#every other one seems to be going at least one year back

[isaspsp]

I think my parents did pretty similar things. I'm feeling sensitive right now so, story sharing time.

I did misbehave every now and then, as all kids do. I don't remember this incident, but my mom does. I was doing whatever naughty thing, and she hit me to make me stop and discipline me. I stopped, started crying, and went away. My mom never hit me after that. She says it's one of her biggest regrets.

I remember when we got our big TV. I was maybe 8-9 and we had been at the store all day. I wasn't particularly interested in picking out a TV cus that seemed like adult business, and children have no right to poke their nose of that. But then, my dad crouches next to me, points to the final two tvs they were deciding between, and asked me which one I thought was best. And I do remember asking, "Why are you asking me this? I am a child." He laughed and said something among the lines of, "Children are always honest." And that gave me all the confidence and reassurance to choose what would be our TV for the next 10+ years.

They took the effort to see my side aswell. I grew up with my cousins. We were 6 kids in total, and with two of them being older, we 4 youngsters played together a lot. Of these four, the oldest used to bully me a lot (I bit him really hard once as revenge, but that is another story) and I had two younger cousins, the youngest of which, was the one I saw most often. He would come with us to trips and such. But he was the younger child, so he had preferences over me. If I had anything he wanted, I HAD to share. If he wanted to sit where I was, I had to move, lest he makes a fuss. But, if he had something that I wanted? He was under no obligation to share. It was Easter time, I was about 13 (?), and we had gotten ourselves fancy chocolate eggs. My aunt had gone along with us to shop. I'd done my research at the site of the store we were going to, so I knew exactly what I wanted. My aunt didn't know what to get my cousin, so she followed my lead and got him the same two eggs. My aunt used to be paid to clean our house once in a while and just so happened that that week my little cousin had come along. I was going to travel that weekend, and my eggs would be left behind, I'd only have them when we came back. So, having been thinking and fantasizing about the chocolate eggs for weeks, I sneaked around, opened one of the boxes, grabbed a piece, ate some, and put the rest in the refrigerator My aunt saw me do this. Later, my parents confronted me about it; my aunt had told them what happened, that I tried to hide just so I wouldn't have to share. I started crying about how if I didn't sneak around I would've had to share with my cousin, who had the exact same egg at his home, who wouldn't have to wait to come back from a trip, and that I would never get the same kindness back, the piece he would've taken from me, the egg that I so researched to get, that I beheaved and did well in school to get, I would have to give away, even if it was a small piece, and tgat, even if I asked nicely, my cousin wouldve said no, and nothing would be done anout it. And the damn was broken, so I mentioned also all the other times I had to give in because I was older, he was younger and I was bigger and could hurt him more. They looked at each other... and agreed with me. I was forced to share less after that. I still shared, of course, but now... I wasn't forced as much. (At least by my parents, we couldn't control everyone or course u_u)

I genuinely remember very VERY few times of my parents taking away my stuff or banning m3 from activities. If I remember at all, because all I have are "vague feelings" that it happened. And honestly, I think I turned out better for it.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[obsessedwithceleste]

You Can Say You Love Me Now

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: A little fake dating trope, just in time for Valentine's day

word count: 3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

It was the perfect plan really. Or it had seemed like it at the time. When fueled by frustration, love, and desperation, what could go wrong? Theo had loved you for as long as he could remember and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. To himself at least. But to you, well, that was a bit more challenging.

Coming from a pure blood family, a sacred 28 family no less, Theodore’s fate had been sealed long before he was even born. Destined to marry another rich, pure blood heiress, have children, and secure the Nott legacy another generation. All ridiculous nonsense if you asked Theodore. What was the point of tradition anyway? Pretty much everyone who cared was already dead, so what did it matter?

Unfortunately for Theo, his father was not dead and had been trying to find a suitable match for what felt like years at this point. Names of witches that Theo couldn’t even match a face to had been floated by, but Theo had spoiled each and every potential match and his father had been growing increasingly more agitated by the day.

That’s when it had struck him. Kill two birds with one stone. Get his father off his back and gain the perfect opportunity to win over the witch of his dreams. Was it a bit short sighted? Sure. But he wasn’t left with many options at this point and this was as good a plan as any.

“Please principessa, you know what my father’s like. And it would only be a few months.” Theo begged, following close behind you as you make your way through the labyrinth that is the Hogwarts library.

“I am not going to pretend to date you for a few months Theodore. Or at all. That’s actually insane. Besides, no one would believe it anyway. We’ve known each other for how long? No one is going to buy the idea of us just now deciding to go out. Especially not your father. Do you know how long my mother has been trying to set us up?” you sigh, plucking another book off the shelf.

You had known Theodore practically your whole life. The two of you had been best friends since before you could walk. Your earliest memories involved waddling around the gardens of his family’s manor as your mothers watched on in thrilled bliss. There was simply no way the two of you would be fooling anyone.

“Well that’s just it isn’t it? Father has been hounding me to court you for ages, he’ll be too relieved to care,” Theo replies, an air of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, And what do you suppose we'd tell them hmm?" You ask.

"Don't know. We wanted it to happen naturally or some other sappy story. They'll eat it up."

You give your friend a pointed look. This was not the first time he had presented you with a half-baked plan that was certain to go wrong at some point.

“You’re being so ridiculous right now Theodore, this easily makes it on the list of your top ten stupidest ideas.”

“You keep a list?”

“It’s alphabetized.”

Theo has the nerve to look offended.

“Please principessa? I know your family has been on you too. This will buy us both a little time at least,” Theo protests. "Just think, we tell them over winter break, string it along awhile, and then after we've gone our seperate ways we're just too broken hearted to even consider any other possibilities for the future."

In all fairness, the boy was right. Your family had been bothering you for months now, asking if you’d found a special someone. You'd known when Theodore's father began ramping up the pressure for him to find a match that your family wouldn't be far behind, but it was honestly starting to get to be a bit ridiculous. And exhausting.

"It's not even completely incomprehensible. We've been mistaken as a couple before." Theo continues to press.

You glare at your friend, eyes rolling at the mere memory.

six months prior

It had been another one of your mother's usual, stuffy garden parties. The sun had been beating down on you all morning and all you really wanted to do was throw your blasted shoes across the lawn. Who thought it was a sensible idea to be out on the garden's cobblestone paths in scorching heat for hours at a time? This was not your idea of a good time.

"Principessa," Theodore greeted, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

"Don't even start, Theodore," you grumbled, leaning into the boy. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and if my mother tries to make me join one more conversation about the Ministry or some such I'll set the whole garden on fire."

Theodore just laughed, pulled you closer.

"C'mon love. We can sneak off to the lake I reckon. Berkshire just arrived so the mums will all be too busy throwing him at the Greengrass sisters to notice."

Had you felt a bit bad leaving Enzo to the wolves? Sure. But still, you had let Theodore lead you down the path to the lake, collapsing onto the lawn sofa that was perched almost picturesquely on the patio overlooking the glassy water.

You had closed your eyes, feeling yourself relax into Theodore as his fingers combed methodically through your hair. You didn't know how long the both of you had been sitting there simply basking in each other's company when an excited gasp jolted you from your peaceful bliss.

"Oh! Oh my!" the shrill voice of one of your mother's airheaded socialites tittered. "I wasn't aware the both of you were courting! Oh your parents must be so pleased- what with your families being so close and all-"

"We're not courting." You interjected, holding your hand up to stop the women mid sentence.

She had stuttered awkwardly after that before finally shuffling off. Had you been a bit harsh? Perhaps. But you simply hadn't been in any sort of mood to deal with the notion of dating your best friend.

Theodore hadn't said a word, but you could feel him recoil ever so slightly. Not enough for anyone to notice if it hadn't been you. And things were a bit, strained, for the following days. If you could even call it that. And then things went back to normal as if nothing had happened.

You would have forgotten the whole thing, brushed it under the rug as something to laugh about in a few years, if it hadn't left a nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You had never even allowed yourself to think that you could ever end up with your friend. Sure, years ago your mothers had shared the fantasy of the both of you ending up together one day. You were sure your mother was still convinced it might happen. But no. He would be auctioned off to the family of some wealthy heiress and you would be matched with some boy your parents deemed suitable. It was just how things worked.

Your feared your father was wearing going to wear through the carpet at any moment with the way he was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Your mother sat twiddling her fingers on the sofa across from you, watching your father in exasperation.

Theodore was quite pleased with himself. To be completely honest he really didn't think he'd get this far. But sitting smugly on the sofa of his father's office, arm wrapped securely around you as he faced not only his own father, but your parents as well, he felt on top of the world.

"Well? Is it true? Are you?" your mother asks, finally breaking the silence as she had apparently given up on your father being the first to speak.

Your father had stormed off to Mr. Nott's office before you could even let out a breath, and by the time you and Theodore had finally slunk into the room, your mother was already doing a piss poor job of hiding her excitement.

It had always been a dream of hers for the both of you to end up together one day. It was hardly a kept secret. Maybe Theodore had been right and their blind excitement would stop them from asking too many questions because this was truly horrific.

"Of course it's true! It better be! The way I found him all over y/n," your father interrupts.

Mr. Nott just gazes on, eyes seemingly boring into your soul as Theodore meets his father's stare with cool, nonchalance. The smug bastard.

"Oh it's all we ever hoped for!" Your mother gushes, eyes falling onto the portrait hanging on the wall of the late Mrs. Nott.

"Well. That settles it then. They'll begin courting. Or whatever it is they call it these days," Mr. Nott says finally. "But there will be no more of this, nonsense. Not under my roof."

a few minutes earlier

"After further reassessment, this is the stupidest idea you've ever had," you hiss. Glaring at the brunette boy in front of you.

You were currently perched on one of the many desks lining the library walls of Nott Manor. Theodore was pressed up against the side, warm hands on your thighs holding you securely in place and sending shivers down your spine.

"Hush amore. How else will they be convinced we've been hiding a relationship, hmm?" He asks, slowly guiding one of your arms up to wrap around his neck.

"Oh I don't know. Suppose we just tell them? Ever think of that?"

"Yeah, and how would that go? Hey mum, I've been secretly seeing the son of your dead best friend who you've been trying to set me up with for ages. This is definitely not a distraction. Please believe us." Theo scoffs.

"I'm being serious," you respond, giving the boy a light whack on the shoulder. "When I agreed to the whole 'pretend to go out' bit, this is not what I had in mind."

"We've kissed before," Theo drawls, all nonchalance.

"You know that's not the same Theodore."

Before Theodore is able to respond, likely with another of his dry quips that you had grown to adore (not that you'd ever admit it), the door of the library swings open, footsteps echoing on the marble floors.

You don't even get the chance to fully take in the reality of the situation before Theodore's lips are on yours. It's slow and soft and warm as you feel his thumb softly brushing circles on your inner thigh. A soft gasp escapes you as you melt into the boy.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your father's cutting voice calls out, breaking you from your trance.

You jolt away from Theo, eyes snapping up to meet your father's, face flushed with embarrassment. Theo on the other hand looked quite self-satisfied. Oh you were going to kill him later.

"Both of you. Into the office. Now." Your father snaps out, looking like he was wishing he could obliviate himself in that moment.

"How long are we going to keep this going?" you ask, eyes not quite meeting Theo's as you lean your head against him. It was another warm night in which you and Theodore had managed to sneak up to the astronomy tower.

Your visits to the astronomy tower had started back in fourth year. It seemed like forever ago. And now you looked forward to nothing as much as nights spent with Theodore gazing up at the sky. The nights were different now though, you supposed.

It had been what? Five months now? You were almost certain it was five months, but those months seemed to have flown by in bliss. You hadn't realized how easy it would be. You and Theodore seemed to have been carefully tip toeing the line between friendship and more for years. You simply hadn't put the pieces together. It had been a bit clunky at first sure. Awkward maybe. But this was perfect. Standing in Theodore's arms as the stars above you seemed to go on forever. Perfect.

three-ish months prior

"Shut up. Shut. Up. You're joking," Daphne squeals, eyes locking onto your fingers which are tightly interlocked with Theo's as you enter your dorm room.

Something you seemed to have overlooked when agreeing to Theodore's dating scheme, was the fact that an integral part of the plan involved selling the lie to your closest friends.

It was much more difficult than you had anticipated.

You had spent the first initial month spending all your free time with Theodore, never really leaving his side. Apparently this didn't seem out of the ordinary. The flowers sent to your dorm didn't elicit a single reaction from your roommate, nor did Theodore's constant pet names. No, what really did it apparently, was the hand holding. Scandalous.

Your friends never failed to miss an opportunity to humble you.

"Took them long enough. Don't know why you're so shocked Daph," Mattheo replies dryly from his spot on the floor, papers scattered around him. He doesn’t even bother to look up.

"Well duh. We all knew they'd end up together eventually. Just didn't think they'd figure it out while we were still in school." Daph responds matter of factly. “Ugh. I owe Pansy 25 galleons now.” She groans, a frown appearing on her face.

"We can hear you, you know," Theo drawls, raising an eyebrow.

"Well it isn't as if the two of you have been subtle about it. Always holed up together in the library for hours at a time doing gods knows what."

"We study together," you reply, feeling the need to defend yourself.

"You’ve also attend every single ball together since, ever," Mattheo adds.

"Better that then go with whatever tossers our parents dig up."

"I've found the both of you asleep in Theodore's bed on more than one occasion."

"As friends."

"Right. You'd sleep together as friends, but drew the line at hand holding." Daphne says dryly. "You're both hopeless."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y/n, I damn near saw you hex Theo's hand off in fifth year when he tried to hold your hand, and even that wasn't solid proof that you two weren't already going out." Daphne snorts. "Hopeless."

"C'mon Daph, let's leave the love birds to it then," Mattheo says, gathering his papers. "Make good choices. Don't do anything I'd do," he calls as the two of them make a quick exit.

As soon as the door slams shut, you turn to look at Theo as if to ask 'what on Earth was that about?'

“They make fair points,” he says with a shrug, pulling you onto the bed with him.

"We weren't being obvious about anything Theodore. There was nothing there to begin with." You reply, allowing him to pull you onto his chest.

You knew there hadn't been anything there before, or at least you thought there wasn't, because this was all very new. Sure before you might've fallen asleep in the same bed after staying up until 3 am studying for your charms exam, but you'd certainly never seen Theodore look at you like this before. And you'd certainly never felt his hand creep under your shirt to rub soft circles across your rib cage. You'd definitely never felt your heart try to beat out of your chest like this. Or maybe you had.

"Is it really so absurd to think we've always been so close?" Theo asks, eyes very clearly focused on your lips. Not that you noticed of course.

"Maybe not," you reply, letting your head fall to rest on the boy's chest.

This was nice you thought to yourself as Theo's lips pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"How long do you want to keep going?" Theo asks after a moment.

"Don't know," you reply, feeling his eyes on you as you continue gazing out at the sky in front of you.

"Another month?" Theo asks carefully, pulling you ever closer.

You can feel your heart begin to race at the idea of it all ending so soon. You shake your head.

"You want to end it sooner?" Theo asks, voice wavering ever so slightly.

You shake your head again. You hear Theodore's sharp breath as he realizes your implication and you feel yourself growing increasingly more nervous as the silence stretches on.

You'd really, truly never allowed yourself to consider the idea of ending up with Theo. You knew that simply wasn't how the world worked. And frankly the idea of rejection couldn't even be a possibility. You couldn't allow yourself to lose your best friend. Or maybe you could. This was all his idea to begin with after all.

"What if we just kept going?" You ask finally, feeling the weight of the world lift off your shoulders.

Theo's arms tear away from you as he turns you to face him, hand holding your chin firmly in place, forcing your eyes to meet.

"Don't play with me like this, principessa," he says, voice all seriousness as his eyes scan your face, searching for anything that might suggest you're joking with him.

