I discovered that wax and soap was way softer than wood and I thought it would be good to practice carving on them so I can one day be a carver. It was just a hobby really but my boss noticed and she thought it would be a good addition to the store."

He completely stopped. "SHE thought it would be a good addition? So she didn't ask you if you were comfortable with doing it professionally?"

"No...Not really but I don't complain about it. It's still fun to do."

Disgusting greedy wench! If it was up to him, he'd arrest her entire bloodline! Unfortunately he needed to keep his cover and this wasn't his territory...Hmm. Asking his father to claim this territory sounded more tempting to him by the minute. 

"I see..How is that candle coming along?"

She smiled again as she kept working. "I'm almost finished with it then I'll only have one last candle to carve for you."

"Perfect."

By the end of the day he walked out with three more candles finished and a small wrapped up pie she insisted he take with him to eat later. She just had one last candle to carve and then he'd be able to get back to his mother. She also seemed to be finishing a few days earlier than expected so he'll be able to leave sooner than later. On the last week of the month long time line she gave, he was meditating. Meditating with a head clear of thoughts until something knocked on his door. Six eyes snapped open. A hand instantly grabbing his weapon as his head snapped to the door.

"Kokushibo?," a woman's voice called from the other side. "It's me. May I come inside?"

...His form relaxed. Oh. What a troublesome woman. "You may enter."

The sliding door went open and the turquoise eyed woman stepped inside. In her hands was a small cloth bag and a pure white candle. "I finished so I thought I would come give it-"..She paused. Blinked. Before her face lit up a red and she looked away instantly. "W-W-WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?!"

His brow rose. "Because it is summer and very hot. I prefer to meditate without sweating. I'm not indecent."

"P-PUT IT BACK ON PL-PLEASE!!," She squeaked out flustered at the sight of his toned upper body visible.

An amused huff left his throat before he reached for the discarded haori coat. "I assume you are completely finished?" She nodded still looking away. "Excellent." 

The coat was tied around him quickly as he stood up and walked over to her. She shyly looked up at him and seemed relieved to see him fully covered again. The rosiness of her cheeks were soft compared to her sparkling eyes and the shy stance she took looked so-

B E A U T I F U L

He shook his head. "Let me see the candle." She handed it over without saying anything. The smell of sweet vanilla filled the air as he grabbed it and saw dancing snowflakes across it's surface. "...This is acceptable. Your obligation to me is done...What is in the bag?"

She cleared her throat. "W-Well, I heard you were leaving as soon as I finished everything so I brought you something to eat before you left." She handed over the bag to him. "It's a few baked sweet potatoes. You can eat them here or while traveling."

He took the bag from her and brought it close to his face. Indeed he was able to smell the food she described. "Hmm...These will also be acceptable. I thank you."

"Oh it was no problem." She smiled sweetly as a fluttering noise erupted behind him. Something black stopping on a window. "I was more than happy t-"

 CAW!!

She squealed out and whirled around. He calmly turned his head behind him. Perched on an open window sill was a complete black bird with a purple ribbon around its next. It tilted its head at him before opening its wings and flapping them.

 CAW!!

It shrieked again at them making her blink. "A raven?"

"Messenger crow," he corrected. His mother's personal messenger crow. And around her leg was a decently sized note rolled. "Hello, Ebony." He placed the objects in his hands down before walking over to her. He reached out and the crow happily let him scratch her neck. "Were you bringing me a message? What a good girl you are." The crow ruffled her feathers pleased and held still as he untied the message from her leg.

"Oh she's beautiful." The woman next to him smiled at the bird. Ebony puffed up ruffling her feathers more in pride. "May I pet her?"

"Certainly. Hold out your hand. If she doesn't move, then she's allowing you to touch her." He pulled the message away and unfurled it. "If she backs away, leave her be."

He didn't pay attention to her as she reached out to pet the crow...nor did he notice when the crow suddenly hopped onto her shoulder. His eyes scanned the message his mother sent and-...Oh no.  This was not any kind of good news. As he suspected, the peace talks did NOT go well. His father wanted him back as soon as possible. Yoriichi was also taking the opportunity with his father absent and marrying Uta at the end of summer. This message was also a formal invitation for his brother's wedding ceremony...Which he won't be able to attend because of his father's demands to come back and help him with the next upcoming battle. 

....It would be improper to not at least give Yoriichi a wedding gift unless he wanted rumors to spread.

He looked back up but..blinked seeing Ebony perched on top of the woman's shoulder. She was happily thrumming as the woman gently stroked her head. "She's very friendly isn't she?"

"Not .. usually. I've only ever seen her let two other people besides myself hold her like that." Which was his mother and Yoriichi.

She giggled. "Then I feel honored to be in her good graces." She looked back to him. "What did the letter say?"

"..My brother is getting married soon."

"Oh. What does that mean?" 

"It means I have one more job for you before I leave."

[apprenticestanheight]

Sixties Era Horror Film- Chainshipping x afab! reader

the people have SPOKEN and the motivation has let me do what I do best, so a little more than two weeks after my original post about it, I present to the audience who cared about the concept: chainshipping x reader with a free use kink! This has been on my mental rotation of smut concepts since I posted about it and so having the will to write it was actually a nice change of pace. I adore poly! chainshipping as a concept and so this was naturally fun to write and I hope that it's fun to read.

if the anon who asked about it a little after christmas is reading, I hope you like it and it is for some reason detriemental to me that you know it was your ask that spurred me on to write this rather than just think about it.

This fic is for audiences of 18+! Minors, do not interact.

Fic type - this is just--it's shameless, kinky smut bc I am a shameless kinky writer

Warnings - kink gets discussed so there are a couple mentions of somno, pegging, breath play, petplay (as per usual, in use of nickname only bc I was looking for gn petnames and I, as always, used puppy before I remembered nicknames outside of my go-to) being tied up, hickeys, fear but in a like,, horny way and of course the big one and the center of the fic: free use! I did go with a gn reader for all intents and purposes but the reader is afab as that anatomy is the kind I know the best.

Some days, you were almost a little grateful for the bastard known as Jigsaw by the general public.

Not for too many aspects of the trap nor it's aftermath--being chained by the foot to a pipe close to what you'd at the time presumed to be a dead body despite it being the very alive body of Jigsaw, for one, was not something you were grateful for.

You weren't grateful for the bullets Lawrence had shot into your chest and stomach, nor the one Adam had shot into your leg. You were not grateful for the fact that Adam had been left for one week where you'd been left for three, nor for the trauma you'd endured and somehow managed to come out the other end of.

But, a year post escape and ten months into a relationship with Adam and Lawrence both, you could at a minimum say you were grateful for the fact that being in the trap had allowed you to meet the loves of your life.

You all lived in an apartment that you split the rent on, and living in an apartment in Jersey in 2002 as a group of three was easy enough.

Adam had been working as a gallery participant, having been approached in mid October by someone who'd heard he was a photographer and wanted to see how decent he was at the whole photography thing. Since then, he'd made a deal that guaranteed him at least half a decade of employment. Two individual collections a year plus collections done by him and three additional photographers that were focused around either a specific season or the holidays that made up that season, and when that was combined the take home money was $2000 a month after taxes, with a one thousand dollar bonus at the beginning of every season to compensate for his part in the seasonal collections.

Lawrence still worked as an oncologist, though he'd at least tried to schedule his hours so that they were more structured and so that he could have time during his day to take a breath for a minute or two, and even post-divorce, he made damn good money.

You, however? You worked as a hotel receptionist post-trap making $3200 a month. You'd worked in charity and marketing before the trap but post-trap you'd searched for consistency, which you couldn't find in a day job that was completely and structurally commission based, so you switched career paths. Maybe one day you'd get promoted until you ran the hotel at which you were working as a receptionist, but at twenty-eight and nine months into working there, you were in no rush to climb up the corporate ladder.

You, Adam, and Lawrence had all used up your PTO to take three weeks off in the new year, and so you were all home pretty much all the time.

It had opened up a lot of conversation opportunities and the night of your first day off, you'd all had a bit to drink and kinks that you'd not already discussed came up.

Lawrence, a little unsurprisingly given a loveless marriage and a sexless bedroom, was pretty vanilla, which you already knew as you'd had sex before that discussion. He liked being dominant, liked giving you and Adam practically endless praise, but in a more shocking turn of events, didn't hate the ideas of breath play or very dark hickeys in very visible spots. He also had a thing for seeing you and Adam wearing his work shirts, apparently, and you and Adam had exchanged a nod while you both noted doing that more often.

Adam, also unsurprisingly, adored pegging and was definitely a switch. He mentioned somewhat enjoying breathplay and liking the way that the baggier sweatpants he'd owned managed to hug Lawrences ass and how you looked in the white and black shirts he wore under his flannels. He also liked being tied up and didn't totally hate the idea of somno, which you bit your lip about while Lawrence nodded, clearly thinking the same thing.

You, in a surprising turn of events, were really big on free use, somno, and fear in the right context. Adam had laughed a little, asked if you'd ever gotten off while in one of those stupid haunted house pop-ups during Halloween, and you'd brushed it off, explaining free use to them instead of thinking about just how much you would've sold your soul for in the name of being fucked by Mickey Alteri in 1997.

"It's--it's like--either of you can pretty much use me whenever you want," you laughed nervously, a little scared of being shamed for the idea. "Like, if I'm doing dishes or just watching tv or something, all you need to do is kiss me and maybe undo one of the buttons on my shirt and I'm all yours. It's not something I've ever really told anyone about because I know that not everyone likes that kind of thing and I don't need to be kinkshamed by someone I've gone on two dates with. I honestly never expected it to come up."

"Use you?" Adam asked, a sultry smirk playing on his lips.

"Whenever?" Lawrence at least had the decency to bite his bottom lip to keep from smirking. "That has been noted."

"Noted," Adam nodded, kissing your neck softly.

After that, the kinks you'd discussed that night rarely came up. Two weeks into the time you all had off and you were starting to think Lawrence and Adam had completely forgotten, not really caring about it much as Adam had gone to grab a couple of groceries and Lawrence was reading while he relaxed in the bed that you shared where you were on the couch, knee deep into some sixties-era horror movie about a group of college seniors who were being picked off one by one.

And then Lawrence came into the living room, hummed when he saw you and tilted your head back to press a kiss against your lips.

"You said whenever, mm?" Lawrence asks as he pulls away, face only milimeters from yours.

You shudder a deep breath in as you hear the sound of keys followed by the door opening.

"I did," you nod.

"Now's a good time, I take it? You're watching a horror movie so it must be."

You laugh, embarrassed, nodding again. Lawrence rounds the couch and pulls you close, presses a kiss to your forehead briefly.

And then Lawrences lips are on your neck and you hear Adam putting the things he'd grabbed into their rightful spots in the kitchen before he joins you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as you lean it back and press it against the back of the couch.

"Lawrence is using you, yeah puppy?"

You nod, letting Lawrences hands slip under the shirt you'd stolen from Adam.

"Mhm," you hum, hand reaching up to Adams neck. Lawrences lips trail down your neck, moving past the hurdle created by the shirt that he's hiked up to your collarbones. Adam holds it in place and Lawrence kisses your chest softly, drawing out softened moans of pleasure.

"Well, we don't want to interrupt your movie, baby," Adam whispers, lightly nipping at your clothed shoulder. "Gonna watch it for us, yeah?"

You turn your eyes to the screen, letting Adam take your shirt off your torso as Lawrences kisses move down your navel.

Watching the movie becomes difficult as all you can focus on are the feelings of Lawrences and Adams lips, Lawrence kissing, sucking and biting at the skin of your stomach and hips while Adam kisses relentlessly against your neck, hands sliding to your nipples to roll them between deft fingers.

Your moans are quiet, buried in your throat for the fear of being too loud, but as Lawrences lips trail back up your chest, hands finding your hips and Adams lips move back up your neck until he's kissing your jawline and beside your head, they get just a bit louder.

"Lift your hips for Lawrence, baby," Adam whispers. "I think he wants to fuck you. Wants to use you and leave you full of him."

You moan, doing as Adam instructs. Lawrence laughs against the skin of your shoulder, pressing a kiss there as he gets the boxers and sweatpants you'd worn pulled off your legs, exposing your wet cunt to the cold air of the living room.

"You're such a good puppy for Adam and I," he whispers. "Don't come while I'm inside you, all right? I know Adam loves eating you out and I can imagine he'd want to eat you out while you're full of my cum so that, once he's done enjoying what I've left behind, his face ends up drenched in you."

You tilt your head back in search of Adams lips. He laughs into the kiss, pulling away only enough to talk so that he can call you insatiable before you continue.

Lawrence thrusts into you slowly, kneeling on the hard wood and pulling your legs to rest on his hips. He kisses Adam languidly while he waits for you to adjust, one of Adams hands relocating to your nipples while Lawrences hand is on his face.

Eventually, when you start rutting against Lawrence, the kiss he shares with Adam ends and he starts thrusting to you at exactly the pace he knows will have you releasing around him the quickest, though the adage of Adams hands and lips anywhere they can reach on your torso certainly doesn't make doing what Lawrence had asked of you any easier.

Lawrence is pulling out right as you're teetering on the edge, leaving you breathless and full of his cum without having met your own release.

"Gonna let Adam have a taste?" Lawrence asks, kissing your lips gently. You look completely and totally blissed out from all the touching but you feel infinitely eager to have Adams lips against you so you nod, let Lawrence help you get to a kneeling position while Adam slips around the couch, slipping his head in between the space between your pussy and the back of the couch.

His hands find your hips with ease and he pulls you down onto him, moaning into you when he tastes Lawrences cum on your folds.

"Fuck, baby," Adam whispers. "Oh, this is perfect."

His lips attach themselves to your clit as Lawrences hands go to unzip the zipper on Adams jeans. He frees Adams cock and spits on his hand, giving Adam a hand job while Adam eats you out like he's never eaten a day in his life.

You watch Lawrence get Adam off, thrusting against Adams face after a few minutes have passed. The action makes Adam laugh, gently probe your waiting hole with his tongue as Lawrences hand keeps going with the ministrations he's started.

"Fuck," you moan, eyes about ready to roll into the back of your head. Adam swaps his tongue for his fingers, letting his tongue and his lips move back to your clit as you keep thrusting. "Lawrence, Adam--oh, fucking hell."

Lawrence laughs. "I love how you sound when Adams doing what he does best," he says. "I think Adam would argue that he better likes the way you sound when I finger you, though."

Adam hums confirmation and it reverberates against you, making you quicken the pace and drawing another laugh from Adam.

"Gonna come over him, baby?" Lawrence asks teasingly. "Gonna get Adams face drenched in your cum? I think he wants that--I know he'd die happily so long as a dick or a pussy was in his mouth when he went."

You laugh a little, leaning forward and pressing your forehead against Lawrences shoulder.

"So good," you moan. "So fucking amazing."

Adam presses his tongue flat against your clit, and Lawrences lips move to kiss across your chest, tongue and teeth taking care of your nipples as Adams lips and hands make careful but quick work of your pussy and your hips.

"I'm so--I--" is all you can get out as far as words go before you're coming against Adams face, clenching haplessly around his fingers.

Adam releases from Lawrences ministrations at the same time as you release as a result of his, moaning breathlessly as he slips his face out from under you.

He'd come over Lawrences hand and as you sit down on the couch, not bothering to calm your legs or the way that they jitter from the aftershocks, Lawrence presses his fingers against your bottom lip.

You lick Adams cum from Lawrences hand while Adam watches, and Adam kisses Lawrence, the taste of you on his tongue and your wetness pretty much covering his chin, while you watch.

Carefully you all go to the bathroom, showering amidst kisses and random bickering sessions. Adam lends you a pair of his sweatpants and Lawrence lends one of his work shirts, and you end up deciding to go to your bedroom.

"Think we're due in for some pad Thai," Adam whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "It's six o'clock, and dinner can't be a bad idea right now, can it?"

Your arms are around Adams waist while Lawrences are around yours, and Adam has one arm draped across your shoulder and Lawrences.

"Pad Thai doesn't sound terrible," you nod. "But--if I fall asleep before it gets here, I am not to be judged."

"We would never," Adam says teasingly. "And I mean, if you do fall asleep, we're the ones to blame, right? We chose to fuck you, even if you're the one with the free use kink."

"Did we do it right?" Lawrence asks, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. "I mean--based off how you described it, there's no wrong way to do it but both Adam and I were kind of unsure. I'm not a very kinky person and even though Adam is kinkier than I, free use isn't something either of us have really heard of."

"Scott talked about it a bit when he was in college and I was discovering all the glories of weed when I was in my early 20s," Adam admits. "That's the extent, though. I'll call Meis in half an hour, have it delivered. Don't wanna leave this bed, if I'm honest."

You laugh. "Neither do I," you press a kiss against Adams shoulder before turning around to face Lawrence.

"I love you guys," you whisper.

"We love you too," Adam presses his lips against your neck. "Grateful for the fact that the bathroom lead to us meeting, if I'm completely honest."

"I am too, sometimes," Lawrence agrees, pressing his lips against the center of your collarbones.

You laugh a little, enjoying the feeling of their lips as a comfortable, loving silence begins to occupy the room.

[favvn]

Decided to make my own post about it rather than derail someone else's, but the thing about the Vulcan/Romulan make-up (if not the make-up of Star Trek: The Original Series in general, although I know it has been discussed to death) is twofold, in my opinion, regardless of the fun headcanons surrounding it all.

1. The production:

Spock's make-up changes as the series goes on. You can see it happen chronologically if you watch the episodes by the production order rather than the air date order. The Corbomite Maneuver was one of the earliest episodes to be produced outside of the two pilot episodes, so Spock's make-up is at its heaviest. This was the initial make-up that got the green-light for production of the actual series.

His brows are thinner and neater and his bangs are evenly cut. He's wearing blush here. His face has a slight sheen to it, either on purpose or because stage lights are notoriously hot and the idea that Vulcans don't sweat had not happened yet. I hesitate to say that he is wearing lipstick here because a lot of people have a naturally darker pigmentation to their lips. Leonard Nimoy has a pinker hue to his lips compared to William Shatner whose lips are closer to the tone of his face.

Later episodes will go without the blush and some give Spock more of a yellow tone as the make-up artists figured out what worked best both for the screen and in terms of the time it took to apply. Leonard Nimoy had to arrive to set at least 2 hours earlier than the Kelley and Shatner just for the Vulcan ears and brows:

The second stage was the creation of Spock’s characteristic Vulcan eyebrows. This required Phillips to shave the outside halves of Nimoy’s actual eyebrows during each makeup session. Phillips filled in the shape of the new eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil, then painted over those lines with spirit gum. The spirit gum was used to attach short lengths of yak belly hair, which Phillips cut from long stands, blending the small tufts into what remained of Nimoy’s own eyebrows. The final stage of the process involved applying base makeup and adding shading to ensure that shadow contours would be seen even under the bright lights of the shooting stage. (source) Given what else the article reveals about Vulcan/Romulan make-up, no wonder both were so under-utilized in the series. It is a time-consuming and painful process and Star Trek ran on a tight schedule. (And Nimoy's salary should've matched Shatner's from the start but that's not how it worked back in the day. Nimoy was unknown and a risk. Shatner was known and an investment.)

To signal an alien species in both color and black and white televisions, Spock was given a yellow hue to offset him. Remember, Star Trek was produced in color but not everyone sprung for the more expensive TV sets. Red make-up, as was the original plan, would make his skin tone render as dark as Uhura if not darker on black and white televisions, so that idea was ruled out, but yellow make-up was a safe in-between, hence Spock's skin tone in the second pilot episode.

On the left: Spock in Where No Man Has Gone Before, the second pilot episode before the series finally got the green-light. On the right: Spock in the original pilot episode The Cage.

In Where No Man Has Gone Before, his skin tone is far more yellow and his brows are bushier. There's no eye-shadow to be had, possibly because his eyebrows are thick enough to easily attract attention and create definition on the face. Again, the discrepancies are a result of trial and error and this appearance of Spock's matches how he appeared in the original pilot filmed in 1964, right down to the jagged bangs. The biggest change is his overall skin tone appears yellow.

The eye-shadow used in the series was done to create shadow or highlight on the face and especially to bring attention to the angular brow, hence why it is all done in neutral shades and not the color blue. T'Pring, T'Pau, and the Romulan Commander all wear silver-to-white shades. The men, be they an unnamed Romulan soldier, the Romulan centurion played by Mark Lenard who would later play Sarek, Kirk disguised as a Romulan, and Spock all wear a darker grey shade of eye-shadow. This means if it appears blue, it is due to the colored lighting used within the series (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, etc. take your pick, the lighting crew had fun. It is far easier and cheaper to create an atmosphere by colored lights on a plain, white backdrop than to pay for paint and painters to create a matte) and/or the brain connecting the shades when looking at the science/medical blue of Starfleet uniforms.

Yes, one could argue this picture is over-exposed in terms of flash (it's certainly catching the sheen of the pancake base make-up) but check out that pigment on the brush. It is grey not blue because again things had to be seen as intended on both color and black and white television. A grey shade yields more consistency than a blue, and it does its intended job: to create shadow and the illusion of depth, contour. This make-up was intended to be seen but not for its color. (Could you imagine what Star Trek's make-up would've looked like had the make-up artists had full reign to use the whole palette of colors? [Image of a beautiful, futuristic city against an unpolluted and pristine landscape here])

But wait, what about the other Vulcan men?

It is subtle, especially compared to the make-up used for Lenard's character in Balance of Terror, but there is a darker pigmentation under Sarek's brows compared to Stonn. Stonn, frankly, might be the outlier for all of this, yet it is worth noting that Sarek's eye-shadow is easily missed until the operation scene in Journey to Babel. In other words, either Stonn refrains from make-up (compared to all other named Vulcans we meet in the series) or it is so subtle one cannot see it until another angle is found. (Or it was better applied in a new take.)

But wait! There's more! Surak himself, the Vulcan who inadvertently led to the Vulcan-Romulan split, wears eye-shadow!

Live long and in style~

One could argue that Surak doesn't count as this isn't the real Surak but Spock's idea of him. Still, envisioning Surak with make-up rather than without is a choice that exists in the realm of Star Tek's production and its universe. It follows the production notes for how make-up is to be applied to Vulcan characters and falls in line with the pattern that continues to be established: both Vulcans and Romulans--regardless of gender--wear eye-shadow. (Yes these two points reinforce each other. What do you mean it's circular reasoning?)

The main point to keep in mind when discussing the production, however, is that in the 1960s, television was not broadcast in high-definition, so the fine details captured on film would be missed when aired. Television screens were also smaller and rounded and used a Catgode-ray tube to display the images, which would further alter the picture quality. If I may put it another way: 360p and 480p used to be what YouTube offered videos in as the highest quality. At the time, when that's what you're only able to see on television and home media like VHS and DVD, it looks as clear as ever. These days it looks terrible because 720p (if not 1080p) is the new standard and televisions are now flat-screened LCDs or OLEDs rather than the rounded CRT. On top of this, while color TV was growing more and more in popularity due to the number of shows produced in color, consumers were reportedly still not buying color TVs owing to their cost. A black and white TV set means a further loss of detail owing to how everything must be rendered in monochrome and how similar shades are easily confused.