"I'm not."

And just like that, Theo's lips are on yours once more. They seemed to find themselves there a lot lately, melting your mind to absolute mush as he pulled you closer. You could feel your back, now pressed up against one of the marble pillars of the tower as Theo's lips moved slowly from your lips to your jawline, and carefully down the side of your neck.

"You can say you love me now," He whispers into your ear, his warm breath giving you chills as his hands continue to wander.

"I love you," you gasp out.

"Sorry, who?" he pushes, leaving little pecks across your jawline once more.

"Theo. I love you, Theodore," You say finally, just as Theo presses another kiss to your lips.

"And I love you, amore."

Did I start this well over a year ago? Yes I did, thank you for asking. Did I change the title three different times? Absolutely I did. Am I posting this before editing? Also yes. Cope.

[starlightkun]

savvy ❧ teaser

❧ teaser word count: 822 | full fic: 12.2k ❧ warnings: cursing, they go kinda skinny dipping at one point (wearing underwear) ❧ genre: fluff, a little suggestive, modern magical creatures au, fantasy au, college au if you squint, summer camp au, dryad jaemin, human reader, camp counselors jaemin & reader, same universe as strawberry sunday ❧ extra info: this work is set in the same universe as strawberry sunday but can be read as a standalone! there is no continuing plotline between fics in this universe, they simply take place in the same world/magic system and may have overlapping characters (neos may pop up in more than one work!) ❧ estimated release: friday, february 14, 2025, 6:00 p.m. eastern time

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ explore the strawberry sunday universe more here!

You knew you were getting closer to the river when you could hear running water, and the air around you started feeling less heavy and a lot fresher. The trail under your feet turned sandy as you finally emerged from the trees onto a shoreline by the river.

You immediately froze, though, not expecting to see somebody else at the riverside. It was a man pulling himself up out of the river onto a rocky formation. He was shirtless, his biceps, shoulders, and all other sorts of muscles flexing along with his motions. His eyes were closed as he shook his wet hair out, then pushed the damp locks back from his face with both of his hands. The sunlight made him look like he was glowing, every drop of water that ran down his body sparkling like a jewel, and you couldn’t make yourself look away.

He looked like he’d been sculpted by the gods. Which you supposed he had, or one in particular at least, you realized, as his eyes opened and settled on you as if he’d known you were there the whole time. They were the color of ferns, but shifted to a lighter mossy green under the dappling of the sunlight. Dryad. Son of Pan. Or so the legends go.

“Hi?” Despite his voice pitching up to make the greeting sound like a question, the wide, cocky smile on his face told you that he definitely knew that you’d been stood there ogling him for an embarrassing amount of time.

“Sorry!” You cringed at the sound of your own voice. “I didn’t realize there was anybody out here.”

The dryad started picking his way down the rocks towards you carefully, grabbing something off one of them as he went. A neon yellow shirt. When he finally dropped onto the ground a few feet in front of you, he gave the shirt a twist to wring out a few drops of water.

“I’m Jaemin,” he said, gripping the shirt even tighter and giving it another twist for good measure. You pretended like you didn’t notice the veins in his hands or the way his forearms tautened with the motion. He shook out the shirt to show you the logo on the front of it, a smiling evergreen tree that matched yours. “I’m also a counselor at Camp Pineleaf this year. We must’ve gone to different training sessions, huh? Anyway, I was walking the perimeter before the kids got here and I kind of—”

Jaemin stopped, a sheepish sort of look coming to his face as he ducked his head almost in embarrassment.

You looked around in confusion. “You what?”

“I fell in the river.”

“You fell in?” You stared at him. You couldn’t tell if he was messing with you or not. What kind of dryad—

“I know, what kind of dryad is falling in rivers?” He pulled the shirt on over his head, which you could now see he had cut the sleeves off of. “Aren’t we supposed to be connected to nature and all that? I still don’t know how it happened, one second I was just climbing the rocks and surveying the river, next thing I knew, I was in the river. Then you showed up.”

Clumsy dryad. That was a new one.

“I’m Y/N.” Introducing yourself was only fair since he’d already given you his name. “Seems like we’re head counselors of the Swallowtails this year, Jaemin.”

It was then that he seemed to notice the matching colors of your shirts, and his features lit up in recognition. “Hey, looks like it!”

You checked your watch. “We should be getting back, the kids are going to be arriving soon.”

“Right!”

“Besides, if I have to stay out here any longer, I’m going to pass out from heat exhaustion.” You groaned, pulling the front of your shirt off from where it had stuck to your skin, using it to fan yourself. “And there’s no way I’m dying out here and risking getting my ghost stuck in the middle of nowhere for forever instead of somewhere cool.”

Jaemin suddenly had a look of alarm on his face, and you looked around with an eyebrow raised.

“What? Something I said?”

“No, sorry, thought I heard something,” he shook his head. “It was just a vole. Lead the way.”

You hadn’t heard anything other than the usual forest sounds, but chalked it up to superior magic hearing, and started back on the trail to the main camp.

“So, why did you come out here, Y/N?”

“Same as you, walking the perimeter.”

“And… I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude, but what are you?”

You looked at him curiously. “Can’t you tell? I’m a human.”

He blinked as if shaken from a trance. Then he offered you another heart-stopping smile. “Right, of course. Sorry about that. Must’ve hit my head when I fell in the river.”

“Must’ve…”

⤷ anthology masterlist | blog masterlist

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[clairedaring]

brb. currently screaming at the DETAILS of gelboys ep 1

(SOURCE © @virtualtadpole)

text version under the cut for readers' accessibility

I'll leave the raving about Boss and his team's meticulous craftsmanship to u/ThoughtsAllDay and others, but man, there's so much detail packed in here, I had to take notes. Which wasn't easy while watching on iQiyi without VIP, as each time you inadvertently scroll back past an ad insertion point it forces you to sit through another minute of unskippable ads that just ended five seconds ago. Anyway, some thoughts:

The biggest question I had from the series reveal was whether it's going to be one of those works that could generate endless discussions of "Is this a BL?" And so far it sure looks like one of those works. This first episode is the sliciest a slice-of-life teen drama could conceivably be. Or maybe it just feels that way because it's so different, due to the fact that...

The entire series being shot on iPhone (though they just say "phone" because Apple isn't paying them) gives the whole thing such an indie guerrilla film vibe, which is interesting to say the least. The unrestrained depth of field, the sound design picking up on every little jingling of the charms and chains the boys have on their bags, result in this raw, artsy feel that is almost jarring compared to conventional production values.

The open environment alone sounds like a continuity nightmare, though not having paid much attention to the people and cars in the background, I didn't noticed anything egregious.

The opening toilet shot was... a choice.

The song Fourmod's mother plays in the beginning is เด็กมีปัญหา (Dek Mi Panha) by, of course, Four-Mod. It's one of the biggest early hits from the Kamikaze teen-oriented record label. Faye Fang Kaew is another of the label's first groups. You can tell their mother is a huge fan. (By the way, the iQiyi subtitles spelling Fourmod's name after his Instagram handle is really annoying. Hope they drop it soon.)

Fourmod said "this term" when asking to take the BTS, so it's probably the start of the second semester, i.e. November. Senanikhom Station opened in December 2019, while the entire northern extension opened in December 2020. Either Fourmod was referring to starting his P.6 and M.1 years after the station and line opened respectively, or the series is set in 2023.

I laughed at how they needed a disclaimer warning not to run up the escalators and to hold the handrail - clearly mandated by BTS the series sponsor. If you're wondering about the sponsorship, by the way, it probably just involved them making special arrangements for location access and not any cash - this was the case for the 2009 movie Bangkok Traffic (Love) Story, which revolved almost entirely around the BTS. Here, the lack of crowds during the morning rush hour points to most of the people probably being hired extras.

The BTS got plenty of indirect advertising in exchange, of course. Fourmod buying the monthly pass seemed almost forced at first, but was soon leveraged to explain why he didn't know how to tap out of the system, since he'd presumably only used single tickets before. (Like Thoughts said, the attention to detail is incredible, with things like these that you have to zoom in to even notice.)

The depictions of locations are so super specific to reality, almost as if this were a documentary. The school is fictional, of course, but it's slotted into the exact location of Watpathumwanaram School in real life, and everything around it, including the path of the students' commute, is real. Don't know why they'd take a tuk-tuk instead of walking 400 metres to Siam Square, though, as the traffic is totally impossible.

I have no idea how much creative liberty they're taking with the school's flexibility with body accessories, electronics, and transgender students. I'm sure the creators based it on what's possible at some actual schools nowadays, but I can't tell how realistic it is for the setting at all. Very much appreciate the variability in the lengths of the students' shorts as a reflection of their personality, though, as it's rarely seen on screen anymore.

I raised an eyebrow at Fourmod asking for extra MSG in his fruit dip. (The subtitles mistranslate it as "chili salt".) Didn't even know it was a thing - usually it's just sugar, salt, and chilli - but apparently recipes that also add MSG aren't uncommon.

I'm about curious about the passage of time. Their painted nails almost growing out suggests probably two months passing during each of the time jumps, but that would be almost the entire school term already.

It's funny to imagine how they got Yuedpao as a main sponsor. Their shop is actually opposite Kantima Salon, one wonders whether it's a coincidence or they found the location first, then got the sponsorship later.

The Kluay Kluay banana dessert shop was clearly included to keep older viewers connected - it's probably the only Siam Square location in the entire episode that's recognizable to someone who knew the place from the 2000s. Heck, the neighbourhood has changed so much recently, few of the scene locations would have looked like shown even five years ago.

Which brings me to my final point and main impression from the episode: Everything in it feels so deliberate in its depiction of today's youth culture. Which is of course what the creators set out to do. But the thing is, I (and probably most Millennial and older viewers) can't quite tell how accurate it is. I trust that the team did their research well, and on the whole it feels real enough, but the script's particular references, slang and vernacular might as well be a foreign language. It feels rather eerily uncanny how changed some things have become in the space of a generation, and yet how familiar some things remain.

[refreshingly-original]

Okay, new idea. (This got bigger then I thought it would)

After surviving the Road, Lilia takes on an apprentice reader, who already knows tarot.

She thinks to test her skill and has her do a reading for her.

Her cards are clearly very cheap, misprinted (think image is wonky or partially missing) and of cats.

She thinks they’re a joke, a knock off to be sold for Halloween and says as such.

Reader pays it no mind, fully aware of Lilia’s view on the worlds take on witches, and continues with the reading.

Lilia decides to gift her a new deck, and they’re gorgeous, certainly not misprinted, but every time she see reader doing a reading for herself, or even Teen or Alice when they drop in for a visit, readers using her cat cards.

Lilia thinks she understands, slightly, why she uses them when she starts noticing the stray cats turning up at the back door and following reader around when they go out.

It doesn’t help that reader always toddles off when she sees a cat and goes to pat it. Lilia has lost her apprentice many times because of it and had to track them down.

Eventually, during dinner one night, where reader has a pregnant stray sleeping on her lap, Lilia asks why she still uses the cards.

The cards were a gag gift from her best friend who gave them to her for her sixteenth birthday. She got the cat ones because cats seem to flock to reader like she’s their queen.

Reader says that her friend had crossed out cups on a card and replaced it to say ‘Queen of Cats’.

They were the last gift she’d gotten from her best friend before she was just gone. (Whether she moved for whatever reasons or died is up to you)

And that’s why she still uses them for readings for people she cares about. Cause they’re scuffed to hell and back, but they’re her most important belonging.

Lilia figures out that reader was in love with her best friend and lets it go after that.

But as time goes by, and readers gets closer with the coven and Lilia, she starts using the deck that Lilia gave her for readings for Alice and teen, sometimes even Jen, never Agatha though, and Lilia is glad to see that reader is moving on from the heartbreak, but still says nothing.

It’s not until a year or so has gone since she started using Lilia’s deck on the coven that Lilia sees her doing a reading for herself with the deck she gave her.

That night, she asks for a reading.

Lilia pulls The Lovers and that’s how she realises that she might be in love with the girl.

Reader on the other hand starts teasing her about having a special someone, not realising it’s her. She does so for days afterwards, mentioning it whenever Lilia’s gaze seems to linger a little too long on someone.

“Ohh is that them? Cute.”

“I will hit you.”

“No you won’t. You love me too much.”

“Insufferable girl.”

When they meet up with the coven for dinner night at Agatha’s, reader tells them.

By shouting it from the front door.

“Lilia has a crush on someone!”

Everyone joins in on the questioning and teasing, but Lilia doesn’t miss the look Agatha gives her before glancing at reader.

She knows she’s going to be cornered by the other witch at some point and does her best to not be alone to avoid that.

It doesn’t work.

Agatha convinces Teen to help her get her alone and Lilia falls for it because she has a soft spot for him.

“So-“

“Leave it Harkness.”

“You going to tell her?”

“I’m leaving.”

“I’m almost certain she feels the same for you.”

Lilia ignores it and rejoins the coven, but it lingers in the back of her mind.

A month later, Lilia does her own reading and curses up a storm when she pulls The Lovers again.

Reader peaks over her shoulder and laughs, wrapping her in a hug.

“Maybe you should just tell them.”

“I’m too old for this, baby.”

“Evidently not.”

“Ugh.”

That night, reader also pulls The Lovers and realises what’s happening. At least for her. She realise nothing about Lilia. Oblivious as she is.

Que her bailing to bunk on Alice’s couch that night because ‘how could she move on so fast’ from her first love.

Lilia doesn’t find reader in the morning and tries calling her but it goes ignored. It’s not until Alice rings her and tells her that she’s staying with her for a while that Lilia relaxes. Though she’s still confused about why she’s gone, so she looks around her room, only to spot the spread on the table and of course comes to the conclusion it’s because reader figured out she has feelings for her.

She kind of goes numb for that day, only really focusing on her emotions after she closes up the shop and kinds of breaks down a bit.

She doesn’t open the shop for the next few days, and only answers the phone because she thinks it might be reader.

It’s not. It’s Alice telling her that reader will be staying another night.

Then it’s Jen checking in, because Alice called her and told her that somethings wrong with Lilia.

But of course Alice helps reader through it, pointing out that it’s been years and that it’s okay to fall in love again. After about a week, Alice convinces her to go and talk with Lilia, even promising to be there with her for support.

Jen of course has no problem breaking in to Lilia’s home after a few days of Lilia just hanging up on her as soon as she realises it’s not Alice with an update on reader, to talk some sense into her.

It ends up with them drinking. Jen only has two, but Lilia ends up drunk, so Jen has to take care of her.

Jen doesn’t realise that she sleeps on the Murphy bed and puts her in readers little room. Jen sleeps on the sofa. Shes going to have words with Lilia about not having a better sofa in the morning.

The following morning is when Alice and reader turn up, surprised to see Jen scrunched up on the sofa and no Lilia.

Reader heads up to her room to put her things away, only to stop and stare at Lilia who is silently crying in her bed.

She drops her shit and just crawls in with Lila and holds her.

“Please be real.”

“It’s real, Lilia.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[jackdraw-spwrite]

Star Nursery

Words: 4660 Characters: Clockwork, Danny Warnings: None Also on AO3

Sometimes, the timeline needs a little nudge to get things going in the right direction. And sometimes, it needs more than one. At least, that's why Clockwork tells himself he's showing Daniel the stars.

---

The room was dark when Clockwork appeared. Around him, dark shapes were distinguishable only by a night light, by Clockwork's own glow, and by the window, blinds open to a snowy December night. Lit by the neon sign out front, the flakes drifted down outside like falling stars.

The soft silence of the snowstorm would have swaddled the room, if not for the muted rises and falls of voices one floor below. Though the sound was dampened, the cadence was that of an argument. Occasionally, snatches of it survived the smearing effect of the walls. A careful listener could probably discern the topic.