In other words, we see the individual details of the make-up now thanks to technological advancements, but back then home audiences would not see it as explicit make-up for fashion and self-expression and instead see it as just another part of the wardrobe and costuming, hence why the Aggressive Kirk from The Enemy Within wears obvious mascara and eyeliner in addition to a shiny and sweaty face. It is an immediate visual signal that this Kirk is Different.

2. The 23rd century and alien societies

This is the part that goes into headcanon territory. If one accepts make-up as a natural part of the world in Star Trek rather than something from the production, then more Vulcans and Romulans are seen to wear make-up than not. Again, this would mean that Spock is not the outlier as a male Vulcan wearing make-up, but that Stonn may very well be the outlier for not wearing it.

Perhaps the point to be made here is that, again, if one accepts make-up as something that exists within the world of Star Trek, Star Trek envisions societies that have moved past our limiting gender roles and expectations. It is simply not a question of women versus men wearing make-up or someone looking towards a past as justification for forgoing social norms. Make-up in Star Trek simply exists as a neutral element, more neutral than clothing given the sharp gender divide of the Starfleet minidress. (Again, this is aided by it being a part of the production and the way to ensure an actor does not appear featureless under the studio lights, but hey, what serendipity.)

Kirk's room is shown to have what one assumes is a set of make-up on the shelf under his mirror. This was first seen in the first season's The Enemy Within when the Aggressive Kirk used some concealer to cover the scratches he got from Yeoman Rand, but they brought it back for season two's Journey to Babel as a part of his room once more. Does this mean Starfleet issues make-up to its people, regardless of gender or does Kirk enjoy wearing make-up from time to time? (Of course, the other thing is these boxes could hold anything such as a razor or a toothbrush.)

Even Yeoman Rand's room has something else entirely below her mirror:

Instead of the packages of assumed make-up, she has bottles on her shelf, presumably of perfume and oils if not hair products. (That beehive takes work.)

Granted, a lot of Kirk's make-up is subtle compared to Spock's, but he does at least wear mascara and dons eye-shadow for formal events such as a court appearance. (The first image is the Gentle Kirk from The Enemy Within. The second image is Kirk from Court Martial. The last image is Kirk from The Enterprise Incident.)

Kirk is not the only human male seen wearing make-up. Dr. McCoy has been seen wearing both winged eyeliner (The Menagerie Part I) and eye-shadow throughout the series, in addition to Commodore Stone (Court Martial) and Lieutenant Sulu (The City on the Edge of Forever, although given he was unconscious perhaps this doesn't count, yet what a choice: put make-up on a sleeping man lol).

Perhaps most importantly, out of all of this is my point: what if we don't have to apply our current human gender roles to alien societies, especially within the unknowns of the 23rd century, when even human men are wearing makeup on the daily and no one bats an eye about it? What if we accept these unspoken details of Star Trek as the indications of a more tolerant and open-minded society in the future? If we are to ever move past the gender binary and the limits it creates, we have to stop bringing it into the future with us. Rather than envisioning a future beyond gender roles and gender binaries, a lot of headcanons in this fandom keep on putting the 23rd century into that limiting box that people have been trying to escape for centuries. If we're gonna move past binaries, we've got to stop pulling a mindset that makes make-up on women normal and extraordinary when it is on men because to do so is to assign a value to it, even if it is only a matter of expected vs unexpected. That errs too closely to the idea of natural vs unnatural and right vs wrong. Are we boldly going or not?

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Rumor had it...

Until someone said something...

And then another someone said something...

I won't sugarcoat it, though... I'm sure SPIDER-MAN: BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE saw something of an overhaul after it was **clear** that it was never going to make its initial 3/29/2024 release date.

This happens on many animated movies. Whole movies' worth of unused story stuff gets chucked, and ideally... That happens EARLY in production, before whole chunks of the movie are animated and finalized.

We heard all the stories of the animators being crunched on ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE, stuff being changed at the very last minute on Phil Lord's whims (because of his and Miller's whole "improvisational" approach to making things, which arguably isn't conducive to huge-budget movies. See also, their time on SOLO), to the point where at least two versions of the movie ran simultaneously in theaters and even further changes were evident on the disc release.

And this was all when Sony put it out there that BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE would follow in nine months...

Really, if you're going to do a back-to-back set of movies (remember, ACROSS was going to be a "Part One"), be ready to do so. With live-action, you can film both parts pretty close together depending on everyone's schedules. With big screen animation? Uhhhh, well, again... If everything's locked and in place... But that clearly was NOT the case with BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE. The delay gives them plenty of time to actually work stuff out **before** things are animated.

I'm not panicking. The movie is nowhere near done. I have no idea what it'll be like. I'm not gonna prematurely write off the end of the SPIDER-VERSE trilogy.

I'm totally okay with stuff being figured out now than right before release date. Not everything is a last-minute miracle like TOY STORY 2, whose final year of production should've went down in history as a "Phew! The movie turned out great, BUT... Never again!" situation.

I'm saying, LOCK the picture a year in advance. It's like finishing a great clay project, now you have to put it in the kiln. The way some animated productions go, like ACROSS, like FROZEN I & II, etc.... It's like they keep shutting off the kiln, taking the halfway-fired clay project out to "fix" it, put it back in, take it out again, "fix" it, put it back in- You get the idea? It sounds like hell!!

Do like Walt Disney. Razor into the picture and tear it down WELL before anything is animated. But the current industry model seems to love this whole "Oh yeah, we can tweak and fix it while it's in production!" thing.

As for the whole "most of the movie got thrown out" rumors? The InSneider isn't a place I get my news from, and I hear it's not the most reputable place... That being said, despite Pemberton and Miller's claims, I have no doubt stuff got thrown out. It happens on productions, especially this far out from release date. The base is probably the same, the construction is probably just different, that's all. I'm sure what we'll see on the big screen a few years from now is rooted in what was planned back in 2022/23...

All I know is, production wasn't near beginning on BEYOND when ACROSS was in theaters. Approximately July 2023-ish. Hailee Steinfeld had remarked that she didn't even record her lines for BEYOND, and the Vulture expose on the working conditions on that movie said that only some test sorta stuff had been done on BEYOND and little else. A release date is usually a suggestion anyways, a number meant to whet the appetites of investors, no matter how far along the movie actually is. Animated movies of this caliber are often delayed, sometimes outright scrapped. Disney Animation, Pixar, DreamWorks, etc. Off the top of my head, outside of a sequel, a more original/untested animated movie keeping its first-announced release date post-2010 seems rather rare... Possibly a list for another day? I dunno!

So... Yeah, BEYOND THE SPIDER-VERSE is a long time away. No concrete release date is currently set, Sony Animation has other projects in the works (such as K-POP: DEMON HUNTERS, dropping on Netflix next year), and it's a big finale to what's already a massive multiverse epic... And I'm sure, given the current culture of leaks and rumors and info being so readily available at our fingertips, this picture will see a ludicrous amount of scrutiny before release.

If those stories never got out about ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE, would the ever-so-fickle online animation fansphere have overnight shifted to "it's only half a movie thus it sucks"/"it's not very good, actually"/"ohhhh it definitely shows"? After all that gushing praise? If we never knew these behind the scenes stories, would we even tell that some of these movies had a lot of trouble coming together?

Most of our big favorites were not cakewalks. Making things is often hard! Of course, this is not to excuse crunching the animators, my larger point is... BEYOND is nowhere near being done, so... I can only hope whatever issues the story has, they're being worked out now. Or were being worked out after the film was listed as a TBD release.

... And, let's just say I dislike the movie come 2026/2027?

I'll just go watch something else. I've been disappointed by sequels before, and I'm doing okay I'd like to think lol. Fanfiction exists, your alternate "better" version is in your head, etc. When something stinks to me, I try to chalk it up to "They made decisions that they thought were right at the right time, and it just didn't work out."

[elsiebrayisgay]

I saw your post about Ahamkara; what's your favorite Ahamkara lore (if you don't mind me asking)?

formal request to go on at length about a special interest let's gooooo (it is always okay)

i am going to choose to answer this in two parts, first my favorite ahamkara story and then my favorite ahamkara tidbit.

i mentioned tallulah fairwind in the post because she's the guardian i always think of first for having been killed by ahamkara. if you are not aware, tallulah was the founding (kinda) hunter vanguard, alongside saint and osiris. she had to be kind of cajoled into it by the speaker at the time, and this is the origin of the vanguard dare. when the speaker told her that it would certainly be very difficult to wrangle all the hunters and fit meetings into her busy schedule of missions, she had to prove him wrong.

i had previously thought for some reason that her death happened during the great hunt, but in rechecking sources to write this, i didn't actually find a specific time when her death took place. i had thought that the events leading up to her death were part of the great hunt, but perhaps her death was a catalyst.

in any case, at some point, she was playing cards with some guy and her friend, caliban-8, was dealing. during the game, the two guardians realized that this rando was in fact a wish-dragon, and the stakes got significantly more dire. eventually, back against a wall, tallulah bet her life against the dragon, and caliban dealt her a losing hand. this was another moment where the tradition of the vanguard dare was perpetuated: in the moments before her death, tallulah gave caliban her weapon and as he pleaded with her not to leave him her post, she said, "a dare's a dare, man." it is implied at this point that she was literally just eaten in a single bite by this dragon. i really enjoy this story because i think it characterizes some old hunters very well and i think the archetypal hunter bravado and joviality plays EXTREMELY well when they're stuck in tragedy partially of their own making but from which they cannot escape. if i remember correctly caliban also had a silly poker visor on because the card game was conjured up by wish-magic. i just love the touches that ahamkara put on things that show that they know how humans operate but at the same time display flagrant disregard for human feeling or sensibility.

my favorite ahamkara factoid is that the keep of voices is built from all of those huge amethyst geodes because amethyst, for whatever reason, will always reflect an ahamkara's true reflection (as a dragon) rather than whatever shape they have taken by magic. the keep of voices was built this way specifically to keep riven in so that anyone approaching could see her for what she was. i think the implication here is also that amethyst is extremely distasteful to ahamkara for this reason, i can imagine an ahamkara seeing their reflection and hissing and looking away.

i'm really interested in this because to my knowledge, the entirety of the dreaming city, terraforming and all, was created by riven through wish magic. i wonder whether queen mara had to wish for all of the amethyst, too, and what it was like for riven to grant that wish, if she did. i also just love reciting this fact when i'm teaching LW and bringing folks up to kalli & the wish wall.

(as a disclaimer, at least 50% of what i know about ahamkara, if not more, was learned watching cameron lauder on talking simulator and all i did to write this post was check a couple of sources on the wiki to ensure i wasn't entirely wrong.)

[xomakara]

The Highlights of Romance

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Chapter length - 2,342 words

Chapter 007 - Kisses

You woke up with a smile on your face as you recalled what happened between you and Mark last night. You finally managed to share a kiss with him. It may not have been much but it was definitely more than enough for you. You had spent the rest of the evening talking to him and spending some quality time together. He even gave you a few tips on how to improve your writing. Despite the lack of sex, you definitely enjoyed yourself. Perhaps this whole thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

You pondered on what you should do today. Maybe you'd go visit your brother at the company and maybe ask if your sister-in-law popped out the baby yet. Other than that, you didn't really have any plans. You grabbed your phone and checked your calendar. Surprisingly, there weren't any appointments scheduled for today. How convenient. At least that meant that you could spend some time working on your new story.

After you got ready, you grabbed your purse and left the apartment. The streets were empty since it was early in the morning. Since you were going to a café, you decided to leave your car at home and walk instead. While the weather was nice, it wasn't exactly hot outside. In fact, it was rather chilly, reminding you of fall. The air felt fresh, cool against your skin. You took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp scent of the outdoors. The sun was starting to peek above the horizon, casting its rays upon the world below. It would soon be another beautiful day.

As you reached the entrance of the café, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned around and saw Mark smirking at you from behind. He wore a blue hoodie, matching pants and sneakers. As always, he looked ridiculously good.

"Morning." He greeted you.

"Morning Mark." You smiled, hugging him tightly. "No working in the office today?"

Mark shook his head. "Nah, your brother told me I didn't have to come in unless it was urgent."

"Great! Let's get breakfast then!" You exclaimed excitedly.

"Sounds fun." Mark laughed, holding the door open for you.

"Thank you." You giggled as you stepped inside. "It's so sweet of you to hold the door for me."

"No problem." Mark shrugged, closing the door behind you. "I was planning on doing something nice anyway."

"Oh really?" You teased. "What was it?"

"Sitting here with you." Mark responded with a smirk.

"Really?" You raised an eyebrow. "That was your 'something nice'?"

"Maybe kiss you senseless but since you're being mean…" Mark smirked.

"I am not being mean." You slapped his arm playfully.

Mark laughed, ruffling your hair. "Fine, fine. I'll kiss you then."

The two of you laughed together, entering the café. You scanned the menu posted on the wall, quickly deciding what you wanted to order. After placing your order, you both settled down on a table nearby, opposite each other.

"So let me ask you a question," You looked at Mark. "It's been swimming in my mind lately."

"Go ahead." Mark smiled. "Ask me anything."

"Have you ever been with an older woman before?" You asked bluntly.

"Wow, you know how to start a conversation." Mark teased. "I thought we were supposed to be focusing on the writing aspect."

"Sorry." You shrugged, scratching the back of your head. "I was genuinely curious."

"Have you been with a younger man?" Mark wondered.

"Sexually, yes." You replied. "Jaehyun, remember?"

"Uh huh." Mark nodded. "But never dated one? Never had a relationship with one?"

"Well…" You trailed off. "I suppose I have been on a couple dates but nothing serious."

"I see." Mark mused.

"Hey, why are you asking me questions when you didn't answer mine?" You scolded him.

"Huh? Oh yeah." Mark scratched his head sheepishly. "Actually, I haven't."

"Really? I thought you'd have some sort of experience with older women." You muttered.

"Is this a date or a therapy session?" Mark asked sarcastically, eyes filled with mischievousness.

"Ohhh, avoiding the topic now, huh? Come on Mark, give it to me straight. Have you ever been with an older woman before?" You asked again. You gave him a teasing grin. "Will I be the first one to break you?"

Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Okay, I'll admit that I've never actually been with an older woman. But I have a feeling that I will once you're done with me."

You stared at him before laughing. "Haha, you really know how to charm the ladies, don't you?"

"It comes naturally." Mark joked, smiling softly. "I don't even have to try."

The two of you chatted casually for a while, until the waitress arrived with your food. She set down plates of pancakes and bacon in front of both of you before disappearing into the kitchen. Mark picked up a piece of bacon, raising it towards you.

"Wanna share?" He asked, grinning mischievously.

"Sure." You grinned back, reaching out for the bacon too.

As you ate your meal, the two of you talked about random things. Some mundane, some amusing. After breakfast, Mark suggested a walk around the park nearby and despite your initial reservations, you agreed. You needed to get some fresh air anyways. Besides, there wasn't anything wrong with spending some quality time with Mark.

You walked side by side with Mark as you strolled along the paved pathway, taking in the scenery. With autumn having officially started, the leaves had already begun changing color. Orange and red hues littered the ground beneath your feet, making the path look vibrant. You also noticed that there were plenty of couples strolling around hand in hand. It seemed like a romantic place, perfect for dating couples.

You didn't notice it but Mark was holding your hand too. When did he grab it? You hadn't realized it at first. Your mind kept drifting off as you watched couples stroll past, showing affection for one another. This place truly was perfect for couples looking to spend some time together.

"Do you want to stop for a bit?" Mark suddenly asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

You blinked in surprise, looking over at him. "Huh?"

"Do you want to sit down for a little bit?" Mark questioned, gesturing towards a bench a few meters away.

You nodded, following him. "Sure."

The two of you sat down on the bench, taking in the scenery surrounding you. Even though you were surrounded by other people, it didn't bother you. The silence that enveloped you felt comfortable and relaxing. The gentle breeze swept past you, caressing your cheeks and sending shivers down your spine. You glanced at Mark, wondering if he felt it too. The cool wind certainly did seem to affect him.

Your attention was pulled away from the beautiful scenery as Mark started to speak. "It seems like you're happy here." He said, looking up at the sky.

"I guess." You replied quietly. "Where else would I be happier than in a lovely place like this?"

Mark nodded, leaning forward slightly. He rested his elbows on his knees, propping his chin on his hands. He appeared relaxed, probably because he wasn't alone. The cold weather was starting to take its toll on you, prompting you to wrap your arms around yourself, hugging your body closer to yourself.

"Are you cold?" Mark asked, noticing your movements.

"Yeah, a little." You sighed, rubbing your arms.

"Come here." Mark pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Are you sure that you want to do this?" You whispered.

"I'm sorry, but are you seriously telling me that you want me to let go of you?" Mark whispered back. "I did say that I was going to do nice things for you."

"You're so bad, Mark." You smiled up at him. "I do recall you saying that you'll kiss me too."

"And you remembered." Mark grinned, pressing his lips against yours gently.

A moan escaped your lips as your arms tightened around his neck. You pressed your body closer to him, relishing in the warmth that radiated from him. It almost felt like he was absorbing heat from you, making you feel warm and comfortable. A small blush began to form on your cheeks as you breathed heavily, feeling your heart beating rapidly against your chest. You barely heard the sound of birds chirping in the distance anymore. All you could hear was the pounding of your heart as it tried to catch up with itself.

Mark pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. "Better?"

You giggled, nodding your head. "Yes, thank you."

"Not bad for a younger man, huh?" Mark teased, giving you a cocky smile.

You rolled your eyes, snuggling closer to him. "Mmm...not bad at all."

You had no idea how long you two spent just sitting there, embracing one another in an embrace. Neither of you cared. You felt content, satisfied. It didn't matter that you were technically not a couple, nor were you in a relationship with him. What mattered is that you had found peace and tranquility in his presence. You were able to forget about all the negative thoughts and feelings that were constantly plaguing you these days. Now, everything felt alright again.

"Let's go home. We can work on your project after that." Mark suggested.

"All right." You nodded, standing up from the bench.

He took your hand in his own, leading you back towards the exit. The cool wind that brushed against your face made you sigh happily.

You opened the door to your apartment, letting Mark enter before you followed suit. He closed the door behind you, flicking on the lights as he entered. Both of you started to remove your jackets and shoes before sitting down on the sofa. You immediately sunk into the soft cushions, letting out a deep breath.

"That was nice." You smiled, nuzzling into the soft material.

Mark sat next to you, gazing at you with fondness in his eyes. "Yeah, I agree." He whispered. "So what do you have so far?"

You picked up your laptop, logging onto the document. You showed him what you had so far.

"This is where I'm at right now. I've finished this scene but what comes after is still..." You trailed off, biting your lip nervously. "There's this huge blockage that keeps preventing me from moving on."

Mark listened attentively, silently staring at you. He waited patiently as you explained your predicament. When you finished explaining everything, Mark simply sat there, thinking. His expression remained neutral throughout your entire explanation, not giving away any signs of emotion whatsoever. Eventually, he turned to you, resting his hand on your knee.

"Do you need help with anything?" He asked softly.

"Mmm...more distractions..." You muttered, biting your lower lip.

"How about this?" Mark leaned in, placing his hand on your thigh, stroking it slowly.

You widen your eyes, breathing heavily. "Mark I thought you didn't want..."

"We've gotten closer haven't we?" He murmured, leaning in closer. "Let me ask you again...Do you like me?"

"I..." You froze. You knew what he was doing, teasing you. "Do you like me, Mark?"

His eyes softened as he gazed at you, flashing a brilliant smile. "More than you know."

Sighing contently, you leaned into him, bringing your face close to his. His lips met yours, the sweet sensation sweeping through you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging tightly to him. When he pulled away, your breath caught in your throat. He leaned in once more, kissing you tenderly. You melted against him, unable to control your trembling legs.

"Do you like me, Y/N?" Mark whispered against your lips.

You returned his gaze, your voice barely audible. "Very much."

He smiled widely, pressing his lips against yours once more. The intensity of his kisses grew as he continued to deepen them, his tongue swirling against yours. Soon enough, your senses were overloaded, your world collapsing in upon itself. There was no such thing as reality anymore. Everything disappeared as soon as his lips touched yours. It felt like all you could focus on was him. Only him. Nothing else existed anymore except for the two of you. And the feeling that washed over you as his lips lingered on yours, as his hands held yours in his.

Everything faded to black as the world went silent, only the sound of your heavy breaths filling the room. The warmth that spread through you overwhelmed you. That comforting feeling that accompanied him in every moment flooded your body, melting your insides. You were being overtaken by blissful pleasure.

The bliss ended when Mark pulled away, his mouth falling open slightly as he gasped for breath. Your eyes drifted shut as you shook your head.

"Y/N?" He repeated, staring at you intently.

When you finally opened your eyes, Mark was sitting in front of you, watching you closely. Your fingers twitched, itching to reach out for him. They lingered on the edge of the couch for a moment longer before closing your eyes again.

"Mark, I..." You paused, your voice wavering slightly.

"It's okay." Mark whispered, reaching out to take your hand in his.

"What is this feeling?" You whispered, unsure of what to say.

Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "You're falling for me, aren't you?"

You let out a small laugh. "Maybe..."

Mark reached up, brushing his thumb against your cheek. You shivered slightly at the contact. "I'll still take that answer as a yes."

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his once more. This time, the kiss lasted a lot longer. His hands gripped your hips tightly as you tugged him towards you, deepening the kiss even further. His hands moved up your thighs, trailing up your waist. You groaned as he pulled away from the kiss, smiling smugly at you.

"Let's get back to work." Mark chuckled, fingers still entwined with yours. "That should give you plenty of inspiration."

"I think it will."

THoR Chap. Masterlist | Previous | Next

[punemy-spotted]

Iris - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

Pairing: SoftDark!Devil!Helmut Zemo x Sky-Captain!Reader

Warnings: Cosmic Horror; Dubious Consent; Dubious Morality; Estranged Relationship; Zemo and Reader are not in the Good Place; THIS IS A HORROR FIC; Soul Stealing; Incredibly Loose Relationship with Physics; This is a Fallen London x Marvel Crossover Moment; There are Space Bees; And Giant Lovestruck Space Crabs; Violence; Murder; Death; Poison; At Least One Reference to a Garrote; Estranged Relationship; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Sokovia rose, then fell, and then rose again. And now the stars will never be the same.