Clockwork didn't care.

He focused instead on the bundle in the crib. Daniel was tiny, his hair fluffy on his head. One hand was curled into a fist, impossibly small. 

He was sleeping soundly. 

Read the rest on AO3, or below the readmore:

There was a thump loud enough to rattle the walls. The argument fell silent.

Daniel had been sleeping soundly, at least. He shifted, grimaced, and prepared to scream at the interruption to his nap.

Before he could, Clockwork picked him up.

"Hello, Daniel," he murmured. He pulled Daniel to his chest, rocking him gently to soothe him.

After a moment, he added, "Daniel, I have something to show you."

Mistily, the baby’s eyes opened, focusing on Clockwork. Too young to know fear at a stranger's face, he reached clumsily for his hair.

Clockwork gave him his index finger instead. Daniel wrapped both his tiny hands around it. Eyes wide, he studied it a moment and then pulled it towards his mouth.

"Yes, I am fascinating, I know,” said Clockwork, as Daniel gnawed on his glove. “But you'll like this much better."

He held out a hand and a circle of blue swirled to life at his fingertips. He carried Daniel through the portal, and–

—

"Look," said Clockwork, and directed the child's vision.

Daniel's eyes grew wide, and he reached out a hand as if to grab at what he saw.

Above, below, and everywhere around them was the inky void of space studded with countless stars. In an immense cascade of light, a great strip of them split the sky in two.

Each and every star seemed to hold hints of a different color, a sincillating rainbow of red to blue. They varied in brightness and as the moments passed they seemed almost to dance among themselves.

No, they were dancing. In a slow waltz, the brightest points of light sped past the dimmer, stars exchanging places with one another in a dizzying spectacle: a mobile to put all others to shame.

Daniel stared, transfixed, and did not look away until sleep weighed his eyes closed.

—

"Daniel, I have a present for you," murmured Clockwork, nudging the two-year-old awake.

Blearily, he squinted at Clockwork. His serious expression lent him a gravity that was entirely undone by his chubby cheeks and the incredible cowlick rising from the back of his head. 

Clockwork didn't let his amusement show, instead letting Daniel wake at his own pace. He'd been showing up long enough and often enough that Daniel would recognize him.

After a moment, he was rewarded by Daniel widening his eyes and twisting to get a good look at their surroundings.

Already wide, his eyes grew even wider.

Beneath them, the rings of Saturn stretched like an immense road. The stars were cradling the pair of them, solid and steady.

And beside them loomed the immense bulk of Saturn itself, banded and pale and breathtaking, crowned by a circlet of glowing blue.

Danny squealed in delight, wiggling to be set down. Instead, Clockwork let go--

—

--and Danny giggled, hair floating free in a halo that glowed in the light of the binary suns behind him and for a moment, it was as though he had his own corona.

At Clockwork's back was a tiny, frigid planet coated in a filigree of white.

He smiled and reached out to catch Danny's hand.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Danny nodded.

—

Clockwork had shown Daniel many, many planets by now. The one below them was dark and small, but growing. Every few moments, impacts spiderwebbed out into tiny red lines that faded just as quickly.

The planet's star hung to the side, close enough that it resembled a coin instead of a point of light. 

"Daniel, do you know which planet this is?"

He shook his head. His hair twisted gently in the low gravity, like seagrass.

Clockwork smiled and said, "Watch."

At just the right moment, he pulled their progress through time from blistering speed to something far closer to real time and pointedly looked at a particular point in the stars around them.

Daniel followed suit.

It started as a pinprick of light just barely brighter than the backdrop. And in slow motion, the shadow of an asteroid grew from it. It grew from a pinprick to a coin, and grew again until it loomed enormous before them, and before the infant planet. So close, it was easy to see that it was rounded by the strength of its own gravity; a planetary mass in its own right.

And then it struck.

Even so early in the existence of this solar system, the gas surrounding the planet wasn't thick enough to carry sound. But the impact before them kindled to a blaze so bright it had a roar of its own.

Time for them may have been allowed, but it was still significantly faster than real time, so in the hours that followed, the cataclysm unfolded before them like a dancer’s skirts.

The planet deformed terribly, countless flakes of it crumbling away or rippling outwards, away from the impact site. Yet more were flung outwards in a cloud of cosmic debris. And then, finally, the paired masses began to pull apart again, taffy-like.

Slowly, the masses separated. The furiously flowing bridge between them cooled and broke apart, pieces beginning a slow fall back to the planet where they splashed back into the gaping wound of the impact. The planet’s new moon lingered nearby, just as disfigured. The glow from its scar was bright enough to wash away the stark shadows of space on its dark side, and the molten rock shimmered like an angry burn.

Slowly, they dimmed. First to orange, then red, then just a hint of it brushing the edge of the visible spectrum like a slumbering giant just out of sight.

Shadows returned. 

By the time Danny's eyes grew heavy with sleep again, the smaller of the two objects was round and gray in the light of the star.

He'd rested his head against Clockwork's shoulder as he watched, and now Clockwork bent his head to ask him, "Do you know now?"

Danny shook his head, looking up with sleepy eyes.

"It's Earth. Your home."

—

"This is what a nebula looks like from the inside."

Around them, the stars seemed almost to trail veils. Or, to decorate them like gems.

"They're also known as star nurseries."

"Star Nusr'y"

"That's right, Daniel," Clockwork said. He combed a hand through Daniel’s hair. "Isn't it pretty?"

One finger in his mouth, Daniel nodded fervently.

—

The moment they appeared through the portal, Clockwork spread an ectoplasmic construct beneath them before letting Daniel down. 

He swirled his cloak from his shoulders and spread it out before settling atop it in a coil. He patted the spot beside him and Daniel turned from where he was peering at the ground and half-floated, half-stumbled over. 

The gravity where they were was odd, partway between Earth's surface gravity and the absence of it. In it, Daniel was adorably clumsy.

Clockwork hid his amusement in his smile. Daniel was three – "And a haff," he'd insist, stubby fingers held up to emphasize the point – and very serious. He wouldn't take it well if he thought Clockwork was laughing at him. 

Clockwork offered his arm as an anchor as Daniel settled beside him, and pulled him close once he was seated. Daniel's little hand grabbed hold of Clockwork's tunic, and Clockwork felt a surge of fondness. He'd watched it grow from a hand that could barely grasp his finger, and yet like the rest of him it was still so very small. 

He spent a space of breaths savoring the contact.

"Well Daniel,” he said at last, “do you know where we are?" 

From the shelter of Clockwork's arm, Daniel looked up and shook his head. 

"Do you want a hint?" offered Clockwork. 

A nod.

Daniel wasn't in a particularly talkative mood yet. Clockwork had woken him only minutes before; he was still fuzzy from sleep.

And in other ways. His hair wasn't quite so unruly here as it was in zero gravity, but it still stuck up at odd angles. In places, it puffed out like the down of a baby bird.

"You should be able to recognize where we are," said Clockwork. "Not here specifically, but the colors and landscape should remind you of somewhere you've seen before." 

"'peficaly," muttered Daniel, and scrunched his face into a grave frown. 

Clockwork filed the sight away, then did the same with the heartache. He still had a little time. 

.

Daniel had decided he wanted another, more careful look at the landscape beneath them. He was smushing his face into the platform in his focus, and muttered softly to himself as he puzzled out where they were. 

Clockwork felt a smile wrinkle the corners of his eyes and kept quiet. The landscape beneath them was distant, he thought, but recog nizable. With only the dark of space to compare it with, the land was pale. It was craggy, too, and dotted with countless craters.

He wanted this night to be memorable for Daniel for more reasons than the conversation they would have, and Daniel had longed for this sight for as long as he'd been able to form sentences. 

He would piece together the clues.

Had pieced them together. He scrambled onto all fours and whipped his head to look at Clockwork. His eyes were huge and shining. 

"The Moon?!" 

After a teasing moment to let Daniel’s anticipation build, Clockwork nodded. 

Impossibly, Daniel’s eyes grew even larger. The emotion radiating off him built like a volcano until Clockwork could imagine it humming under his skin. 

The squeal of excitement that erupted would have been deafening if Clockwork hadn't anticipated it. Still, he was glad the volume cut significantly as Daniel slammed himself back down onto their platform and continued to yell his delight directly into it. Or tried to, at least. With the reduced gravity what he managed was more of a float. 

Clockwork chuckled and settled in to watch his little boy try to expel more excitement than he could physically contain. It would be a while before the excitement died down, and Clockwork intended to savor every moment. 

.

Clockwork stroked one hand through Daniel's fluff. With his other, he pointed to features on the moon's surface. They were overlooking the far side of the moon, and though Daniel had spent much time looking at maps of both sides, the low angle was contorting even landmarks from satellite images into something more earthly.

With each feature explained in terms he could understand, Daniel made appreciative little oohs and ahs. Even at three (and a half) his attention for all things space outstripped all other topics. Clockwork was grateful for it: each crater, peak, and exposed basalt plain meant another scrap of time like this.

…

He was putting off the conversation they needed to have.

He knew that.

It didn't make it easier to stop. 

Clockwork had the power to slow time, and to stop it. If anyone could, Clockwork was the ghost who could hold onto a moment forever. A ghost did not gain power like that without wanting it, without needing it as a human needed air.

Clockwork held a reputation as cool and reserved. As almost uncaring in his distance. As impersonal as a mountain river, and just as cold.

Clockwork was reserved. Clockwork was distant. He had to be, because he was also deeply, terribly, cruelly sentimental. He loved as a river ran: swiftly, deeply, ceaselessly. 

He loved Daniel.

He knew that soon they would part, and so soon was not happening.

Outside their little bubble, the world was frozen. 

But while Clockwork had gained his powers over time from sentimentality, he'd mastered them with discipline. He steeled his resolve. 

"Daniel," he began, "there is something I should tell you." 

Not want. He did not want this. Nor must. He could avoid this conversation. But for Daniel… 

For Daniel's sake, he would have it. 

Daniel looked up, floppy contentment draining from his limbs. 

"Cl’work?" he said, slurring the first half like he hadn't done since he’d mastered Clockwork’s name. His eyebrows furrowed as he pulled himself to his knees. 

Clockwork had planned this conversation. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he'd charted it, tracking the best paths through a multitude of futures. His sight had shown him how Daniel might or might not react with every spoken turn.

What it had not shown him was the grief like lead in his chest. 

He took one of Daniel's hands in his. It was so small. 

And yet. 

It felt like there was something stuck in his gears. But his ticking was regular. His pendulum’s sway was familiar. He was functioning.

And yet.

Had he been human, Clockwork would have wet his lips. He was tempted to do so anyway. Just a fraction more time…

He was deviating from his script.

“You’ve grown in these past few years,” he started. Saying so felt comical, with Daniel’s hand still so tiny in his own.

“I already knew that,” said Daniel, wrinkling his nose.

“Of course you did,” said Clockwork. “You’ve been there for all of it.” Was his voice thick? Could Daniel tell?

Footing lost, he opened his mouth to continue.

I’m leaving was too heavy to leave his lips. As was, We will have to say goodbye soon.

I love you felt feather-light on his tongue. He stayed it for other reasons. To say such to Daniel shortly before vanishing–he was cruel. He liked to pretend he was not that cruel.

“You’re growing up,” Clockwork said. It was not in the script.

“Oh,” said Daniel. His voice was small.

Even with such a small deviation, the timelines were starting to shift and sprout new branches. It caught Clockwork off guard. He found himself surrounded by a sensation of space, vast like their surroundings.

Adrift.

The possibilities here…

No. He needed to stay focused.

“‘r you gonna say,” Daniel’s tone shifted to mimicry, “A Fenton isn’t scareded of anything and. ‘m too smart not to start early or the other kids wouldn’t havva chance an’. It’s only acoupla hours anyway?”

The sentence had been too long for Daniel to manage at once, full of awkward pauses and trailing sounds as he lost his breath and found his words. But the point of it was clear, regardless.

“Your parents told you that,” Clockwork said. It wasn’t a question, but it would let Daniel follow the conversation.

Daniel nodded, looking down so his hair fell over his eyes.

Clockwork hummed. Daniel was three, nearing four. It would be some time into the school year before he turned four, so registering him for preschool was unusual. A more common choice at his age would be daycare, but with his parents’ rock-solid belief in Daniel’s intelligence…

Daniel was looking up through his hair at Clockwork.

His core ached.

The parenting books had said that children of preschool age would feel afraid of starting preschool for a number of reasons. They did not say what children of Daniel’s age would be afraid of, starting preschool.

“And you would like me to say something as well?”

A nod.

He pulled Daniel into a gentle hug, and ran a hand through Daniel’s hair. It was the same motion he’d long used as Daniel fell asleep watching the stars around them. It should be soothing.

Softly, he asked, “Can you tell me what you’re worried about?”

Daniel ducked his head and muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Jazzy’s got friends.”

This was not all Daniel would say. Clockwork waited.

Daniel had grabbed hold of Clockwork’s cloak. Now he twisted it in his hands. Contemplative. Fretful.

“What if,” he said. “What if.”

Clockwork tugged their hug a little bit tighter. “I see.”

And Daniel relaxed, head falling against the pane in Clockwork’s chest. He could feel it, warm and solid, hair feathering against the glass. It tickled, a bit.

“You’re worried you won’t make friends?”

Daniel nodded.

In the timelines he’d so meticulously navigated before bringing him here, Daniel had made them. Though the timelines were spiraling and blending around them now, Clockwork had little doubt that was still the case. For all his youth compared to his classmates, Daniel was a bright and friendly child.

For a moment, Clockwork considered telling Daniel that his fears were groundless. But. For all that this was an unexpected conversation, it was not an unforeseen one. Clockwork had expected to steer around it with Daniel none the worse for its lack. But he’d done his research. The paths through this conversation had been sparse at first: Clockwork could only consider paths one of the participants might take, and he hadn’t known to consider some options put forward in the parenting books.

He was the ghost of time, not parenting.

Do not minimize, the books had said. Do not dismiss. Acknowledge the fear. Saying that there is nothing to fear, that they will succeed may not alleviate their fear, only pile fear of disappointing you atop their fear of rejection.

They’d gone on to list other fears a child could have, starting preschool.

Separation anxiety…

Clockwork tugged his thoughts from the path with a twinge of guilt. Neither he nor Daniel’s parents gave enough attention to him for that. Regardless, the shape of his reassurance was clear enough.

He gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze and selected a response. “Ah. A whole new group of children your age, and you don't know how well you'll get along with them.”

Daniel said nothing to that. Instead, he kept his head leaning against Clockwork’s chest, soft breaths misting the glass.

“Maybe it won't be all new faces. Have you seen children your age at the park?” He had, Clockwork knew.

Daniel nodded again.

“Did they play with you?”

Another nod.

Not every child had. Some had parents who were leery of the elder Fentons. But others encouraged their children to play with Jasmine and Daniel. Clockwork could not say the reason–he could not read minds, after all. But he could guess they were the same.

“If they go to the same park and are only a little older,” said Clockwork, “they may be in your class. So maybe it won’t be only new children. Does that sound a little less scary?”

Still quiet, Daniel nodded.

In all, about five of Daniel’s classmates would be children he’d played with before. Not that he should tell Daniel that precise figure. This was enough. Any human could have guessed what he’d said aloud.

Clockwork should pull the conversation to what he needed to say. To what needed to be said.

But if Daniel was content to rest his head against Clockwork’s chest awhile, then perhaps it could wait.

Just a little longer…

.

But all things must come to an end.

Clockwork shifted, and pulled his hand from where he’d been using it to cradle Daniel's head against his chest.

Sleepily, Daniel murmured in confusion before bringing one fist up to rub at his eye.