Notes: Hi, welcome, I really wanted to write an MCU crossover with the Fallen London 'verse so here we are. Imagine House of M except Wanda Maximoff became an actual factual God and it actually wasn't that bad after all. And now imagine all of that is background noise in favor of one unhinged Devil and one overly hinged Epistolarian. An Intrepid Epistolarian.

Oh also Wanda's waging war against Queen Victoria. It's fine.

For those of you who have read my other Zemo fics, finished and unfinished, if you notice similarities between this fic and the other ones... yes. I am Frankenstein trying to raise this fanfiction monster and put scenes, passages, and themes to better use than languishing in my Ao3/Tumblr cupboard. (Also if you've read my other fics, hi, hello, I love you.)

I crave feedback, so tell me what you think!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The First taught Restraint, and the Second Betrayed. The Third taught us Hunger and the Fourth we Remade. The Fifth will live on in the Heart of the Sun but the Sixth did quickly Fade. The Seventh City will never Fall, never ending the Deal we made.

She kept some of the old names when she took this place, you know. Built onto it, even when her Renewed Empress had to bend the knee to the Scarlet One, sealed away in her undying mausoleum.

The Proclaimers of the Cult of the Sanctified, still seated at the Avid Horizon’s High Gate and whispering Truths to their counterparts on the other side, were right — the Seventh City would never fall; the Bazaar would never be compelled to deliver that fatal missive to that Beacon of Bright Betrayal it loved so much; there would be no opportunity to argue that Seven Cities worth of love is proof enough of Her Worthy Love.

If there is one thing you know about opportunities, it is that they are also opportunities to fail.

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia — that Bulwark which once stood the test of time against even the Tsars of Russia — is not what it once was. There is, in fact, no such thing as Sokovia now, not the way you would think. There are Sokovian people, clinging to an identity lest it be lost in the abyss below, but all that remains of the Earthly land which remembered the Duchy’s history with the joint Empires of Austria and Hungary is now nothing more than a chasm of stone and steel.

A monument to violent delights in want of violent ends.

Cast your eyes not to the ruins of her past but to the gleaming future written in the stars ab—

The sound of a train whistle drowns out what remains of the tinned announcement, an earsplitting shriek you endure for what feels like forever, but is in fact — if the clock before you is accurate — no more than two minutes. Which — as it turns out — is plenty of time to interrupt the announcement’s conclusion and leave ringing silence in its wake.

Good. You were rather tired of hearing your own voice drone on any longer.

You turn your head away from the train schedule you had previously been pretending to occupy your mind with, watching the rails with mild impatience and fidgeting with your gloves.

He is late.

It’s not abnormal, really, for the more independent locomotives — those not on the Scarlet Empress’s own payroll, that is — to run on their own definition of time, but you’ve never known your contact to be anything more than a man of his word.

When you’ve properly interpreted his words, that is.

No matter. You have the luxury of time. Collecting your luggage takes little effort — a rather bulging handbag and a briefcase is not so terrible compared to the crates of fuel, souls, and hours you see being carted around you — as you step briskly towards the more busting central parts of port. The station itself has seen better days, almost empty save for a handful of dock-workers and the occasional Employee making sure the schedule runs on time, but as you pass through an open archway into the city proper, they seem eager to resume whatever activity they might otherwise have abandoned for your intrusive presence.

NORTH.

How did it happen? Was it prophecy — or maybe some mad interpretation of the scream-whispers of Distant Polythreme, a vision of the Garden — that led the Proclaimers to make their rhyme, completing the riddle and speaking for the Masters themselves?

Something must have rung true to the Masters, for them to solve the riddle.

Novi Grad rose, then fell. Fell until it could fall no further, until there was nothing left of decades of history but ash and blood for the ghosts of her denizens to wander through. Until there was nothing for the Masters and their bats to drag to cavernous depths.

So she, in her infinite tragedy and infinite pain, became the solution.

Your tea, madame. You look up from your scribbling absently, glancing briefly up at the server and then feeling your polite smile immediately fade off your face.

Must you always play games?

Helmut Zemo stands before you with a perfectly placid smile on his cruelly handsome face, So lovely to see you again, sweetling, and you’re quite welcome for the tea.

You narrowly avoid the temptation to roll your eyes, closing your journal and placing the cap on your pen, its nib glimmering venomously in the candlelight, You are late. A casual accusation, one he dismisses with an easy wave of his hand, just before seating himself before you and stealing a biscuit from your place.

And you are impatient. Surely this must mean you have missed me, little bird. If he notices the way you flinch at the sweetname, struggling to compose yourself before you manage to settle on sternness, he does not say.

You have faced worse things than Helmut Zemo, you know. Worse than the ache that slices through your heart when you look at him and his easy smile, the one you might have fallen in love with once again, if you forgot yourself.

You will not.

Instead, you breathe, letting the heavy air in your lungs out slowly as you tug the fingers of your glove until the whole thing is loose enough to be removed entirely.

You always hated getting biscuit crumbs on your whisper-satin fineries.

You asked me to meet you here, Helmut, a fact which he seems to dismiss with another too-sharp smile, eyes flickering over you.

It burns. Licking over the neckline of your dress before moving down to the delicate pearl buttons that hold shut your bodice, heat rising over the thin lace collar wrapped around your throat, and you wonder idly how often he fines pleasure in watching people struggle to breathe and die.

I’m told you have been busy, he tells you flatly, practiced hand snapping his biscuit in half before dipping one perfect semi-circle into the cup of tea he’d placed in front of you, Too busy, it seems, to inform your husband of your whereabouts.

The knifeblade edge of his voice is enough, slipping past the plates of armor you always try to wrap around yourself every time you agree to meet him, his joyless smile the barbs he leaves in your heart, ensuring it will bleed for him for a few months more after your eventual parting.

The first time he’d touched your cheek in the shadow of a clockwork sun while you wept, his lips ghosting  your skin, you nearly fell to your knees at his feet.

That should have been the last time you would ever see him, as he whispered sweet nothings and sweeter promises in a language you did not speak, burning intention into your skin and leaving you forever bound, words falling from his lips like a waterfall.

The third time you met Helmut Zemo, you cried. And the fourth. And the fifth.

You refuse to meet his eyes, smoothing out the wrinkles in your gown with trembling hands, Is this what you came to remind me?

He does not stop smiling, even as you make note of the uneasy tension sitting on his shoulders, the vicious gleam in his eyes as he continues his visual examination of your countenance, tea soaked biscuit melting idly on his tongue.

Yes, it is.

You should be grateful for his honesty — Devils rarely are, after all.

He continues before you have a chance to consider it, How much farther do you plan to run from this place, sweetling, before time returns you back to me?

You wish he wouldn’t call you sweetling.

You haven’t been sweet in a thousand years.

But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? He already knows that, anyway.

Though you suppose that maybe you ought to tell him about something he doesn’t know.

Why did you call me here, Helmut?

Why does any man call his wife back to the port where they parted last? I missed you.

You swallow thickly, avoiding the unyielding blade of his sharp-eyed gaze and even sharper smile, refusing to let your heart leap out to him as it aches to do, You are lying, Helmut, you accuse, pretending to busy yourself with the biscuits he brought to your table.

As always, as you should have expected, he only grins at you — a cruel, twisted grimace that makes your stomach twist not-wholly-unpleasantly — before reaching out and brushing his knuckles over your cheek, Would you let me lie, little bird?

I certainly hope you don’t expect an honest answer to that question.

His laugh is as sharp as his smile, a huff of bemusement you recall bringing you happiness before, a long time ago.

Now it reminds you of the taste of poison, of bile curling in the back of your throat, of blood and metal and the screaming agony of time stretched to its very limit.

The silence too, stretches between you, taut as the wires you would wrap around your palms to cut through cheese and impertinent throats, waiting for you to finally surrender and rise to your feet, gather your things and bid him as formal a goodbye as you’ll allow yourself — always just out of reach, I have no intention of playing games, Helmut, you challenge with the same tone of voice you might use to scold the Empress’s misbehaving sons, If you refuse to do me the courtesy of your honest, then do me the gift of your absence.

He watches you, eyes glimmering amber with insult, but does not dishonor you enough to reach out, There was a time, little bird, when you loved me without such reservation.

The words burn across your skin like living fire, your vows and his molded together in a single remembered sigil, a bond forced with the very language of Judgment, unbidden agony scorching your composure as you make a desperate, futile attempt to push away the memory; his voice soft, the low timbre of his accent sliding over your ears like honey in your mouth, gentle lips on yours as he sealed your fate with a kiss, I have memorized you like a prayer.

You could almost have forgotten he was a liar, standing lost in your memories as you are, forgotten the price of promise and the weight of truth.

Almost.

The tears burn at the backs of your eyes, but you blink them back, let bone grind against bone before, More fool I, then, for thinking you did the same.

You turn to walk towards the door, four sovereigns in hand to pay for your meal — interrupted though it has been — making a concentrated effort to not look back, even as you hear his voice cutting through the otherwise silent room, When everything goes wrong, it is a terrible burden to bear alone, don’t you think?

You cannot help yourself, can you? Shoulders slumping as you declare a reluctant defeat and turn to face him, swearing your heart has lit aflame.

You cannot ignore His Law forever, little bird.

You know nothing of responsibility, Helmut, your voice is cold as the icy expanse beyond the warm walls of Novi Grad station, still aching to leave and frustrated by your uncooperative feet.

There’s a twitch at the corner of his lips, amusement sparking in his own eyes, And what of you, little bird, what have you learned of responsibility since your escape from Perdurance?

You visibly flinch, the name sparking an endless array of horror and memories within you, just as his expression falls into uncharacteristic regret.

Nothing, clearly, you reply hollowly, words bitter on the back of your teeth, Much to your pleasure, I think.

That wounds him, to your surprise, hurt painting his face before he controls his features and buries both regret and rage beneath a placid mask, Infinite freedom is as tight a prison as an opulent cage, on occasion.

[summercourtship]

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter two: hard times in the city [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual themes | word count: 7813 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one

The rest of the semester passed quickly, your schedule filled with finals, papers, and studying. Your bruises faded within two weeks, your lip shrunk back down to its normal size, and you were finally able to look in the mirror without recoiling in shock. People quickly forgot that you’d been beaten up when not confronted by your wounds constantly, and they finally stopped asking what happened because of it. You returned to your usual seat in your classes and tried to stop your heart from fluttering whenever you saw the Bat Signal up in the sky. It didn’t really work- your stomach flipped every night it was lit, especially since you could see it from your bedroom window as you laid in your bed, the city’s constant chorus of sirens lulling you to sleep.

Your face may have forgotten that night, but you still remembered it very clearly. It had been a key factor in convincing your boss to stop giving you such late shifts (a request that he honored until he fired yet another person and the shop was once again understaffed). But at least he knew that you weren’t just being paranoid, he had proof that your fears were substantiated. On the other hand, you also knew that your fears were substantiated which made walking around for the first few weeks after the attack a complicated affair.

But you were doing better. At least, you liked to think you were. You had plenty of other bad experiences in your life, at least four of them from the past year, what’s another one added to that list?

You took a sip of your drink, grimacing as the door swung open and yet another happily smiling couple walked in. Whether you were reacting to the taste of your drink (you tried something new, and you didn’t think you liked it) or the fact that it was once again not who you wanted to see walking through the door (you had gotten the time right, right? Oh god, what if you’ve just been misremembering it this entire time? How embarrassing would that be?)

You distracted yourself from the mental rabbit role of anxiety you were starting to go down by looking outside the window. No need to panic, just take some time to watch Gothamites doing their thing.