“Cl’wrk?”

It was time. The anticipatory grief in his chest found an echo outside the bubble. Slowly, in shudders, time was beginning to move on.

“Daniel, I brought you here because I have something to tell you.”

Daniel peered at him, suddenly tentative.

The rest of this conversation would be so very difficult.

“Daniel,” Clockwork began. Haltingly.

It would be so very easy to lie.

…

He was looking at Daniel’s hands. He should at least look him in the eye. He dragged his eyes up.

Daniel’s eyes were so very blue.

“I–” love you, he wanted to say. He mustn’t. 

He forced himself to say what came next.

“I am not going to be able to visit you much longer.”

And there was the shock Clockwork had so dreaded.

And there were the tears.

.

Eventually, the tears slowed.

The repeated “no no nos” had too, and Clockwork was left with a wet shirt, a little limpet gripping the fabric of it so tightly his fingers quaked, and a guilt he adamantly ignored.

This was for the best.

He was holding Daniel close, of course. Stroking his back to calm him and humming soothing nothings. It was–It wouldn’t matter if Daniel knew how much Clockwork regretted this. He would forget it anyway. Clockwork could grant himself the indulgence of being kind.

It was nothing to all the other indulgences he’d already taken, with his child. All the other sights. The joy on his face at some new wonder–

Daniel hiccupped.

“We have a month,” offered Clockwork, moving his hand to muss Daniel’s hair. “Two more trips like this.”

“‘ree.”

“Hm?”

“Three,” bargained Daniel. His voice was muffled by Clockwork’s shoulder.

“Two,” said Clockwork, biting back more regret. “One for a bad day, and one for goodbye.”

“Today’s bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Daniel tensed in his arms, and Clockwork closed his eyes. Of course he didn’t believe him. Of course he was angry. Why should he be anything else?

Clockwork sighed. “I’ve visited you far too often in the past few years. I want you to know you can handle a few weeks without a visit before we say goodbye.”

At that, Daniel was silent. Clockwork let him be, instead savoring the feel of Daniel’s weight against his chest, even if he was angry. What he would give to have it longer.

But he already had.

Clockwork pinched his eyes shut.

“What if I can’t?" Daniel asked.

“I think you may surprise yourself."

Daniel frowned.

“But if you can’t, you’ll have my help.” He gave Daniel a reassuring squeeze. “We can figure it out together.”

In this, Clockwork felt no guilt in the untruth. Daniel would never need his help, so what might happen if he did was immaterial. Irrelevant.

“And besides, you have your parents and sister.”

“Jazzy’s baw, baws.” Danny began, stumbling over the second word before abandoning it entirely. “Jazzy’s mean.”

“But she makes sure you’re safe, doesn’t she?”

“I guess.” and then Daniel clutched harder at Clockwork’s shirt. “But I want you.”

“You have your parents, too.”

“Want you.” Daniel’s voice was higher now, and plaintive. On the verge of tears.

I want you, too.

“I only show you the stars,” said Clockwork. “Your parents do much more than that. Your sister, too. In a few years you won’t even remember me.”

“I will!”

“It will be kinder to forget, little star.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“You will.”

Daniel was silent for a time. Then, barely a whisper: “I love you.”

Clockwork’s hug squeezed tighter. Fiercely, briefly. Like if he bundled everything he wanted, everything he felt into the action, then Daniel would understand.

I love you, too.

.

Clockwork tucked Daniel in.

He adjusted the covers. He wiped the tear-tracks from Daniel’s cheeks. But the frown still marring Daniel’s face could not be fixed so easily.

It could. All he had to do was–

Core twisting cruelly in his chest, Clockwork stroked his hand through Daniel’s fluffy mess of hair before backing away.

Daniel had refused to give up the idea that he would remember Clockwork, doubling down and insisting and insisting until.

It wouldn’t matter.

Clockwork had let him fall asleep in his arms.

It wouldn’t matter.

Daniel would forget him.

With a swirl of blue, Clockwork vanished.

—

Daniel launched himself at Clockwork with a wail. Clockwork closed his arms around him in a hug, letting his child cling to him as he sobbed in great, wracking heaves that should have consumed all the air in his lungs. They did not die down quickly. For long minutes he alternated sobs with shuddering gasps and for longer still he just tucked his head against Clockwork’s shoulder and whimpered.

Clockwork swayed, watching the expanse around them. It was a simple scene, tonight. Nothing new. Just Clockwork, and Daniel, and the familiar stars of the Milky Way from Sol’s neighborhood, only a few years distant.

As simple and humble as a scene like this could be.

Tonight, he wanted Daniel to find comfort in familiarity rather than distraction in the novel.

He was still sniffling.

Clockwork coiled his tail into a lap and set Daniel in it.

“Would you like to tell me about it?” he asked..

—

Clockwork hitched Daniel up on his hip, and pointed. He was leaning his head a little against Daniel’s, letting his cheek rest on Daniel’s crown where his hand was not. 

"Do you see over there?"

Danny squinted. "Yeah."

"Just watch that spot."

Clockwork had pointed to a patch in the sea of stars surrounding them which seemed veiled by a shadow. Daniel’s eyes trailed uncertainly over the area, back and forth, back and forth.

Clockwork smiled to himself, savoring the bittersweet loss on his tongue. 

Only eleven years. An eyeblink, to Clockwork. Thousands of times that period were unspooling before them every instant as he drew time along for Daniel like film across a movie projector. At his age he'd never have the patience for these wonders otherwise. 

But only eleven years without Daniel carried a different weight, didn't it? Lonely, in an empty tower filled only with visions of his child, come home at last. Visions, for all they would feel like memories.

Eleven whole years indeed. 

As they waited, the stars behind the veil flickered a little, rippling in brilliance as the clouds of gasses in front of them gathered. As they built on themselves, thicker and thicker. The formation of a protostar was a quiet sort of spectacle, like this. Just the sort to put an exhausted young child to sleep. Just enough to fill his dreams with wonders of a similar kind. 

Clockwork hoped.

For all his sight, he wasn't able to see them.

He held Daniel close, and let the hours trail smooth across mental fingertips. Slowly, as Daniel must still have counted it, there came a flickering glow that strengthened into brilliant yellow. Even so, he watched it with the rapt attention which had so captured Clockwork’s mechanical heart. 

Eleven years. 

Clockwork slowed the play of time. Just a fraction. Just enough for a little more time. But of course, there was one thing he couldn’t control here.

One little boy.

Daniel’s eyelids were drooping, his breaths lengthening. Every few moments he would jerk one awake, or twitch. He was fighting so very fiercely to stay awake. But it was a losing battle.

His head dipped to his chest, once, twice, thrice and didn’t lift back up. 

Clockwork looked down at him, a fond smile playing on his lips.

He’d fallen asleep holding Clockwork's hand.

A few stolen moments of indecision later – could he wake Daniel to show him one last sight? Should he? – a portal swirled open before them, and Clockwork left Sol's earliest years with Daniel in his arms.

In his bedroom, stars and space paraphernalia cluttered every surface.

Silently, Clockwork raised the comforter on the bed, slipped Daniel beneath the sheets. When Clockwork wrested his hand from Daniel’s grip and tucked him in, his brows furrowed at the loss.

Clockwork ruffled Daniel's hair for the last time in more than a decade, and leaned down to murmur into his ear.

"Until we meet again, Daniel. Be good."

There was a flash of blue.

And then, the room was dark.

[missallanious]

Jojo’s Bizarre Viking AU

Okuyasu and Josuke Meet - Oneshot

Okuyasu Nijimura crouched in a tree, watching through the leaves as two figures approached the stream bank. His brother, Keicho, was on a different branch, also watching. The two figures (one boy and one man, judging by their statures), were chatting quietly and split up, searching the plants in and around the stream, plucking some every now and then and calling out their discoveries to each other. Okuyasu turned to his brother, looking for a sign of any kind. Keicho, for his part, looked delighted, and held up a hand for Oku to wait. At least, that’s what Okuyasu hoped it meant. Sometimes he got Keicho’s hand signals wrong, and had the scars to show for it.

His brother quietly pulled out his bow and an arrow from his quiver, taking aim at the smaller figure below.

Oku knew this plan, and breathed an inward sigh of relief; his brother, using his prowess with long-range weapons, would take out one of their victims, and it would be up to Oku and his close-range fighting style to take out the other one. Then, they would steal all they could from their downed opponents. He glanced between the two people puttering around the burbling stream, and wondered briefly why his brother was choosing to aim at the smaller boy. The other man, taller and well built, seemed like the better one to be taken out first. Maybe his brother meant to fire a warning shot, scare away the smaller one?

That thought was quickly dashed as Keicho loosed his arrow, striking the boy and felling him instantly.

Oku squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away briefly. He wished they didn’t have to fight, to kill, but his brother was on a mission of some kind. And Oku was too stupid to fend for himself, so he stayed.

Oku shook himself and readied to jump down from his perch, to start what he knew to be his duty of fighting the other his brother hadn’t taken out. But Keicho’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder, stopping him. Looking gleeful, Keicho pointed to the tall man on the ground, who Oku now noticed showed no signs of noticing his fallen comrade. Keicho practically slithered down the tree, creeping over to where the boy had collapsed, and quietly dragged the prone form into the woods behind the tree Oku as still perched on.

Okuyasu watched, confused, as his brother began to rifle through the body’s pockets and pouches, dumping things unceremoniously on the ground, searching. Then, a shout.

The man had finally noticed his missing companion and, judging by his frantic steps forward, had also seen the faint remains of blood swirling in the stream waters and smeared on the bank, leading back to where Keicho still crouched. Keicho glared briefly at his brother before turning back to his task, leaving Oku to do what he did best.

Fight.

Okuyasu leaped down from the tree, landing with a splash in the water, effectively blocking the path of the searching man. Who, now that he was closer, Oku realized was slightly taller than himself and had piercing blue eyes. Instinct, as it so rarely did, took over for Okuyasu, and he leapt forward instantly. His first punch landed, striking the other’s jaw and knocking him backwards, and then the fight was on.

His opponent, though taken by surprise and staggered by the first blow, gave as good as he got. Okuyasu found himself nearly being pushed back by the onslaught of blows, his own breaking through occasionally and striking the other’s face, chest, and stomach. The second he had to take a step back, nearly losing his balance on the slick rocks beneath his boots, and the other man made a move to go around him, Okuyasu pulled out his one weapon.

It was an odd weapon, made by himself for himself, and only he knew how to utilize it; a strong cord, with a fair amount of length and secured to his belt, and a strong iron hook at the end. The hook was blunt and scuffed from years of wear, but did it’s job as wonderfully as a worn bone leatherworking tool.

Grabbing the hook, he swung with terrifying accuracy and snagged his opponent’s arm, yanking the cord to pull the man back into his waiting fists. With his other hand he caught the hook as it swung back, ready for another use. The man he was fighting looked shocked (understandably so), and was clocked again as Okuyasu threw the hook again, hitting his forhead with a sickening whack. Okuyasu once again caught the hook as he pulled it back, taking a firm stance between the man and his objective. To Okuyasu’s surprise, the man started to speak.

“Please,” his voice wavered for a moment, and he spat some blood into the stream, “please, I’m a healer! I need to save my friend, he’s my apprentice, I can’t— why are you doing this?” Okuyasu wasn’t prepared for this. The man was staring at him, eyes piercing and pleading even under the blood pouring from his forehead. Oku wasn’t great with words; hell, he wasn’t even good with thoughts. But this man was looking at him so earnestly that he felt compelled to speak (and he could practically hear his brother screaming at him to just shut up, Okuyasu, you don’t know anything!).

“I—we—“ he stuttered, before finding his voice. “My brother’s looking for something. He thinks your friend has it.” He clenched his jaw and firmly avoided the other’s eyes as he finished. “He’s already dead. I….I’m sorry. You should go while you can, I’ll tell my brother you beat me,” Okuyasu turned back to the man and felt as if he was punched in the gut by the sheer despair in the other’s eyes. He lowered his arms and started pleading.

“Please, just go! I’ll—I’ll make sure we leave your friend’s body, you can come back for it later! Just get out of here now, before—“ and then he felt his stomach hit his boots as an arrow appeared to suddenly be growing out of his opponent’s shoulder. Okuyasu whirled to face his brother, standing now, another arrow already nocked and ready to fire. He distantly heard a splash as the man behind him must’ve fallen into the water, but his focus was on the arrow that appeared to be aimed at him. Even knowing that Keicho hated when he spoke, Okuyasu felt that he had to try.

“Keicho,” he held his hands out and low, shoulders starting to hunch with nerves, “Brother, please, we should let him go, he’s a healer—“ Okuyasu was cut off as an arrow whizzed past him, clipping his ear and slicing his cheek. His brother’s cold voice rang out, and a whirring sound could be heard as his brother switch from arrow to his sling. He liked top use his sling on Okuyasu; hurt him, but less blood to clean up, Keicho claimed.

“I knew i couldn’t count on you, brother mine,” Keicho sneered. “You’ve always been too kind for your own good.” Keicho took a step forward, and something flashed around his waist. Before Okuyasu could blink, he felt the CRACK echo in his skull as the stone fired from his brother’s sling caught his brow. Okuyasu fell to his knees, clutching his face in pain, eyes spinning as he tried to focus. He could faintly hear steps around him; in front? Or behind? The splashing steps echoed in his ears and he couldn’t pinpoint them.

He still valiantly attempted to get back on his feet, protesting even as his brother kept speaking.

“Keicho, they’re healers, we shouldn’t—“

“If you wanted to be this noble, you should have thought of that before you became so stupid.”

“I’m sorry, brother, I know I—“

“You don’t know anything!! You’ve always been an idiot, but at least you would do what I told you! You’ve always been a burden to me; I don’t even see you as w brother anymore!”

A strong hand gripped Okuyasu’s chin and forced him to look up, meeting his brother’s furious gaze.

“Who took care of you all these years!?”

“You,” Okuyasu replied weakly, tears staring to burn as his brother’s words continued to cut.

“Who taught you everything, who kept you alive!?”

“You, brother, but—”

“Stop sniveling! If you’re not even going to do as I say then I have no use for you.” His brother drew back, face impassive as Okuyasu began to cry in earnest, begging his brother to please don’t abandon me, please, I’ll be good, but Keicho merely let go of his brother and turned his attention to the man Okuyasu had been fighting. He wrapped his sling back around his waist and again pulled out his bow and arrow, taunting the man.

“Don’t worry, your friend died quickly. I’ll make sure to bury you next to him.” Keicho nocked his arrow and aimed at the glaring man, who had managed to pull the arrow out of his shoulder, but was still clutching it as it bled.

Okuyasu was a few things; stupid, strong, and, if his brother’s words were anything to go by, a burden. He was also incredibly stubborn. So, as soon as the thought to save the healer entered his head, he was as likely to let it go as a starving dog letting go of a steak.

Before anyone could react, Okuyasu had swung his hook. It caught his brother’s arm and he yanked, managing to simultaneously aim the arrow away from the wounded healer… and make his brother fire. Which wouldn’t have been that bad, if Okuyasu wasn’t now in the line of fire.

The shot hit with a dull thwack, and Oku blinked at the arrow now settled firmly in his side. His brother started to scream at him while furiously nocking another shaft, the healer inexplicably also yelling at him? Okuyasu wasn’t sure why, exactly, but all thoughts were effeciantly overrun by the sudden ROAR from the treeline, just to the side of where the healer’s companion lay. All three men turned to the biggest bear any of them had ever seen, still belting out its roar as it pawed the ground. Keicho had time only to release two shots before the bear was upon him. Okuyasu, who was between the bear and healer, tried again to stand, yelling for the other to grab his friend’s body and run. He managed to get to his feet, albeit wobbly, and mobbed to take a step towards the bear and brother brawl ahead of him, when something tugged his arm and he fell back, landing firmly ion the grasp of the healer who quickly placed a vial of.. something, to Oku’s lips. He was too surprised to do anything but drink, and when the healer grabbed the arrow in his side and pulled, he let out a surprised yelp. He grabbed at his side, but was amazed to find that there was no pouring blood. No pain. And, amazingly, no hole in his side. The only sign that the arrow had, in fact, been inside his body, was the torn bloody clothing and bloody arrow now bobbing downstream. Okuyasu turned his scarred face to the healer, who seemed to be a bit pale.