Sunny days, like the one you were observing from inside the cafe, were rare in Gotham. The streets were full of people- families, friends, couples- milling about, enjoying the nice weather, bundled up in jackets and scarves. It was almost pleasant to watch them, the normal law-abiding people, have a good day. A day without checking over their shoulder, a day of pretending that Gotham was just like every other city in the country. You watch them trying to convince themselves that today was the norm, not the exception.

You took another sip of your drink, holding back another grimace at its overly sweet taste as it slipped down your throat. You had tucked yourself away in a corner and yet you were still paranoid that every person who entered the cafe was silently judging you, even when they didn’t glance around the small space or take in their surroundings at all.

You didn’t dislike cafes, at least not in concept. You liked the idea of going to work in them, of spending your day in the warm, ambient space to write papers or read books. But when you did take the chance and went to a coffee shop, you would instead find yourself self conscious and feeling like… well, like a fraud. Like someone who was pretending to be organized and studious rather than actually being it.

But the cafe was a better place to meet with Dr. Crane than his office, like he had initially suggested. You wanted to avoid being enclosed in small spaces with him for as long as possible. It’s not because he made you uncomfortable, not at all. It’s because you don’t trust yourself to not completely mortify yourself when you’re alone with him. And that is what made you uncomfortable.

The door to the cafe swung open, letting in a new burst of cold air as Dr. Crane strode in, his eyes immediately finding yours in the corner. He doesn’t smile as he walks to you but his expression isn’t cold either. You find yourself smiling as he gets closer. How could you not, when you were meeting to discuss something he talked you into? Something that obviously meant he thought highly of you?

“Hi.” Your voice was embarrassingly soft as he sat down, and for a moment you thought he didn’t hear you. You shuffled your things around, putting the idle work you’d brought back in your bag, making space for him on the other side of the table.

“I hope your finals went well.”

“Yeah.” You’re a bit too proud that you’ve managed to not stutter on any of the single syllable words you’ve attempted so far. “How goes grading?”

“It is both the easiest and most tedious part of this job.” Dr. Crane had a penchant for using a short-answer essay format on his tests, which you’re sure must take forever to grade as thoroughly as he does. At least next semester he had you to dump all that unsavory work on.

“And your other job?” The one over at Arkham? He smiled at this. Though smirked, you thought, might have been more accurate.

“Interesting like always.”

He doesn’t elaborate, which you have come to mostly expect from him.

“Are you going to order anything?” You asked, gesturing with your chin to the counter, painfully aware that you were the one doing the brunt work of carrying the conversation.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.”

As he left to order his drink, you pulled your folder of papers for the class back out of your bag, eager to get into the meat of your conversation. You wanted to know everything about your job as a teaching assistant, any minute detail that would satisfy the curiosity that had built over the prospect of doing something completely new to you.

A small sheet of questions was the only paper in the left pocket of the folder and you placed that neatly to the side.

Lastly, you pull out a well worn notepad, flipping past all the year-old notes from your History of Gotham class project last year, all the disjointed ramblings that came after. Finally you land on one of the final pages of the notebook, scrawling the date at the top of the page, following it with TA meeting w/ Dr. Crane.

You didn’t necessarily like using this notebook, didn’t like seeing how the notes from your project changed from disinterested bullet points on local politics to paragraphs of observations and notes on the way the election was slowly dissolving because of one man. As it was happening it had been fascinating to watch in real time. After all, justice- true justice- was nice to see, especially in Gotham. But something must have fallen apart on the night of the election, at Gotham Square Garden. You’d seen hints of it when that car ran through the mayor’s funeral but seeing the absolutely careless disregard for human life as a whole- You stop yourself before you get lost in your thoughts, grounding yourself by pinching your thigh.

All of that to say that somehow, this was the only notebook you could find on short notice in your apartment, sitting out on your catch-all-dining-table like you’d just been using it. Had it been weird? Yes. But it was whatever, you only needed it for this meeting and then you could transfer the notes over to your laptop or a fresh, new notebook.

Dr. Crane returns with his drink, sliding back into his seat while placing it on the table.

“Welcome back.” You smiled as if you hadn’t just pulled yourself into and out of an anxiety attack. “If it’s alright, I have some questions about the job before we start- just some things I want clarified so I can know exactly what the expectations- your expectations- for me are.”

He nodded, allowing you to speak.

“So, my responsibilities are to just help in grading papers, take notes during class, and offer assistance to the students if they need it, right?”

“Correct.” He took a sip of his drink- coffee, you could tell by the smell wafting towards you. “As you know, I don’t use TAs often, if ever. I don’t need them. But I intend on taking full advantage of your being here.”

“And what does taking full advantage entail?” You’re scribbling a note on your notepad when you realized how the vague question could come across- the innuendo you’d only realized was present once you said it out loud. You look up at him, eyes wide. “What I meant to say was-”

“I know what you meant.” You can’t break your eye contact with him, but it’s too much and you need to sever this connection between the two of you before you say or do something that would be incredibly regrettable-

Luckily, he does the hard part for you and looks up at nothing in particular, in the mindless way people trying to remember something do. But it still strikes you as odd because you don’t think you’ve ever seen this man do anything mindlessly.

“This is an opportunity for feedback from someone who doesn’t need to worry about failing for giving me an honest opinion.”

You chuckled even though you knew he was being completely serious.

“You don’t read the student surveys at the end of the semester?” The school sent student surveys out to everyone at the end of the semester and were persistent in reminding you to fill them out. Like, email-every-day persistent reminding you that you only had a few more days left to complete them!

“I don’t trust half of the people who take my classes to give actual feedback that isn’t affected by what grade they ended up receiving.” The unspoken implication, then, was that he did trust you.

You were practically vibrating at the thought.

“Alright. I’ll try my best to be honest with you.”

“Good.”

“Great.” He smiled at you from over the rim of his glass, you could tell from the way his eyes narrowed. You finally broke away from his eyes to look at your drink, frowning when you realized you barely made a dent in it. What a waste.

The chatter of the cafe was getting louder with each passing second that neither of you spoke, the white noise filling the empty space between you.

You should say something. (But what? You have no idea what the limits of your strictly professional relationship with Dr. Crane are- what can you talk about, or is small talk even allowed?)

“I would like to ask you a question.” Dr. Crane easily breaks the silence between you, like he could see how you were freaking out inside and decided to put you out of your misery, allowing the cafe noise to go back to the background.

“Okay.” It’s so easy to agree with him. So much harder, as you have found, to disagree with him or refuse him.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He was dressed as he usually was- a professional suit and tie, rimless glasses perched on his nose. His hair was slightly mussed, like he didn’t style it but instead ran his fingers through it a few times before deciding it was presentable.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?”

The question was not what you were expecting but it didn’t surprise you. At the point you were at in your college career, everyone wanted to know what your next steps were, what you had planned for your life post-graduation. Including you.

You shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I’d like to write, maybe do research. Or work at a museum, in the archives. Gotham could use some clean-up in that regard- we should make public records more accessible to the public. It’s harder to hide corruption that way.”

“An admirable goal.”

“An informed one.” You shrugged. “We hide all of our documents behind layers and layers of red tape that even as a student who studies it, it’s incredibly hard to obtain access for any of the work I do.” You paused, taking a moment to think about the rant you had bubbling up inside you. It was a good goal, sure, but even as you described it, it didn’t feel right for you. “Buuut I’m not even sure I want to do that. The idea of spending my career entrenched in Gotham’s bureaucracy is… frankly exhausting, and I’m only thinking about it right now. I can’t imagine actually doing it for a living.”

You stopped, suddenly uncomfortable after speaking for the longest you ever have with him. And it was about Gotham’s archival system.

But from the look on his face- which you could pretty positively identify as ‘not bored’- he didn’t mind at all.

“From the writing you’ve turned in to me, I think you would do well in research, maybe writing papers. ”

Research papers? Sure, you enjoyed writing them when they were on fun topics, but if you were going to write, you wanted it to be something you’d find in a bookshop, not on J-STOR.

Still, you preened at the compliment.

“You think?”

“You have a good research voice.”

“Thank you.” It takes every ounce of willpower to not begin rambling about how you developed your writing style or why you write the way you do. That would be a surefire way to kill the moment, and you wanted to keep this moment going for as long as possible- forever, if you could. You wanted to ask him to keep lavishing praise upon you, like you’ve been deprived of it (and now that you thought of it, maybe you had been). They weren’t even in-depth compliments and yet you craved more like a drophead craved another dose.

“And where do you work right now?” You deflated with the change in subject. But, just like the one from before, it’s not an unexpected question. A good icebreaker, though awkward since you can’t return the question to him. Most of the conversations with him, you realized, would be one-sided like this. Him trying to learn more about you and you already knowing what his answer to the question would be if you asked it back to him.

“...A convenience store.” It shouldn’t be embarrassing to tell him, everybody works shitty jobs at least a few times in their life but especially during college. Still, going from discussing your strengths to admitting you worked in a job that utilized none of them was just a bit humiliating. “The job market in Gotham isn’t very accommodating to full-time college students.”

He nodded, his only response another sip of his coffee. But you could tell he was thinking, some fragment of an idea turning the cogs inside his brain.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He’ll see what he can do? What does that- oh.

For a second, you were simply surprised at his suggestion. Then you were desperate to convince him that, no, you didn’t need help in the job market, that he’d already done enough to help you with giving you the TA position, blah blah blah. Any reason you could come up with to get him to not see you as a down-on-her-luck-desperate-for-any-out-she-can-get girl but rather a professional-and-resourceful-young-college-aged-woman-who-is-making-do-with-her-life-situation-and-doesn’t-need-any-help-otherwise.

Your heart rate has spiked, thudding in your chest as if it was trying to burst through your skin.

“What? No!” You were sputtered as you tried to figure out the correct way to word everything you just felt in the few seconds it took to process the intent behind his words. “I’m not asking for help, Dr. Crane- I don’t want help. A shitty job is shitty, but it’s not the end of the world. I have plenty of time in my life to work jobs that will actually need something aside from good customer service skills.”

At the last second you remembered to smile.

For a moment all he did was make a low sound like a hum, the kind of sound someone makes when they’re contemplating something and all you could think about was that you were afraid you had messed something up between you.

“Well, the offer stands.” They should have been comforting, his placating words. But it was his tone, the way a secret meaning hid behind everything he said, that sent a shiver down your spine and not necessarily in the way you enjoyed. For the first time you understood what everyone else meant when they said they were afraid of Dr. Crane. That though he wasn’t physically intimidating there was something about his aura that set off alarm bells in other student’s heads.

“You’ve already helped me enough with this position.” If you thought your heart was beating fast before, it’s nothing compared to the rapid flutter in your breast, so fast you’re afraid it’s going to shut itself down. So you say the only other thing you can think of that might solve the problem but of course it comes out wrong. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

It was supposed to be a kind refusal of his offer to help, reassuring him that you weren’t a needy child but a grown adult woman who could handle her own problems, one who didn’t need help from her fucking psychology professor. But it came out like you were offended that he was the one asking and now he looked like he’d just swallowed something that had offended his palette and the taste was lingering for longer than he expected.

“Right-” Oh, how you hated the coldness in his voice, “-you do get a bi-weekly stipend. It’s not much.”

And you remembered why you hated refusing him so much. The distant way he spoke, how his eyes suddenly seemed to look anywhere but at you.

You nodded, staring down at your notepad, cursing the tiny pricks of tears hiding behind your eyes. Was it just your silly little crush that had you regretting every time you pushed back against him, every time you tried to make a decision that kept him from becoming an even bigger part of your life than he, admittedly, was already becoming?