“Why did you save me?” Oku couldn’t stop himself from asking. He has attacked the man, his brother had killed his friend! There was no reason Okuyasu could think of for the healer to, well. Heal him. The healer looked at him, something in his gaze that Okuyasu couldn’t place.

“You saved me first,” he replied. “You just…seemed to be a pretty great guy.”

Okuyasu didn’t have time to unpack all of that. So he didn’t.

Feeling much better than maybe he ever had, Okuyasu leapt into action. Grabbing the healer around the waist (ignoring the surprised grunt), he flung his hook at a tree branch and yanked with all his might, jumping at the same time. This effectively pulled them both out of the water and across, into the tree line. Still holding the healer, he flicked his wrist to free the hook as he sprinted past to the place he knew the healer’s apprentice to be. Gritting his teeth at the sight, he placed the healer down and briefly met his gaze.

“I’m sorry.” He said solemnly. “For everything.”

And before the other could respond, he turned and ran back to where his brother was fighting the bear.

The stream was now frothy and violent, the vicious swipes of the bear and stomps from both parties stirring up clouds of mud, mixing with the blood poring from various wounds and turning the water a dirty red. Okuyasu hesitated for only a second, before he saw an opening and jumped in. He flung his hook and yanked, stopping the bear from taking Keicho’s head off with its powerful paw, and splitting the attention between himself and his (wounded) brother. It roared again, enraged, and charged him. He pulled his hook back in time to hang it on his belt before the bear was on him, and he did his very best to keep it occupied. Punching its face, going for its eyes, grabbing the cheek skin to keep it semi-still as he went for its weak points. For the bear’s part, it clawed and bit and tried to disembowel him. He managed to dodge the worst strikes, but was still bleeding profusely by the time a shout rang out from behind the bear.

Keicho had righted himself, blood pouring from open gashes on his side and hairline. He took aim and fired an arrow right into the bear’s eye. It have an unearthly howl of pain and rounded on him. Keicho fired shaft after shaft into the charging behemoth, slowing but not stopping it. It reared up and roared again, another two arrows hitting the chest and throat area, before it stomped down, crushing Keicho with a sickening crunch.

Okuyasu would later swear he saw Keicho close his eyes as the bear fell on him, looking at peace for the first time in years.

The bear snuffled around a moment as its adversary stopped moving, then itself staggered and slumped into the water. Keicho’s arrow littered its body like porcupine quills, and it gave a last shuddering breath before it was still.

Okuyasu, now bleeding yet again from the bear’s claws and teeth marks on his skin, gave a broken sob and lurched forward. His brother’s body was still, half pinned under the monster bear, his head beneath the uncaring water. Oku splashed closer, hoarsely calling his brother’s name. He fell to his knees by his brother’s head, cradling it in his lap and trying to bring it above the water. He helplessly noticed that no bubbles were coming from his brother’s nose, no signs of life apparent, and clung to Keicho’s head, crying quietly.

The stream, now calm after the fight, burbled onwards, carrying away the blood and tears of the Nijimura brothers, and the lifeblood of the downed bear.

After what could have been an eternity, but equally could have been just a minute, Okuyasu began to hear voices nearing him. He raised his head, eyes and cheeks puffy from tears and head starting to throb with what he could only assume would be a terrible headache.

Maybe I used my brain to much today, he mused, then blinked as he saw the source of the voices round a big tree. It was the healer and — his companion? He was alive??

The taller healer saw Okuyasu and let out an excited yell, right as Okuyasu burst into fresh sobs. Both the tall healer and his small friend shared a concerned glance and rush to Okuyasu’s side; that only made him sob harder. When was the last time he had been comforted when he was crying? Keicho just used to smack him when he got too loud; at best, he would ignore Okuyasu and let him cry. But now, these two people were — and he had —

He faced the small boy (maybe man? He had boyish features, but some scratchy facial hair lead Okuyasu to think that maybe he wasn’t as young as originally thought), who looked alarmed at having a hulking, bawling, near-murderer give him any attention — and he started to apologize.

“I’m s-s-s-so sorry my brother almost killed you!! I should’ve stopped him, but I — I’m so stupid I couldn’t even tell him not to—!!” He lifted a hand off his brother’s chest and weakly reached out to the apprentice, who gracefully grasped it and tried to shush him, assuring him it was all right, he was fine now, and Josuke shouldn’t you do something about his bleeding?

Oku blinked, hiccuping as his tears slowed. “My name’s not Josuke, ‘m Oku?” He was, thankfully, observant enough to notice that the tall healer had moved to his other side, so he didn’t jump out of his skin when the other chuckled, shaking his head as he dug through a bag Okuyasu hadn’t noticed he was holding.

“My name is Josuke; that’s Koichi, my apprentice. And you’re… Oak-u, you said?” Okuyasu nodded, and as the two healers started discussing something with far bigger words than Okuyasu was used to, he suddenly found himself in a situation where he didn’t know what to do next. He had already apologized, the two— Josuke and Koichi, apparently— were fine, the bear was dead… and so was Keicho. He supposed he should bury him? He remembered, back when he and Keicho had lived with their old village, that there was some custom about…setting them on fire? He glanced around and, seeing all the trees around, firmly decided against it. Custom or not, he didn’t feel good about potentially setting the forest on fire.

He felt someone place a hand on his shoulder and turned, opening his mouth to ask what?, instead finding his lips occupied with another vial. Josuke’s fierce blue eyes brooked no argument and Okuyasu meekly drank the liquid. As before, he could feel an improvement as soon as he finished the draught, though not as intense as an arrow-wound healing completely. He was going to ask if Josuke was maybe a witch, or some other kind of magician, when the smallest among them spoke.

“Is it…dead?”

Oku saw Koichi glancing nervously at the bear, and gave a raspy chuckle. “Either it’s dead or playing the longest game of chicken I’ve ever seen,” he paused for a moment, before turning his head to face Josuke. “Oi, is… uh, do you know where I can bury my brother?”

The healer’s eyes then lit on the body under the water, Oku still cradling his head. His eyebrows jumped and he scrambled to his feet, once again reaching for his bag. Okuyasu waved him off, giving a mirthless laugh.

“No, no, don’t waste your supplies,” he traced his brother’s face lightly, brushing his eyelids more closed. “He’s been gone for a while.”

Oku sat up and began patting his body to check for wounds. Hmm, it felt like a rib or two was broken, and he didn’t like how his left ankle felt as he tested it, but aside from those all his other wounds didn’t feel too deep anymore. At least, not deep enough that he was lightheaded from blood loss. He got to his feet a little shakily, gently moving Keicho’s head to rest on the stream bed, and stuck his arm out to the taller healer, who was still crouched next to the bear and his brother. Josuke blinked his (really, amazingly blue) eyes in confusion, but just as Oku was beginning to feel like maybe he had overstepped and this healer might not want to touch the man who had been fighting him just a few minutes earlier, and his hand started to retract, the healer shot a hand out and grasped his.

Oku must have winced as he heaved the man upright, because suddenly the healer’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer, starting the same patting routine Oku had just gone through himself. Okuyasu sucked in a breath as Josuke patted just a tad too fiercely on one of his (probably, definitely broken) ribs and the healer’s gaze shot up, scrutinizing him carefully. Oku gently brushed the hands away, giving a nervous little smile.

“I—I should get going. Got a brother to bury. And you guys should probably, uh, go back to your home.” he guestured to the bear. “You guys can have the bear? The fur’ll probably be nice to have, what with winter coming soon, and bear meat ain’t half bad if you cook it right…” Okuyasu trailed off in confusion, watching for a moment as Josuke’s hands continued to pat around his torso and arms. After a beat of silence, Josuke finally glanced up and met Oku’s eyes. The healer froze, then sheepishly drew back his hands.

“Sorry? Habit, I guess. Are you sure you don’t want me to…?” He guestured to Oku’s ribs.

Oku, in turn, shook his head and glanced away, sizing up the bear and its position pinning his brother below the water. He patted his ribs subconsciously, wondering how he would be able to move the behemoth if they really were broken. “No, thank you, I don’t think I should bother you any longer,” he shot a lopsided grin to Josuke, the scars on his face tightening and pulling with the movement, “you’ve already been nicer to me than I think anyone else I’ve ever met,”

The healer’s face did something, but the expression was gone before he could ask about it, and then he was talking again so Oku couldn’t be bothered to focus on a micro-expression.

“Can I at least get your name? Your full name?” Josuke asked.

Oku was too surprised to think of why that may be a bad idea, so instead he simply said “Okuyasu Nijimura,” and the healer nodded to himself, mouthing the name quietly, before he turned back and stuck out his hand.

“Josuke Higashikata, village healer, at your service.” Oku stuck his own hand out, starting to say that, as nice as Josuke had been and as wonderful as it was that he was offering his services, Oku really hoped they never met again because he had a bad taste in his mouth from attacking an innocent civilian and a healer, but he never finished his thought as Josuke yanked him within range as soon as their hands were clasped, and delivered a swift uppercut to his chin, effectively knocking him unconscious.

[nomie-11]

Right Wing - Part 1

masterlist!

synopsis: everything this year should have gone great—your second year as the starting center, your first year as captain—your last season at Boston university should have been amazing, until your new right wing showed up (soulmate au)

pairings: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

All of your friends had something cute tattooed on the inside of their wrists. All of them had something soft, something endearing, that made them excited to meet their soulmate. 

Caitlyn had ‘cupcake’ in a bright red on her left wrist, and Vi had ‘my love’ in a soft, deep blue (and the two of them were soulmates, because duh), but you? You had ‘fuck’ in a deep forest green, too dark to fully cover with any concealer no matter how hard you tried. 

What batshit crazy soulmate did you have? 

You tried to rationalize it a hundred different ways. Maybe your soulmate had a terrible habit of cursing and just… said fuck a lot. Maybe it wasn’t even directed at you—maybe they just had a foul mouth and you just happened to be in the vicinity every time they opened it. 

It was wishful thinking. Everyone else got something sweet, something that made sense, something that didn’t make their parents tense up every time they saw it. Even Abby got something adorable, but you, on the other hand, had been stuck with the eternal mystery of why your one true love couldn’t seem to say anything to you without swearing. 

Still, it wasn’t like you had too much time to dwell on it. Between keeping up with pre-med classes and training for the Boston University Women’s Hockey Team, you had plenty to keep yourself busy with. You were starting your senior year now, already solidified in your spot as starting center and captain, and things were looking up. 

At least, until the first team meeting of the season. 

Your coach had brought in the new recruits, a handful of fresh faces standing near the lockers as the returning players tricked in. You took a seat on the bench, idly tapping your stick as you half-listened to Coach’s rundown—same drill as every year, welcome the new girls, be a team, say hello to your new captain and vice-captain (wave, smile, show all the other girls that you got this), don’t be an asshole, blah, blah, blah. 

Then you heard her. 

Or more accurately, you heard, “For fuck’s sake–” followed by the distinct clang of a hockey stick hitting the metal lockers. 

You turned just in time to see a girl standing there, auburn hair tied messily back, green eyes sharp with frustration as she yanked the laces on her skates like they’d personally offended her. 

“Ah, there she is!” Your coach beamed as she clambered in. “This is Ellie Williams, transfer from University of Vermont. She’s a junior and our new starting right wing. Get used to her.” 

Ellie Williams. The newest right wing. And, apparently, the most pissed-off person in the room. 

“Fucking—stupid—goddamn—” she muttered under her breath, her fingers struggling with the knot before she finally growled and yanked it loose. 

Your wrist burned, your stomach dropped. 

Oh, fuck. 

You looked down at the dark green script on your skin, the very same word that had plagued you for years. Then, slowly, your gaze lifted back to her, your supposed soulmate—still cursing, still scowling, completely unaware that she had just shattered your entire world with nothing but a pissed-off comment about her skates. 

Holy shit. 

You were so screwed. 

—------------------------------

Ellie was impossible. You were convinced of it by the third practice of the season. You were hot on her tail as she closed in on Dina, Caitlyn open and waiting by the net for her pass to get it past Dina, who was entirely too focused on the steadily approaching battering ram of 5’5” Ellie Williams. 

The scrimmage was going well before she had gotten the puck and gotten it into her head that she needed to be the one to score, and you were seething as you approached. 

“Pass the stupid puck!” You barked, skating up behind her. Despite being on the opposing team for this scrimmage, you did want to see improvement in your team as a whole, and that depended on Ellie meshing well into the starting line-up you had already solidified and perfected last year. 

Ellie ignored you, because of course she did. She always did. She had a goddamn problem with listening to anyone, but it seemed as if it was worse when it came to you. 

She weaved past Abby, barely keeping control of the puck as she advanced on the goal. Caitlyn was wide open, her stick tapping against the ice in anticipation. It would have been an easy shot—a guaranteed point. 

But Ellie refused, she always refused. 

And then, in the span of a second, her mistake cost her.

Vi had been waiting, watching, and as Ellie tried to cut inside for a last-second shot, Vi stepped up, her shoulder slamming into Ellie’s chest with brutal precision. Ellie hit the ice hard, her stick skittering away, the puck stolen in one clean motion. 

You skated past her without so much as a glance, catching Vi’s pass and redirecting the play back down to the other end of the rink. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ellie groaned from the ice, shoving herself upright with a wince. “What the hell was that?” 

Vi smirked, adjusting her helmet as she skated backward. “That was defense from someone built like a brick wall, dumbass. Maybe if you passed the puck, you wouldn’t have eaten shit.” 

“Fuck you,” Ellie shot back. 

Vi just winked. “Not my type, sweetheart.” 

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the scrimmage. 

You didn’t even wait for Ellie to get up before you stormed toward the benches, your blood boiling. This wasn’t the first time she had refused to pass, and it wasn’t going to be the last. It wouldn’t matter how many times Abby and Vi managed to knock her down on her ass, you could already tell, she was stubborn, reckless, and completely insufferable. 

“Nice one, Cap,” Dina called as she peeled off her goalie gloves, grinning. “You looked like you wanted to kill her.”

“I do,” you muttered, yanking off your helmet and running a hand through your sweat-damp hair. 

Ellie finally made it to the bench, still rubbing her ribs as she flopped down next to Caitlyn, scowling. “Vi plays like an asshole.” 

“You play like an idiot,” you shot back, not even looking at her. “If you had just passed the puck, you wouldn't have gotten laid out.” 

“Oh, my bad Captain Perfect,” Ellie sneered. “I didn’t realize we were running drills for the peewee league.” 

You turned then, your jaw tight. “We’re a team, Williams. Not a one-man show. If you can’t figure that out, you’re useless to us, and I’m benching you.” 

Ellie’s glare darkened, her hands clenched into fists over her pads. The locker room was quiet now, everyone else watching the two of you with varying degrees of amusement and concern. 

Finally, she let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah? Well, at least I don’t sound like a broken record.” 

You scoffed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Ellie leaned back, tilting her head at you. “Pass the stupid puck, pass the stupid puck,” she mimicked in an exaggerated voice. “Fuck, you ever say anything else?” 

Your stomach twisted, your wrist burned, because of course she would say it. Because that was the word. 

Ellie didn’t know. She had no idea. And you were starting to think maybe she never would. 

“Jesus christ, just shut up,” you snapped, shoving your gear into your bag before standing. “Don’t test Vi or Abby next time, listen to the call, and pass the puck. Or don’t, I will not hesitate to bench you for the rest of the season.” 

Ellie just smirked, eyes flickering down to where you pressed your hand against the sleeve that covered the tattoo on your wrist. “Yeah, sure, Captain Perfect.” 

You were ready to strangle a bitch. 

—------------------------------

You were already regretting your decision to let Ellie join the team’s late-night study session. 

The dorm common room was dimly lit, the overhead fluorescent lights of the student athlete housing casting a dull glow over the cluster of books, notebooks, and laptops strewn across the floor and coffee table. It smelled like stale coffee and the remnants of whatever takeout Abby had picked up earlier. Every had settled into their usual spots–Caitlyn cross-legged on the couch, neatly organizing her color-coded criminology notes; Vi leaning back with her arm draped of Caitlyn’s waist, flipping through an anatomy textbook like it personally offended her; Abby hunched over her laptop in the armchair, typing what had to the the world’s most aggressive essay on east asian monks; and Dina curled up with her tablet, half-studying early childhood education, half-watching some dumb sitcom with the volume so low it was barely a murmur. 

And then there was Ellie. 

Ellie, who had taken over the floor, stretched out across the rug with her hockey stick balanced across her shoulders like she was waiting for practice to start instead of actually studying. She didn’t even have a book in front of her—just a ratty black sketchbook, which ske kept flipping over and tapping at with her pen in boredom. Every few minutes, she would sigh dramatically, shift positions, or—worst of all—start spinning her pen between her fingers like a baton. 

You gritted your teeth, eyes scanning the physiology textbook in your lap as you tried to stay focused. 

A moment of silence. 

Then: tap, tap, tap. 

You inhaled slowly. Another pause. 

Tap tap tap tap tap. 

You slammed your book shut, looking up. “Ellie, if you don’t stop, I swear to God—”

Ellie blinked up at you innocently, shifting her grip on her stick. “What? I’m not doing anything.” 

“You’re tapping.” 

She shrugged. “Didn’t know tapping was a crime.”

“It is now,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “Either sit still or go back to your dorm.” 

Ellie smirked, tilting her head as she propped herself up on her elbows. “Why? Am I distracting you?” 

“No. You’re annoying me.” 

Vi, who had been watching this exchange like it was the most entertaining thing in the world, let out a low laugh. “Ellie, I think you should take this win. That’s like the most words Cap’s said to you outside of screaming at you on the ice.” 

Your ears burned, and you scowled at Vi. “I don’t scream—”

“You definitely scream,” Abby muttered from across the room, not even looking up from her laptop. 

Dina snorted, adjusting her (old lady) reading glasses as she smirked at you. “Yeah, I think you’ve told Ellie to pass the stupid puck at least a hundred times today alone.” 

Ellie grinned, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Kinda cute, honestly.” 

Your stomach did something you definitely didn’t like. You immediately buried it under a wave of irritation, refusing to let yourself react. 

“If you actually studied,” you said through gritted teeth, “maybe you wouldn’t be failing chemistry.”

Ellie gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wow, Captain Perfect, you’ve actually been paying attention to me.” 

You wanted to throttle her.

“I pay attention to all my teammates,” you said flatly, flipping your textbook open again. “That’s my job.” 

Ellie hummed, rolling onto her side, facing you. “Y’know,” she mused, tapping her fingers idly against her knee, “for someone who’s always telling me to use my team, you sure don’t let anyone close.” 

The words sent a sharp jolt through your chest, and you hated how much they hit home. 

You stiffened, your grip tightening on the highlighter in your hand. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ellie shrugged. “You keep everyone around you at arm’s length. You’re the captain, and these girls are all your best friends, but how much do they really know about you? You don’t make jokes about yourself, you deflect every time someone asks you about anything remotely personal, you’re always first to shut someone up and the last to let anyone see you slip up. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposed to be all about teamwork, don’t you think?” 

Your pulse pounded in your ears. 

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

You had spent years perfecting this distance, keeping people at just the right length to avoid anything too personal, too close—to dangerous. Despite the attachment you had formed to your core four teammates, if any of them figured out why you kept your sleeves pulled down, why you flinched just slightly whenever Ellie muttered a frustrated fuck under her breath, the whole team dynamic would crumble. 

Because if anyone found out the truth—that the words permanently inked on your wrist, the words you would hear most often from your soulmate, were the same ones Ellie Williams spat out every other second—

You didn’t even want to think about it. 

So you didn’t. 

You pushed it down, locked it away, and forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable as you turned back to your textbook. “Focus on the playbook, Williams.” 

Ellie watched you for a long moment, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful, more curious. It made your skin prickle, like she was seeing something you hadn’t meant to let slip. 

Finally, she let out a low breath, shaking her head. 

“You’re hiding something.” 

Your stomach twisted. “What?’ 

She turned her head slightly, eyes sharp. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Her gaze flickered down—to your wrist, still covered with tape. 

Your pulse spiked. 

Ellie tilted her head. “You always wear that.” 

You shrugged. “Old injury.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Whatever you say, Captain Perfect.” 

And just like that, the moment passed. 

Ellie went back to fidgeting, Caitlyn returned to her notes, and the others resumed their work as if nothing had happened. 

But you felt it. 

The way your wrists burned just a little hotter, the ink a little darker than before. 

It was like fire on ice, and deep down, you knew that you were melting. 

This is the first part of a multi-part series!

If you enjoyed this, please check out my other series!

[chibinasuu]

How they'd spend Valentine's Day with you

Pairings: Penguin, Marco, Franky, Izou x Reader Tags: sfw, fluff, established relationship, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: you might be thinking, what a random set of characters! well, a while ago i did a poll on which of my blorbos i should write a valentine’s fic for, and Killer won, but i still felt like doing something for the other characters who didn’t win, so here are some valentine’s day headcanons with them! i hope you enjoy this and please be on the lookout for the Killer fic on 14 feb too 😘

Penguin

Penguin would be the type to ask “Will you be my Valentine’s?” every single time on Valentine’s Day, even after years of dating.

When you say yes, like you always do, he’d grin so wide and give you a big smooch right on your lips.

Penguin loves to spoil you with gifts.

He’d take you out on a special date to the market, indulging you as you browse the many stalls there one by one.

Without you knowing, he’d pay attention and take note of all the things you touched and admired, the stuff you’d eye for a tad bit too long, the items that made your eyes sparkle.

He’d buy every single one of them.

At the end of the day, his bag would be stuffed with all the little trinkets, to the point that it would be hard for him to hide it from you.

Before you return to the Polar Tang, he’d hand over the bag to you with a shy smile, which would turn into a wide grin when he witnessed your surprised expression and gasp of delight.

His face would flush as you hug him tight and pepper kisses all over his face.

He’d never get tired of receiving affection from you. That, for him, is the most precious gift of all.

Marco

Marco was not a fan of Valentine’s Day. He had always thought it trivial... at least, until he met you.

On your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, he’d be so nervous that he’d ask Ace for advice.

The Fire Fist would recommend candlelight dinners, romantic poetries, breakfast in bed – but none of them seemed right.

For Marco, loving you is as simple as breathing, as natural as flying. He had never felt the need to do grand gestures to show his love, and you never expected him to either. You have never felt more loved than the time you spent with Marco.

It would come as a surprise when a knock sounds on your door, and you open it to reveal a bashful Marco holding a humble bunch of hand-picked flowers.

His face would be bright red as he asks for your hand, inviting you out to the deck. You’d follow in confusion, even more so when he tells you to hop onto his back.

He’d spread his wings of blue flames and take you to the skies, laughing when you yelp in shock and tighten your grip around his neck, eyes firmly shut

He’d urge you to open your eyes, and you’d gasp in wonder at the sight of the bright stars all around you.

You’d relax and enjoy the wind on your face, occasionally giving him a peck on the cheek from your perch on his back.

Fear would not find you for the rest of the flight, despite the terrifying height.

You were with Marco, after all. He would never let you fall.

Franky

Franky is definitely a romantic and you bet he’d go all out for Valentine’s.

You’d be randomly visited by robot doves singing love songs. You’d find little love notes folded into hearts tucked in your drawers, slid underneath your door, and not-so-subtly slipped into your pockets.

The day would culminate in a romantic dinner on the upper deck of the Sunny.

He’d stand there with a suit (no pants, of course), the red bow tie matching his speedos and the massive bouquet of roses he’s holding out to you.

He’d grin, “Happy Valentine’s, Sugar.”

Before him would be a table for two, complete with a white tablecloth, candles, and a scatter of rose petals.

He’d pull out your chair, not forgetting to compliment your looks and outfit, of course.

He would've begged Sanji to make all of your favorite meals, bribing him with a new state-of-the-art lock for the fridge.

You two would share a toast with cola-filled wine glasses and spend the night just chatting and laughing together, and maybe shamelessly flirting too.

After dinner, he’d treat you to a spectacular fireworks show, and you’d wonder how he managed to make the pink sparks explode into heart patterns all over the night sky.

A sweet kiss would be the cherry on top following dessert, the sugary taste lingering as he’d drag you to some secret corner on the Sunny that only he knew about.  

Izou

Izou never so much as holds your hand in front of other people.

“It’s not very becoming of Wano men to show public displays of affection,” would be his usual excuse.

You never really minded. You’re plenty satisfied with the affection he showers you with whenever the two of you are alone.

But on Valentine’s Day, as the Whitebeard Pirates party the night away at a crowded bar, Izou would suddenly grasp your hips and pull you into his lap, his hand possessively resting against your thigh.

You’d quirk an eyebrow at him, “I thought it wasn’t becoming of Wano men to show public displays of affection.”

“Well, I’m a pirate now. I can do whatever I want.”

You’d laugh, knowing him well enough to figure out that he just wanted the other men at the bar to back off, in case they get ideas of wooing you during this Day of Love.

After a while, you’d drag him away from the bar, eagerly leading him to the shore where you can take a leisurely stroll beneath the moon.

Moonlit walks are among Izou's favorite things to do, and he had started taking you with him when you two became a couple.

You love how the moon illuminates his face and reflects off his hair. You love how serene and romantic these quiet walks with Izou are

But most of all, you love how it would be just the two of you out there on the shore, and you know that Izou’s hands and lips are always the most free when no one is watching.

↳ masterlist

[bunbundubdub]

Embrace The Cold - Zayne

Off we go with the second installment of "What could the first time cuddling 'Enter LI name' be like!" This time it is the snowman himself, Dr. Zayne! Honestly this story kinda ran away from me for a bit and got both far more detailed and far far longer than I had planned, so let me know if this is something you like or if you'd prefer it to be kept a lil shorter for the next few! Have fun reading TW: fluff, cuddling ---------------------------------------

Over the years Zayne had gotten used to being called cold or uncaring. After a while he had even gotten used to the cold puns because of his demeanor and Evol. By now he didn't even mind those comments anymore. Strangers or even colleagues could call him a man with the emotional warmth of a block of ice all they wanted because he knew that the only person who mattered knew him better.

While he had never gotten any complaints about his bedside manner, at least not since he became head of cardiac surgery, his friends were far and few inbetween when it came to his private life. He cared for his patients with passion and professionalism, offering comfort to the best of his ability but he was also not shy about admonishing them if they disregarded his orders for a speedy recovery.

Yet when he thought back at the few awkward times his well meaning colleagues tried to set him up with friends, he couldn't help but cringe. They had all been lovely people, but Zayne had quickly learned that blind dates were not something he was very proficient in. The small talk about the weather and the place they had met at soon faded into silence and the date usually turned very uncomfortable for both parties involved as well as the waiter.

Zayne sometimes wondered what the waiter thought about him, considering that he met at this restaurant with every date he had been set up with, always being tended to by him. Did he think of him as a socially inept idiot that couldn't charm his way into a second date or just as a playboy who moved on to the next person after he had gotten what he wanted?

But then his mind would shift to you. You were the wrench thrown into the well oiled machine that was his life. After all these attempts at kickstarting his love life, Yvonne had asked him for one more attempt and he had only reluctantly agreed. Unlike the others he had been made to meet with, he immediately felt far more comfortable the second you entered the restaurant, a little late and flustered because of it.

Once you got all the apologies out of your system for being late, none of it actually being your fault, the two of you eased into a very comfortable conversation. There had been no awkward silence between you at any point, you seemed genuinely interested in the things he had to say, asking questions and even prompting him to remind you of your food you were neglecting for the sake of not missing a word. He of course returned your interest, questioning you on your life, your hobbies, whatever came to mind.

Before either of you realized, two hours had passed, you had eaten your dinner and dessert and even your drinks had been emptied for a while.

One date turned into two, then three and before you knew it you were a couple without ever really saying it out loud. In the following days and weeks your relationship developed quickly and also not at all. Due to his busy work life clashing with yours, meetings in person often were few and far inbetween, but you managed to make it up with voice and video calls during the times you had time but were apart.

But now something incredible, almost unbelievable happened. Not only did you manage to secure two weeks of vacation, but Zayne did as well. You had never seen him so giddy with excitement as you picked up his video call in the evening, excitedly telling you about his accomplishment. Plans were quickly made how you two wanted to spend your free time, both together and apart, and before you knew it, the days until your vacation had passed and your doorbell rang.

Zayne was wearing his usual dark attire, his silver glasses perched on his nose and a warm smile on his lips. "Are you ready to leave?" With a kiss to your temple he stepped past you into your apartment, grabbing the suitcase in the hallway as you put on your shoes and jacket. "I can't put into words how excited I am, I haven't had a vacation in forever!" He breathed out a quiet chuckle and waited outside the door as you quickly scanned your apartment again, making sure that you had not left on any lights or appliances before following after him, locking the door behind you.

Zayne was a meticulous driver, never speeding and with his hands always at their correct place on the wheel. Except for today. He was still driving like a model citizen, but unlike usual, your entwined hands were resting on the center console, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on the back of your hand. You had confided in him before that you were a little nervous, this was not only your first vacation together, but also the first night you would spend at his home.

If he was anyone but him, your heart would most likely be beating out of your chest or you would be nauseous from nervousness but this was Zayne after all. Your Zayne. Your gentle snowman of a boyfriend who would spend hours focused on the most complicated surgeries, saving lives with the very hand that now held yours, only to ask you to accompany him to an arcade in the evening so you could help him win a plushie to give to a young patient of his.

You have sat in at a lecture he was giving, his professional behaviour and calm voice captivating the audience and another day you saw him walking to the pediatric ward in light blue scrubs covered head to toe with little snowmen so the children wouldn't be as scared.

The car came to a gentle stop at the end of a short traffic jam. Zayne squeezed your hand and his eyes found yours as you turned your head. "What's going on in that head of yours? I can hear you overthinking from here." His smile was as gentle as usual, with an inquisitive look in his eyes.

"I don't know, to be honest. I know I have no reason to, but I think I'm a little nervous." The corner of his mouth twitched upwards a little and he turned his eyes back towards the road, now that the traffic jam had let up a little.

The busy streets of Linkons inner city gave way to a calmer neighborhood and after passing by the security guard of the gated community where Zayne lived, he soon turned into his driveway, only letting go of your hand to park the car and release his seatbelt.

His warm hands then ran along your arm to your hand, resting a moment against your pulse. "I won't dismiss your feelings by telling you there's no reason to be nervous, but you know me. You have gotten to know me better in the short time we have known each other than some people have who have known me for years. There is nothing I expect of you during our vacation except that you enjoy our time together. We get so little of it as it is."

He lifted your entwined hands and gave you a small kiss on your knuckles before letting go and exiting the car. You didn't even get the chance to open the door yourself, by the time you had gathered your bag at your feet, it was already open, with Zayne waiting patiently for you.