Grabbing your bag and shoving everything from your side of the table into it, you stood, ready to make your escape. You’d discussed everything you’d needed to, right? You were free to leave, it doesn’t matter if it was sudden. He couldn’t keep you here, not in a public cafe, not against your will.

“I think I need to… go… um, my fish…” Any excuse to leave a conversation suddenly had left your brain the moment you stood up (you don’t have a fish). All you could see was him, suddenly looking at you not like he was affronted by you anymore but like he was simply confused (or perhaps, intrigued?). He raised his eyebrows, an unreadable emotion flickering over his blank face.

“Sit back down.”

His voice wasn’t aggressive. Instead it was soft, soft enough that you doubted anyone else in the cafe heard anything. But you did, your ears now hardwired to hone in on what he was saying at all times. You obeyed silently, embarrassment heating your face as you stared at your hands, resting in your lap and twitching from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

But which part was more embarrassing: you trying to leave so haphazardly, or the fact that he was definitely psychoanalyzing you right now, adding more tiny facts to his mental profile on you (if he had one at all, if he cared enough about you to bother taking mental notes on your behavior).

“I’m sorry.” Like his, your voice was quiet. But yours held none of the soft control his voice had, instead coming out meek and submissive. You force yourself to look up from your lap and into his eyes, knowing damn well what they did to you.

“Don’t be.” He took a sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “I’m sorry if I came across as overbearing.” He offers no more explanation for his sudden suggestion, for his sudden insistence to play a larger role in your life.

Once upon a time, you’d read an article on some Buzzfeed knock-off site about what you shouldn’t say during an apology. A whole half of the article was spent discussing what you should avoid responding to an apology with. The article suggested opting for I forgive you or I appreciate your apology. Something that made it clear that you expected to not be treated the same way in the future, that you wanted a change in behavior. Do not, it said, reply with something that removes any guilt from the offending party because then they’ll see it as a cue that their behavior was acceptable.

But even with this knowledge locked away somewhere in your brain, the two poisonous words crossed your lips anyway.

“It’s okay.”

****

Your winter break flies by, your days spent either working shifts huddled by a space heater behind the store’s counter or taking notes on the assigned readings for Dr. Crane’s class, your desire to be overly prepared for the semester motivating you through every densely worded paragraph. You were bound and determined to impress him, to try and make up for the awful impression you must have made during your meeting in the cafe.

And, also, a tiny little part of you wanted to be something he thought about after he left the classroom, to be someone who didn’t just exist when you were directly interacting with him.

Was it wrong to want to be such a big part of your professor’s life?

The thought crossed your mind one day as you cleaned the bathroom of the corner store, spray bottle and rag in hand. Luckily it was an employee-only bathroom so it was a fraction of its potential grossness. But you were still glad to distract yourself from your task, sitting back on your haunches and frowning at your thoughts.

It’s not like you were manipulating him. And even though, yes, you were attracted to him, it didn’t mean that the things you were doing were so he’d see you in that way. If you wanted to do that, you would’ve worn sexier outfits to class not… leggings and a T-shirt that’s a couple sizes too big.

No, you just wanted him to remember you once you were out of his life. You liked the idea of one day being a story told to other classes, being heralded as Dr. Crane’s perfect student or his model TA. The one who did everything right and was rewarded for her hard work. No part of this had anything to do with your unrequited desire for the man.

With that settled in your mind, you turned back to the toilet, sighing as you grabbed the brush.

Then you blinked and suddenly, you were waking up on the first day of class, almost tripping over yourself and the giant stack of psychology books to get ready for the day. Or at least, it felt like that with how quickly the last two weeks of your winter break flew by. Your dedication to your routine only served to bleed the days together into one long study session.

You’d spent too much time the night before mulling over which outfit to wear for your first day as a TA. It must have taken an hour before you finally settled on a simple yet effective outfit that you didn’t get the chance to wear too often. It was professional yet still had some youthful energy, the kind of thing you might wear to interview for a work-study job.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, fussing over your hair. Realistically, no one would be looking at you for more than a few seconds but you still felt the need to look good for this. Partially because you felt the need to prove that you were where you were supposed to be- that it hadn’t been a fluke that you’d been given this position. And then, partially because you wanted Dr. Crane to see you and see that you were trying, even if it was in the smallest way.

A quick spritz of perfume and one glance in the mirror to frown at your face later you’re stepping into your nice yet practical shoes, grabbing your bookbag and phone, and heading out the door.

It’s not raining, but the sky is heavy with clouds. You have an emergency poncho in your bookbag just in case, still in its original packaging because you’d rather arrive home soaked than wear it, but luckily the forecast says the rain will hold off until your classes are over.

Your thoughts kept your mind occupied as you walked through the city, so much so that soon you looked up and saw you were at the same building you’d had Abnormal Psychology in last semester.

You climbed up the steps into the familiar building, sighing as you pushed open the door into the entry-stairwell. With a glance down at your phone, you saw that you were still thirty-five minutes early. You decide to spend the extra time climbing the multiple flights of stairs to the fourth floor. It’ll be good for you. Better for you to be moving than restlessly sitting in an empty classroom with nothing to do.

But climbing up the stairs only took a few minutes, even with you deliberately slowing yourself down. Soon enough, you were propping the door open and flicking on the lights of the empty classroom. Of course, you’re the first one in the classroom. With what you knew about Dr. Crane, he wouldn’t arrive until at least five minutes before the class began but you can never bring yourself to be so painstakingly punctual. Being early is much easier than being on time.

You pulled a desk from the front row and placed it perpendicularly to the podium against the wall, that way you were still able to observe the class and the lecture, while also differentiating yourself enough from the others that the students knew you were the assistant. You shrug your backpack into the chair, taking a moment to get your desk ready for class. Your notebook, some pens, the stack of syllabi Dr. Crane had asked you to bring were resting neatly on the desk.

You wouldn’t be able to set up the powerpoint for Dr. Crane, not having the access password for the projection system or the presentation itself. Maybe you could talk with him about getting that later, your strong desire to prove yourself the best TA ever leaving you eager to pile on more responsibilities to your workload.

Finally, once it seemed like you had been waiting an eternity in an empty classroom (but it was at most fifteen minutes), the first student wandered in. Oh god. Were you supposed to talk to them? What exactly was your relationship supposed to be with them- were you closer to an elevated student or to a miniature professor? What the hell was your job, again? Why didn’t you write this down somewhere you’d see it today?

The rest of the twenty-five students trailed in throughout your entire freakout, which only ended when Dr. Crane himself strode into the room, predictably five minutes before the start time.

He walked like somebody who had to learn how to be confident at some point in their life, like someone who wasn’t born sure-footed or with perfect posture. Which was honestly more intimidating than someone who had been confident since they learned to walk, because that meant he knew what it was like at the bottom of the food chain.

And you could tell from the way he carried himself now that he would never allow anyone to ever bring him back down to that level.

You watched him as he made his way toward you, the tiniest quirk of his lip betraying that he was pleased to see you. You quietly reveled in his pleasure, warmth curling in your stomach as you waited for him to approach you.

“Please hand out the syllabi.” He said, his voice quiet. Clearly only meant for you. You nodded, practically falling out of your chair as you scrambled to do what he requested as quickly as possible. The last time you spoke with him in person was that disastrous meeting at the cafe. After that, you’d only sent a few emails back and forth over the break to clarify small details and for him to send you the syllabus and lecture notes. The emails themselves were professional and distant, though you’re always relieved that he isn’t the type of professor to send you emails with the “Sent from my iPhone” tag still at the bottom.

Jonathan Crane took himself seriously. He expected others to do the same.

You passed the syllabus out, doing your best to avoid any eye contact with the students. You had made the decision while you waited for everyone to show up that you weren’t here to develop a relationship with them and you certainly didn’t mind coming off as cold if it helped to achieve this. Taking a metaphorical leaf out of Dr. Crane’s book.

But you’re not sure as you passed the papers out if you came off as cold and someone who should be respected or awkward and someone who’s completely out of her depth.

When you returned back to your seat, Dr. Crane had already pulled up the presentation for the day. Having been in a few classes with him before, you knew that he did the customary Syllabus Day, if just because he knew 75% of students weren’t prepared for actual learning on the first day. As if to prove that point, only three of the students even had out a notebook and pen, and only a few more were actually looking through the syllabus.

However, Dr. Crane giving students a lax first day didn’t mean he was also planning on easing the class into the course material. When you’d looked over the syllabus before class, you’d noted that there was a short writing assignment due on Wednesday already. And a book discussion on Monday (the book itself being 300 pages long and currently sitting on your couch).

As he started the class, you split your attention between watching him work and observing the class. And, of course, scribbling notes in the margins of your already overcrowded syllabus.

When you looked over the class, you tried to guess who would drop out when they got home that night. Which students thought this would be just an easy-A type of class (a class that would spend every class talking about a different phobia, or maybe just glorified therapy) and not the overly in-depth look on the function that fear and anxiety held throughout history and in the modern world. This was, you knew, Dr. Crane’s pet subject, the area of study he truly cared about. And hearing him talk about it, even just about the syllabus, confirmed this.

Where he was certainly interested during your Abnormal Psychology class last semester (less so in your Intro to Psych class that he must have somehow been roped into teaching), here he was passionate and more animated than you think you had ever seen him when teaching. Which wasn’t much, but it was still fascinating to watch. You were so used to his stoicism that seeing him in his element was… enthralling. Captivating.

You could watch him do this for days, no food or water needed to sustain you.

“If you looked carefully at your syllabus,” you could tell the class knew he was wrapping up by the way one or two of them have already zipped up their bags, waiting for the moment in every lecture where it's clear you’re dismissed, “you’ll see that there is a short writing assignment due on Wednesday. It’ll be graded by my TA-” He gestured over to you and your head snapped from where you were glaring at one of the students who had already put his stuff away to stare at Dr. Crane as he introduced you to the class, “-and don’t think she’ll go easy on you. She knows my standards.”

Hesitantly, you waved to the class, unsure of what else you’re supposed to do now that everyone was staring at you.

“You can find more information about the assignment in the syllabus, but if you have any questions email her. She’s… fully capable.”

Fuck. How the hell were you supposed to react to that?

“Alright. You’re dismissed.” He turned away from the class, who seemed to take a moment to realize they’d been released. With their eyes finally off of you as they pack up, you take a moment to let go of the breath you’d been holding since he’d acknowledged you in front of the class.

You watched them all leave, only one girl coming up to introduce herself to Dr. Crane. You pretended to look through your syllabus as he gave her a polite smile and not much else, resisting the urge to smile to yourself.

He never did that to you, not that you could remember. Not that you were the type to go introduce yourself to your professors, but even when you did stick behind to talk to him he seemed interested in what you were saying. No polite smiles (but no genuine ones, either) just his magnetized eye contact and conversation that said I’m listening to you.

She turned and left the classroom, not sparing you a second glance. The second the door closed you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of your mouth.

“That was weird, right?”

“How so?” That same ghost of a smile was gracing his lips, a fragment of mirth in his expression. “She’s a freshman, probably heard somewhere that it’s good to introduce yourself to your professors on the first day.”

“I think those pieces of advice also include the TA.” You began putting your things away. “I didn’t hallucinate you saying I was grading that assignment, right?”

“Are you prone to hallucinations?” His voice was closer now and you startled, looking up to see him standing only a few feet away. He had moved so quietly, a cat stalking towards its prey.

“...Not at all.” You whispered, ignoring that you were lying a little. That you were deliberately excluding the few times you had seen the Riddler standing in a crowd only for him to (obviously) not be there. That was something you could never admit to anyone, especially not to Dr. Crane.

For a moment, he looked like he was debating what to say. Then it was gone, and he backed away from you again.

“Thank you, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

But as you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to say something else.

*** Tuesday was one of the few days in your week where you had absolutely no interactions with Dr. Crane. No classes, no office hours, no meetings. It was a weird realization to figure out that in your mind you viewed it as a cheat day, a day where your work didn’t matter even though your classes were all for your actual degree.

Your phone started buzzing in your pocket as you were walking back home from your class on the History of Intelligence and Surveillance and you had to fumble with your bag and the books you still had in your hands to pull it out.

You couldn’t help the groan that escaped your mouth when you saw the caller identified as Mom (heart emoji).

“Fucking hell.” You murmured before you swiped to answer the call. “Hey mom!” Your voice sounded so fake, too cheerful in your own ears. You wonder if she can see through it as easily as you can.

“Hey, I was just calling to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine, you know how it is.” You stopped to shove your books in your bag, throwing it back on before beginning to walk again. You winced when you realized how she would take that answer, how she always took any response to that inquiry.

“Are you still seeing Dr. Hill?”

“I’ve already told you, no.” You braced yourself, preparing yourself for whatever good-natured advice she was about to give. It was the well-meaning comments that hurt the most. The comments that made your heart ache from how much she cared about you but how little she actually understood.

“You really should see him still. Especially with what you went through last year-”

“I had anxiety before that happened.” You interrupted, so tired of explaining this exact same thing to her, to your therapist, to everyone who knew anything about the state of your mental health. “Plenty of people were there that night, I’m not the only one.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were affected. I know how you are.” She fell silent and you couldn’t think of any response. Because yeah, you were affected by being a witness to a terrorist attack. You were affected by the knowledge that the man who claimed to want to clean Gotham had intended for you- and everyone in Gotham Square Garden that night- to die.

It would be a miracle if you hadn’t come out of that night unaffected.

“How’s dad?” Not your smoothest transition. But your conversations with your mom were always filled with them.

“He misses you.”

“I miss you guys too.” You were being genuine there. You knew what your response would lead to, yet you said it anyway because it was correct- it was the honest thing to say.

“Come back. I don’t know why you insist on staying in that godforsaken city.”

Honestly, you didn’t know either. You had been born in the city, had lived there until you were twelve before your parents had enough of the city and took you away, moving two hours away to a rural suburb. Quiet enough to be quaint, big enough to not feel abandoned. But somehow, for some reason, you had been called back to the city. It had a siren song, drawing anyone near closer and closer until they were trapped, unable to leave.

Like it or not, Gotham was your home.

“I’m not leaving, mom. But, um, my classes are going well!” Another clunky transition, but it seemed to work if her deep sigh was anything to go by. She had given up on trying to convince you to move home (for now). Besides, it was good to remind her that you were in the city for a good reason (for now). “TA-ing is interesting. A different experience, it’ll look good on my resume.”

“What was the class, again?” You heard her pour raw noodles into boiling water, the hiss of steam rising toward her phone’s microphone.

“It’s a special topics class. On the psychology of fear.”

“Psychology? Aren’t you a history maj- did you change your major and not tell us?” The sound of a spoon being put down quickly. She sounded hurt, and you know it's not because she thinks you changed your major. It’s the idea that you hypothetically wouldn’t have told her that makes her voice go soft and you can imagine the way her eyebrows must crinkle towards each other as she wonders what happened to her daughter, where did she go?

As much as you may dislike these conversations with her, you didn’t want to put her through that, not after everything else she’s been through with you living in Gotham. Not after everything she’s been through in the past year alone.

“No! No, I’m still studying history but I’ve added psych as a minor so… it’s all figured out.” You trailed off, not sure what you had meant to say there at the end, wondering what she really thought about it all. What would she tell your dad when you hung up, if she suspected something weird was going on. (Was something weird going on between you and Dr. Crane? Or were you just paranoid and horny and craving that all consuming intimacy that you hadn’t felt in a very long time if ever?) “Um, I’m almost back at my apartment so I’m gonna hang up now, if that’s alright.”

“Oh. Okay. We love you.” You could hear the hidden plea in her words. Come back home.

“I love you, too.”

Your phone went silent. You looked down at the terminated call screen before it faded back to your normal lock screen picture, frowning before putting your phone back in your pocket. You weren’t actually close to your apartment at all, but you’d grown tired of the conversation. It was always the same one.

Before last year, they’d only bring your coming home up every few conversations. But it seemed like every single conversation’s true meaning now was to convince you to return to them, to leave Gotham. That, and going back to therapy.

Therapy that you had attended, originally. But your therapist never seemed to understand what you meant when you spoke or that your problems didn’t start after the Riddler did his whole ‘attempting-to-destroy-Gotham’ thing, it just didn’t help. But you couldn’t articulate the things you wanted to to him and then he tried to give you little coping strategies that seemed to work fine for everyone else but never for you. So you stopped scheduling appointments, instead overloading your course load with psychology classes that you didn’t need for your degree. (But hey, now you had a psych minor.) Maybe if you took enough of them you could figure out what was off in your brain and fix it yourself.

It was wishful thinking but it was the best you could do. At least it made you feel like you were doing something other than practice breathing exercises.

The rest of your walk home was bitter, and not just because of the cold nipping at your nose and fingers.

The next day, the second day of Dr. Crane’s class, was the first real day of the semester that wasn’t just about course expectations. You got to the classroom at the same time as Monday, and there were the same amount of students in the classroom as there were on the first day (zero).

You pulled out your desk and threw your bag down, unzipping and pulling out your notebook and pen. You flipped to where you’d tucked the syllabus, looking over the part where Dr. Crane had written about the writing assignment. That was something you hadn’t read very carefully the first few times you’d gone over the syllabus, having not cared too much about it since you yourself wouldn’t be doing it. But now that you were going to be collecting it to grade, you wanted to know the exact parameters he had set up for the assignment.

…using the reading, analyze a moment in your life where you exhibited a fear response. Be thorough and descriptive when writing. This is an assignment to have you understand basic fear responses in addition to introducing you to how the writing assignments in this class will be assessed. Minimum 350 words. 5%

And even though you didn’t have to submit your own writing, you still thought about what you would have written. What else were you going to do while waiting for students to arrive?

The most obvious example, the one that comes to your mind first is, of course, the one that you wouldn’t use in a school assignment. The one that you would rather die than to write about to be assessed for a mere 5% of your final grade.

But you have plenty of other moments where you’ve been afraid. After all, you live in one of the most dangerous cities in the country. Everyone has felt fear here, even if they live a relatively safe life. Hell, you could just write about when you’d been mugged (and conveniently leave out who saved the day because the idea of writing that down was also a bit humiliating; it was so unrealistic even though it happened).

You’re distracted from your thoughts by the sound of someone sitting down, the telltale sound of a chair scratching against the tiled floor and a bag softly hitting the floor reaching you. You looked up from the syllabus, noting that the girl who arrived first was the same girl who stayed behind to introduce herself to Dr. Crane the class before.

You stared at her for a moment before clearing your throat quietly before taking the leap and breaking the silence.

“Hey, you can bring me your writing assignment.” Her head snapped up to look at you, her eyes wide, a flush creeping up her cheeks. You immediately felt guilty, both about scaring her just then and what you’d said about her last class. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Hey, she could’ve written her paper on that just then if it wasn’t due already.

“It’s alright.” She slipped out of her desk, a single printed paper in her hands. You took it with a smile, which only fell when she turned to go back to her seat and you looked down at the paper, doing your best not to start reading.

It hit you then that you were going to be reading these people’s personal experiences, some of which might be traumatic because not everyone has your aversion to sharing the bloody details of their past for a school assignment.

You repeated this interaction with every student who entered the classroom, your discomfort growing each time you told one of them to give you their assignment before adding it to the tiny pile.

Just like Monday, Dr. Crane entered five minutes before class started, striding through the rows of desks to get to the front. He looked over at you, eyes flickering down to the pile of papers you’d collected. He turned to the class, gesturing to you.

“If you haven’t, please hand in your assign-”

“I got them all, already.” You wouldn’t normally interrupt him but you were proud of yourself for managing to do something before he asked it of you. It was a small thing but it felt good.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips parted slightly, before turning back to the class. “Never mind, then.”

With that, he set up the presentation and began class.

part II

[holy--milk]

tagged by @thatswhatsushesaid (thanks! <3)

1. why did you choose your url?

it was ages ago, i honestly don't remember at this point... i just think it's neat?

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them.

none that you could connect to me.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

definitely since high school, possibly since middle school? it was still kinda popular back then.

4. do you have a queue tag?

i don't do queues, i reblog 100 posts at once then disappear for a week.

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

this particular one? to get all nice and cozy with the MXTX fandom, of course.

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

i found a collection of reaction pics in a ZZJ fan group and was like "haha this one's funny". don't ask me to explain it tho.

7. why did you choose your header?

see above.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

this one. i still think it's kinda funny.

9. how many mutuals do you have?

at least two.

10. how many followers do you have?

at least two.

11. how many people do you follow?

definitely more than two.

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

all my posts are shitpost.

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

whenever i get bored at my office job (not to be confused with my other work-from-home job), which is. a lot.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

why would i? my fandoms are famously chill and peaceful.

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

i don't get those on my dash.

16. do you like tag games?

yes 👉👈

17. do you like ask games?

yep 👉👈

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

every single one of them.

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

i wish, but alas. it's physically impossible for me to get crushes.

20. what is the last song you listened to?

no regrets by oblivion dust, which is coincidentally THE shen jiu song to me <3

21. what are you currently watching?

"sell your haunted house" (daebakbudongsan), a korean drama about an exorcist/real estate broker who does exorcism on haunted houses and then sells them for a commission. as one does.

idk, i was sitting down to relax with a bottle of beer and some ribs and it popped up in the list of shows i've bookmarked? and i was like, why not.

22. sweet/savoury/spicy?

sweet and spicy. or as i call it. swicy.

23. what is your current relationship status?

there's a girl i've been trying to go on an irl date with for. like two months now. don't get me wrong, she wants to go on a date with me too, it's just that we're both working women who can barely find the time to meet up in our schedules. and when we do, something goes wrong :(

24. what is your current obsession?

qijiu. but JGY and his two men will forever have their place in my silly little heart <3

25. what are nine albums/songs you've been listening to lately?

i use like. 4 separate apps to listen to music, and that's just on my phone. and none of them track my listening history lmao. but i can try and pull nine random things (in no particular order) from my likes:

electra heart (the album) by marina (and the diamonds). what can i say? it slaps.

黑白#K (the album) by liu haikuan. but tbh i haven't really been following him for a while. i think he's had a few singles since then? idk.

les filles désir by vendredi sur mer. wait i should actually listen to her more often. she has some absolute bangers.

opera (and some other songs) by super junior. i'm revisiting my k-pop phase, okay???

фейерверк by электрофрез. because of that one TGCF animatic.

turbulence (the album) by monoral. idk, a lot of their songs actually fit qijiu rather well? which is my main criterion when choosing music to listen to anyway.

eyes closed by the narrative. you guys, this song has been through at least three different ships from three different fandoms at this point.

the CQL soundtrack. what can i say? [1] for all that CQL is a bit messy and has funny CGI, at least it has a splendind soundtrack.

the LOTR soundtrack. i mean. do i even have to say anything? that's a classic.

tagging: @crithir @miaoqing @jin-zixun and whoever wants to participate.