"Could you get the door? I had your fingerprint added to the automatic locking system." Zayne asked from behind you, hands full with your suitcase and his coat. As promised, the door gave a quiet click as you pressed your thumb on the scanner and the clean, almost clinical scent of his home greeted you.

It was almost funny how even his home held so many traces of his work, from the academic books and texts taking up an entire bookcase on their own, to his academic certificates lining the wall. When he had invited you over for the first time it even smelled like a hospital. There was the ever persistent scent of antiseptic, antibacterial soap and what you later learned was a hand lotion specifically formulated for medical personell that had to wash and desinfect their hands very frequently.

He had explained that as a surgeon, fragrances of any kind were not permitted and considering how much time he usually spent in the hospital, those habits had simply carried over into his private life. He didn't mind perfumes, colognes or any kinds of room sprays, he just didn't see a need to purchase them if they would only go to waste anyway. But ever since you had commented on it, not in a mean way in the slightest, he had started to experiment.

The next time you visited there was a faint scent of vanilla in the air, not overpowering but still clashing with the "natural" scent of his home. After that it was the scent of pine trees and eucalyptus which made everything smell like a very strange medicinal spa treatment. That one was discarded as well.

In the end, with your help, he had settled for a very unoffending citrus scent. It wasn't too harsh and also didn't clash. Instead of smelling cold and uninviting, his home now just simply smelled clean. He himself was an entirely different story. At his insistence, you two had once gone to try out some perfumes and colognes, with nothing to show for it but a headache and a desperate need for a shower and fresh clothes.

The two of you dropped down on his sofa, both tired from a long day of work and ready for a day of relaxing tomorrow and the two weeks of vacation that would follow. "I had planned to cook something nice together, but I did not anticipate how exhausting work would be today. I hope you are fine with takeout as well?" You could only nod and let your head drop back to rest on the backrest.

You couldn't imagine how extreme an exhausting workday would be for a surgeon, but yours had not been any better. Running from meeting to meeting, talking to customers and colleagues, having to forego your lunch break and just having to sneak some bites as you were once again rushed to yet the next thing you had to worry about. The rest of the week had not been any better, leaving you with no time to actually pack and prepare your apartment for your abscense until you got home in the afternoon today.

There were some minutes of silence as the two of you just lounged on the sofa, with Zayne copying your position with his long legs stretched out as far as they would go and his head tilted back. It wasn't particularily comfortable, but neither of you had the energy to move a muscle now that you had sat down.

His fingers were tapping gently along the cushions until they found yours, immediately wrapping around them. Soon the silence was starting to hurt your ears and you moved with a groan, stretching your arms and legs, allowing your joints to pop as you did. You quickly decided on tonights dinner and after ordering you both took turns in the bathroom to wash up and get changed out of your work clothes into something more comfortable.

During your dinner you shared some stories of your day, with Zayne talking more about the antics of his coworkers to avoid sharing information he was not permitted to and you venting about your lack of a lunch break and how many times you had to repeat yourself with those customers who did not seem to grasp even the simplest concepts.

Stuffed with dinner and dessert to full capacity, you quickly washed the dishes and debated what you would want to do with the rest of the day. It was too late and you both were too tired to go out again but it was still too early to go to bed yet. Tomorrow was already a day planned with mostly laying around and maybe going shopping for some last minute necessities before your vacation, so going to bed early tonight would only make you wake up far too early.

After your first time visiting, you had commented on Zaynes rocking chair, wide enough for one person to more than comfortably sit on, but still too narrow to fit you both. It had merely been a cheeky comment, with no intention behind it, yet when you had entered his apartment this time, the rocking chair had been banned to the bedroom, making for a comfortable reading space right by the windows and in it's place in the living room now stood something you could only call a rocking sofa.

It was a two seater, plush and comfortable with dark grey fabric, with more than enough space to even lay down and stretch your legs. There was also a small sideboard in front of it with a TV and the console you had played on together before.

"Please don't tell me you bought that just because of the comment I made." You said with a deadpan voice, scratching your temple with a sigh. Zayne placed a smooch on just that spot and turned to lead you over to the sofa. "Very well, then I won't tell you. I did not want to break it in on my own and now seems like a perfect opportunity. What do you say?" With a snort you ushered him along with a small smack to his butt, laughing at the way he nearly jumped out of his skin and turned to give you a playful glare.

He held the chair still so you could get on without an issue and watched with a smile as you stretched yourself out as much as you could. "Comfortable?" He asked, pushing and pulling on the back rest to make you rock back and forth ever so gently. "It is…but I bet it would be even more comfortable with company." You didn't have to ask him twice, tapping the space next to you with your fingers, you couldn't help but giggle at the violent rocking that shook you about as he sat down.

Sitting there together, with Zayne resting one of his legs on the ground to keep up the gentle rocking, you quickly felt drowsiness taking over you. "I never understood why parents like rocking chairs so much to put their kids to sleep." Your sentence ended with a big yawn, the kind that made your eyes tear up. Zayne did not comment and as you turned to your side to look at him, you saw that his eyes were closed.

His breathing was slow and calm but by the way he was still rocking the chair, you were certain that he had not already fallen asleep. His breath hitched a little as you raised your hand to trace some of the scars on the arm he had resting on his stomach. "Are you still nervous?" The room had gotten so quiet that his voice made you flinch a little.

He turned his head towards you when you didn't answer right away. Your fingers that had been running over his arms crept up to his jaw, running along the sharp bone, tracing his cheekbones to his temple, before brushing his dark hair away from his hazel eyes. "You told me I don't have to be. And you're right…I do know you, my precious snowman who will protect me just like I will protect you. I know that as long as I'm with you I will be safe."

For a split second you thought you saw a flash of pain run across his face, but with a blink of you eyes, it was gone. He turned over to face you fully. His arms slowly reached out towards you, one pushing into the plush cushions to reach under your body, the other circling around your waist and with a quick pull, there was hardly any space between the two of you anymore.

You could feel his breath on your face and in the way his chest pressed against yours, the hand of the arm beneath you settling on your lower back while the other carressed your upper back. For a moment you felt like your heart would start racing again due to the sudden proximity but as you stared at his beautiful features, those intelligent eyes that sparkled in greens, browns and even some specks of yellow, the long lashes that framed them and his plush lips that had made you weak with both words and kisses before, you noticed that it was just as calm as your breath.

Laying in Zaynes embrace, it felt like nothing could touch you, no one would dare to even think of harming you. Now even the thought of worrying about being with him seemed ridiculous. Had he ever even given you a reason to worry? Even your first meeting had just felt right. There was hardly any awkwardness, no uncomfortable silences. Maybe you had been moving rather quickly in the eyes of others, but neither of you regretted anything.

You did not regret telling each other your life stories right away, skipping the pleasantries and fun fact about each other for a later date. You did not regret wanting to give him a kiss on the cheek after he had dropped you off and accompanied you to your front door to make sure you made it home safe and he did not regret accidentally turning his head at just the last second so your kiss ended on his lips instead.

As you shared this intimate moment, a shiver ran across your body. Due to his Evol, Zaynes body tended to overcompensate the cold, making his body run hotter than most people. In turn, he prefered his living space to be on the cooler side. Luckily he was prepared and pulled the blanket, that he had slung over the backrest, over the both of you. As he adjusted on the sofa, he pulled you even closer, tangling your legs together to erase even the last bit of distance between you two.

Sharing your warmth and with the quiet affection visible between you both, you snuggled your face into his chest, the faint scent of something that was purely Zayne tickling your nose. You were safe, you were loved and with those thoughts in mind, you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.

[thekeithmeister]

Being Trans In Southern Nature

Being a nature freak in the south as a well-passing trans man is a surreal experience. I live in north Georgia in a blue county in the suburbs. But as often as I can, I drive out into the middle of nowhere for hiking, camping, paddle boarding, or other outdoor activities. The drive there, in and of itself, is bizarre. Inside my car I’m blasting “This Is Me” from The Greatest Showman. But outside I’m driving by confederate flags, Trump signs, the Don’t Tread On Me flag, a sea of American Flags, and Christian billboards that literally say “you’re going to hell” with pictures of fire.

I often think if I ever get a flat tire on one of these trips, and anyone ever figures out I’m trans, I’d be hanged or shot. But I haven’t been clocked in years, so I push those kinds of thoughts to the back of my mind. I turn off the country back roads and onto the gravel drive leading up to a nature preserve. Pulling into the dirt parking lot there’s about a dozen other cars. Many have Trump bumper stickers. There’s no bathroom, so no concern about me being beat up for taking a piss. I always go in the woods anyway on these kinds of trips.

A full bladder is a concern for any trans person. But for this kind of trip I always take major precautions. They start back at home. After I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, I wait a full hour before leaving. I pee at least twice. I make damned sure my bladder is completely empty and there’s no chance any liquid is on it’s way there before getting into my car. I just described the kind of place I have to travel through to get to a good hiking trail. And I ain’t stopping. Not for anything. I’d rather pee my pants.

So when I pull into the lot I have my gear with me. A small backpack containing my rolled up hammock, a bottle of water, protein bars, toilet paper and my taser. When hiking, I drink barely enough to fuel my body. And if I do it just right, I don’t have to pee even if I’m out in the park the entire day. I don’t risk it. And if there really is just no choice, I’m going to go way off trail to do it. And I mean not just out of sight of the trail, but so far off the path someone would have to be crazy to come out there and spot me. Those are the kind of precautions I take.

But I just pulled into the parking lot and my dangerous bladder is empty. So no concerns at the moment. Backpack on, I start walking up to the trail head. There’s a sign there with a map of the trails on it. A blonde woman in a bright yellow shirt immediately approaches me.

“Excuse me!” she says. “Can you tell me if this is an easy trail?”

I’m used to this. Every time I go out hiking, people approach me. Everyone is friendly. Everyone smiles. And I think I must have a very approachable face. Or maybe I look experienced. Whatever the reason, complete strangers come up to me many times during any hike.

This is my first time on this trail, but I researched it beforehand, so I can answer her.

“Some of it,” I said. I turn and point at the map. “Make sure to take a right at the first fork. The entire eastern loop is easy. See, it’s marked green. You want to avoid the western loop as that goes straight up the mountain.” I pointed to the red part.

The woman nodded, “I see. And are there a lot of people on this trail?”

“From what I’ve read no. That’s why I came today. The reviews say you see hardly any body.”

“Thank you! You’ve been a great help! You seem like a really nice young man. Enjoy your hike!”

“You too!”

We part ways. I enter the trail head to begin my hike and I wonder the same exact thing I always wonder when I have these encounters. Would that nice lady turn mean and ugly and hate me if she knew I was trans? I think it every single time. There’s no way not to. I drove through Trump land to get here. I know what conservatives think of me. Or at least the idea of me. It’s not hidden. It’s not a secret. Trump has been president for 20 days at the time I’m writing this, and he has already signed 4 anti-trans specific executive orders. He is planning on discharging 15,000 trans military service members, possibly dishonorably and without their benefits. He’s planning on making it illegal for trans people to play sports. And he also wants to make it illegal for us to use a bathroom in a federal facility. He’s trying to make healthcare illegal for trans people under 19 years of age, threatening to throw parents and doctors in jail. And I watched as Trump signed these executive orders in front of a huge, cheering, smiling, clapping, crowd of conservatives.

They hate me. They want me to die. But when they meet me in real life, they all smile. They approach me. Ask me questions. Thank me for helping them. Many, especially older white men, seem to want to give me guidance, like a father figure. When I run into them on the trail, they are quick to tell me, “the river flooded that way so be careful,” or “the fishing is great at this pond! Bring your pole next time!”

I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping. And I cannot help but wonder… what if they knew? What would those smiles turn into?

I choose the most difficult route on purpose to try and get out into nature alone. I want the peace and quiet it gives me. I don’t want to hear anything other than the birds, the wind, and the branches moving together. If I’m working hard enough, then my own blood pumping in my ears. For the first hour this is what I get. And I’m immeasurably happy. It’s early February and it’s 60 degrees on a sunny day. There are no leaves or greenery yet, but I’m smelling the warmth from the earth mix with the cool air. The pine trees give me plenty of green to be happy with.

But soon, as is always the case, the peace is interrupted. I hear voices from the trail ahead break the quiet. They’re loud. And there are many. Anxiety immediately kicks in. A prick of fear I can never quite control. It sounds like a group of men. And raised as a girl, I knew from a woman’s perspective just how dangerous this could turn out to be. Even having been transitioned and living as a man for the past 8 years, that was embedded in me. Possibly forever. But also having lived as a trans man for so long, my fear shifts from the possibility of being raped to being beat up instead. But again… that would only happen if someone clocked me. And that hadn’t happened in years.

I breathe in and calm myself down. I’m aware of the weight of my taser in my back pocket. I reach back and flip off it’s lid. But I leave it hidden for now. I’ve never needed it, and likely never would. After all, I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping.

As the voices draw nearer, I suddenly hear a woman laugh. My fear immediately vanishes. This was a mixed group of hikers. I keep going and crest the ridge. I can see them now. There’s five, three men, and two women. And one person was black and another Asian. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I always found it interesting just how many other minorities I ran into in the middle of nowhere in the North Georgia Mountains. And how many foreigners for that matter. During this hike, I had run into two separate Germans. Where were they staying? And out of all the places in America they could visit, they chose this tiny trail? But that seemed to be the case almost anywhere I went.

I start passing the group of hikers, and as always, I’m stopped.

“Hi! Nice weather isn’t it?” The lead hiker says.

“Yes it is!” I reply.

“Are we close to the top of the mountain?” One of the women asks me.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s not far. You’re almost there.”

“You hear that honey?” She calls back to a man huffing and puffing as he comes up at the rear. “We’re almost there!”

“Uuugh!” He groans. The woman turns back to me. “Are there really good views at the top?”

“Kinda,” I said. “You have to look through the trees, but it is a good view.”

“Oh great, thank you!”

We part ways. I once again have the same exact thought. All of them were so nice. But how nice would they have been if they’d known?

At the top of the mountain I stop. It had been a tough hike. Steep the entire way. I go off trail a decent distance so no one would see me, find me, or bother me. I set up my hammock where I can be alone. Rocking myself in it, I look out to the view. I can see across two sloping peaks in the distance and it’s really beautiful. But I can’t enjoy it as much as usual. Nature always heals me and puts my mind right. But I’d found out just the day before that the Georgia Legislature had introduced a bill to strip away healthcare from transgender people. It would ban all gender affirming care, even for adults, from anything government or state related.

I was on a private insurance plan from my job, but I didn’t know if my nurse practitioner, who’d been treating me for over 5 years, accepted any government or state funding. If her practice relied on that kind of money, I would be in a lot of trouble. She likely wouldn’t be able to treat me anymore, or risk losing all her funding. Or worse. If treating trans people was illegal, she could potentially be arrested for helping me.

It had taken me years to find someone competent when it came to transgender health. I wouldn’t be able to find someone else. Or rather, I could, but it would likely take years again. And I might be in a situation where I’d be forced to drive out of state. But even then… Trump was targeting blue states, and trying to force them to stop offering healthcare too. So going to a blue state might not have even helped.

I lay in my hammock, wondering what on earth it was I could do. My best friend the day prior had suggested flying to Canada once a year just to get my medication and then coming home. That was a very expensive solution… but one I might have no choice but to consider. Could they even prescribe me a whole years worth of testosterone at a time? I didn’t think so. But maybe I could have it shipped from Canada? How expensive would that be?

I heard a mom shouting at her giggling kids coming up the path just out of sight. They wouldn’t be able to see me where I had set up. So I was free to lay in my hammock and try to fathom what kind of lives this family likely had. How wonderful it must’ve been to not have to worry about where you could legally take a leak, or how you would legally get your medications. That mom didn’t worry about her doctor being thrown in jail. Or if she and her husband would be thrown in jail for getting her kids the proper care they needed. That little family… had no idea that absolute and ruthless hell trans families had to go through.

I wait until I hear them leave. Then wait several minutes more. Then I pack up my hammock and other things and continue down the trail. I’m blissfully alone for another hour or so. But soon I hear voices again. This time it’s a couple: a man and a woman. As they start to approach I assess them. The husband is wearing a shirt with a huge American flag across the front and the Punisher logo on top of that.

I immediately tense up. I knew well enough that the far right wore the Punisher logo. It meant the same exact thing to me as a confederate flag, don’t tread on me flag, christian cross, American flag, or anything else of the like. All of those symbols were the same. And all of them sent the same message. The woman smiles at me as they approach.

“Hi! Have you seen the pond yet?”

“Yes, it’s just up ahead.”

The man doesn’t speak or smile. He barely looks at me. The woman thanks me and they move on.

If they knew, they absolutely would have killed me. I think.

I run into only one other person on the hike, a Korean photographer. We were both lost at the time we met, and his English was difficult to understand. But I made out that he was looking for the trail to the parking lot. I pointed and told him the way I thought it was, but that this was my first time on the trail and wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if he fully understood me. So I just pointed down the trail. After we parted way, I wondered again,

What if he knew? I knew nothing at all about Korean culture. Did they hate trans people too? Or was that just in America?

I wandered for some time, trying to find the right path back. I had 2 hours of daylight left so wasn’t too concerned and my compass said I was heading west, the direction I knew the parking lot was in. So I knew even if I didn’t recognize this part of the trail, I was heading the right way. I stopped by a little stream. Tired, I sat down on the small wooden bridge going across it. Letting my legs dangle over it’s edge and feeling my blood pound in my feet, I took out a protein bar and a bag of apple slices. As I ate my snack, I looked out to the scenery. It was so peaceful and quiet. So quiet in fact that I could close my eyes and listen to the leaves move through the gentle breeze. It was my absolute favorite sound in the entire world. The day was perfect. And it was exactly why I drove so far out of the suburbs to hike in a place like this.

I just wished…

I wished that…

I wished…

[bellamoooon]

Childhood best friends to lovers, i love this concept a little too much and got carried away lol <33

She’d never know, at least that’s what he convinced himself of.

She’d never know that she was like a breath of fresh air after drowning for hours, that she was like the first bit of light rising up in the morning, that she was like the feeling of warmth when getting praised, that talking to her was like hearing his favorite song for the first time again, that her laugh was engraved in his brain and he could hear it even when she wasn’t around, that her presence radiated light that seeped right into his bones, that seeing her was like a shot of espresso immediately waking every nerve in his system, that her smile gleamed with such brightness it could light up the whole world in an eternal darkness, that her eyes said so much more than anything she had ever said, that she was a perfectly aligned harmony when everything else was out of tune.

She’d never know, but he did.

She lived within him; His whole life had been reduced to her.

“Wow Art, this is really good!” his literature teacher spoke as she read his paper, “y’know, if the whole tennis thing doesn’t work out, you could be the next big writer, I mean it.”

For his literature class, as a “creative exploration exercise”—his teacher calls it—they had been assigned to write a paper on someone of something which they could understand as unrequited love, of course he had chosen you, because what better example than you and Art.

You and Art have known each other since diapers due to your parents being best friends from their college days up to the present day, which sort of brought the two of you together one way or another, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would art.

Growing you with you might’ve been one of the best things he has ever been able to experience, he wishes people could actually get to feel what its like to be shined on by your light, for him, it truly is unearthly every time.

Sure, you two had distance shoved in your faces when he went to MRTA, but when he returned home for breaks, it was like nothing changed, it was just you and Art.

And of course as cliché as it may be, the inevitable happened, Art began to fall in love with you.

At first, he tried to convince himself that it was just the affection he had for his best friend, but he had no way to deny it. From the second he stopped just seeing you, but when he started seeing you.

He could try to blame it on his hormones and being a teenager, but everything else contradicted that.

In the summer, seeing you in your two-piece swimsuit didn’t seem the same, especially since you had started to grow into your big girl body, as his nana said.

At Christmas when he saw you walk into the living room dressed as Cindy Lou who from shoes to hair, with a goofy smile, but why did it make him blush? You seemed the same, you did this every year.

Patrick mocked him for having a small picture of the two of you in his wallet, but he didn’t care, whenever he was having a bad day, or missed home, he’d look at the picture, instantly erasing anything that disturbed his thoughts.

But you’d never know that. And he was okay with that. For the most part.

A couple of weeks he went back home for spring break, he was feeing at ease, he’d see his parents, his nana, and…you.

“Artie! My sweet boy!” his grandmother called out as he walked out of the car to the front porch with a suitcase in his hand, and a wide smile. His grandmother ran up to him wrapping her arms around him, her warmth immediately transferring to his skin, he was home.

“Nana, hey, how’ve you been?” he spoke with a sweet tone as he hugged her back. Sure, tennis was his whole life, but coming back home felt like a weight was lifted off his back, he doesn’t have to be THE Art Donaldson, he was just…Art.

“You look so tired baby boy, let me take your bags, go take a shower” his nana said as she shut the door behind her.

“Nana, seriously don’t worry—“

“Will you just let me take care of you while you’re here? You’ve gotta do all this yourself at school, but not here Artie” and well, there isn’t much arguing with nana Donaldson, it’s just how it’s been his whole life.

After his shower, Art walked in his room with a calm breath and loose muscles, how he needed that warm shower, as he walked over to his bag, which was placed next to the window he began to look for some clothes.

He wasn’t one to feel prying eyes on him but by reflex, Art lifted his head as he looked through the window, it was you.

You covered your mouth clearly giggling as he looked down at himself completely naked only covered by a towel wrapped around his waist, “fuck me” he muttered as he looked up once again but now face completely flushed and the tips of his ears burning red.

He waved awkwardly as he pulled the curtains closed feeling flustered, he wanted to get his mind off of her, so he said, how’s that going? Not great.

His nana looked up as he came downstairs with a puzzled expression, your name left his lips.

“What about her?” She asked as she left a plated grilled cheese in front of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was home for the break?” She laughed, why is she laughing?

“Sweetie, I thought it was obvious, she always come back home for breaks” she shook her head as she smiled playfully, “though, I think there’s something about her being here that bothers you”

“What— no, no, it doesn’t bother me, I just— would’ve expected something else, I don’t know”

“You sure?” She slid the paper across the counter with delicacy, “are you absolutely sure baby?”

“Nana! I told you to stop snooping, come on!” He said taking the paper as quickly as possible, could this day get any worse?

“One, I wasn’t snooping, it fell out of your backpack, and two, Artie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowered his head ever so slightly as he grabbed the sandwich to then take a bite.

“I know.” He said once he swallowed, she leaned against the counter with curious eyes.

“She’s good, she’s smart, and really talented, did you hear she put out a song?” He lifted his brows in surprise, you really had picked music, over psychology, huh…

“Huh…well that’s great, I’m sure she’ll do great with all that” his nana scoffed as she muttered a small “art…” with a warning tone, “what? I mean it”

“You gotta give me more than that after that thing you wrote, Art, I taught you better than this.”

“I just—! I don’t know what to say, Nana, that’s the problem. Not to you, not to Patrick and most definitely not to her” he spilled, fiddling nervously with his hands, “I’d screw our friendship, one sided feelings aren’t worth risking years of trust.”

“Well you never know Artie, sometimes holding onto those feelings is painful, even if something is on the line, it isn’t worth it if you’re hurting” she was right, but Art would never say that out loud, this was all too much for him.

“It’s just…it’s not easy”

“Well my boy, no one said love was easy, and sometimes, just sometimes, the most complicated loves, are the most beautiful ones” he listened intently as he finished off the grilled cheese, she was right, maybe all he needed to do was tell her.

You had to know.

So there he was at 2:34 a.m throwing small pebbles at your window, just like he did years ago to then go the skate park at midnight and sit at the top of the ramps while you talked till sunrise.

“Stop throwing rocks Donaldson, you’ll wake the dog” you came out the door in pjs but wrapped in a jacket, he turned with a confused expression “I came running down when I felt the first two rocks” you laughed softly as you blushed slightly, God you missed this.

It’s like being kids all over again.

“So how’s tennis and all, Mr. Stanford?” You asked as you swung your hanging feet off the ramp.

“Y’know tennis is the same always, trust me, you don’t care” he laughed as he shook his head, “but Stanford is nice, just not the same without you and Patrick on my ass all the time”

“Ah, of course, because that’s the biggest change you’ve had since we were kids up to today” you rolled your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah…” he chuckled dryly as he looked away, could he be more obvious, goddamn.

“What?”

“No— no, it’s nothing” he insisted.

“Art I know you, it’s not nothing, what’s up?” You pushed as he looked up at the sky biting his lip while humming, “Art?”

“Hm?” He turned to look at you again, you lifted a brow silently asking once again, “ah…I— I love you” he blurted out unable to stop himself.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out.

“I have since the summer you turned fifteen, you just— you kinda started to seem different to me, and I— I fell in love with you.” He sighed, “and I know timing sucks and it’s gonna make things weird, but if I didn’t tell you, it would eat me alive, y’know it’s been so long—“ his rambling got cut off as your lips crashed onto his almost immediately.

His body tensed up completely, the feeling of your lips foreign to his, but so familiar at the same time, the reality was better than any dream he had ever managed to build up in his mind, your plump lips tasting faintly like cherry lip gloss, he was most likely dreaming, he thought, cause there is no way he had told you how he felt, and even less probabilities of him kissing you.

As you pulled away, he found himself instinctively following you with parted lips and eyes shut, he was so high with your mere presence, a soft giggle from you snapped him back to reality as his eyes opened up slowly, pupils blown, he looked as if he had just seen God.

“…Did you just—“

“Kiss you?” You ask slightly tilting your head with a giddy smile, “seems like it”

You shrugged as you snorted softly.

“Oh.” Oh was the only thing his brain could process for him to say still stunned.

“Okay— so you tell me you love me, but I kiss you and all you say is ‘oh’, I mean—“ you said as you licked your lips as you thought.

“I just— I didn’t think you’d— like…you…like…” he fumbled as he tried to pull a thought out of the back of his brain.

“Art, you’re telling me you didn’t expect me to kiss you, when I’ve literally had this…I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and I’ve been as subtle as a marching band” you tell him as a blush creeps up your face while you chuckle nervously.

“You’re kidding, right?” You shake your head with a small grin, he scoffs as he covers his face with his hands, “am I just that dense?”

“Not dense, more like…oblivious” you laugh as he glares back playfully.

Then there’s beat of silence, that moment where suddenly everything had fallen into place, he’s been pining over you for years, and you’ve waited for the right moment for as long as you can remember, but then the question settles in, what now?

“Uhm…art…?” You turn to him with hesitation, he hums in response “what now? I mean, you’re going back to cali after break and I’m going back to New York…”

“Hm…I hadn’t really thought that far into it” he said softly turning to look at you with gentle eyes, “what now?” He asks back softly.

“I— I like you, Art, I’m in it for the long game.” You spoke honestly as you fiddled with your fingers.

“I’ll play the long game. You’re out there, I’m out there too, we’ll see each other in summer, thanksgiving, and Christmas…I mean it, I— don’t just like you.” He confessed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously.

“I can do that” you said softly, smiling back at him, letting out a small breath, “long game…?”

Your hand cupped his cheek making him face you, he smiled as he nodded, looking down at your lips and back at your eyes “long game.” He muttered as he leaned in kissing you once again, holding you gently in a fear of breaking you.

That right there. That was it, you were the living proof of unrequited love for him.

[the-marshals-wife]

No More Tears (Oz Cobb x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: First fic of the year. 🥂 Writing this was extremely cathartic, as was binging The Penguin twice over my winter break. The brainrot is severe, for which there is no cure but this. Oz is very protective of what's his, and as it turns out, that includes you.

Description: Oz Cobb/The Penguin x Fem!Reader, angst / hurt+comfort (plus a teeny bit of ending fluff) | Rating: MATURE for violent content and adult themes | Warnings: violence and blood, injuries described, mild language, name-calling (not towards Reader), alcohol, drugs mentioned (drops), suggestive themes, pet names (endearing), Reader is injured by a club guest and Oz beats the daylights out of the culprit. | Setting: before the events of The Batman | Word count: 3.1 k

Imagine Oz finding out that you've been hurt, and getting sweet revenge

The throbbing in your temple brings tears to your eyes, and your hands shake as you cradle the side of your face. You draw in a sharp breath, the cool metal of the elevator wall against your back grounding you a bit. Several excruciating seconds later, the doors open, and you resurface from the 44 Below much more battered than when you went in. As the pain starts to intensify, you look for somewhere to retreat out of view. The last thing you needed was anyone seeing you weak.

Of course, there was hardly such a place within the walls of the Iceberg Lounge. With few other options, you make a bee-line for the bathroom. No one seems to notice you in your afflicted state as you rush through the dressing area and out into the upper-level of the club. The flashing of the strobe lights normally didn't phase you, but now they feel like ice picks in your eye sockets. Only halfway to your destination and several more flights of stairs ahead, you can barely hear the thundering base of the club music over the pounding of your heartbeat. Suddenly your vision blurs, and you quickly grab onto the railing to steady yourself.

There are people on every side, but they're far too deep in their drinks, drugs, and pleasant company to notice you. For once, you're grateful for it.

"Concussed by some worthless drophead," you mutter, your head swimming. It had been a mistake to look down over the edge.

You stand up to go lean on the wall instead, but you catch sight of your hands. You look down at your fingers to see them smeared with blood. Your stomach twists with sickened realization. When the creep downstairs backhanded you, his ring must have cut you open.

Before you can speak the curses on your tongue, you hear your name being shouted. Even in your dazed state, you recognize the voice of your coworker.

"Y/N," she calls out again, her voice barely rising above the dull roar.

You sway around to face her, and her shock is immediate, as expected.

"Oh-," she exclaims, wide-eyed, "Are you good?"

"Not exactly," you answer, wincing, "Drophead got handsy."

"They always do," she says, shaking her head. Her nervous smile turns to a full grimace. "Oz wants to see you."

The boiling fury in your veins instantly transforms into frigid panic. "You gotta find someone else. I can't do it. He cannot see me like this."

"He asked for you specifically," she replies, shrugging. "You better get up there. Try to hide it with your hair."

With that piece of advice, she walked away. You couldn't blame her. She had her orders, and you had yours. If only they'd come just a few minutes earlier.

Righting yourself, you wipe your bloodied hands on your navy blue skirt, and pull the pins from your hair, letting it fall down around your face. You tousle it with your crimson stained fingers as much as you can, but even if you had a mirror, you know full well that no amount of tugging at your bangs could fully conceal the gash in your brow. Still, it would have to do. You can't keep Oz waiting.

Exhaling, you start the climb back up to his office. The pain in your head burns deep, but at least the dizziness had subsided somewhat. That was the only thing you had in your favor at the moment. Your aching mind reels over what awaited you. Surely Oz would be upset with you. It was your job to keep guests happy, and your face was damning evidence of your failure. It didn't matter if that guest was a privileged scum-sucking loser too strung-out to form an intelligent thought. He was decidedly unhappy, and now you would have to accept the consequences.

Walking back through where you'd just come from and entering the corridor of the sequestered alcove, you can only pray that Oz is somehow distracted enough with business not to look up. The rattling of the parted bead curtain announces your arrival, and as you step through, it's immediately clear that your prayer fell upon deaf ears.

"There she is," Oz greets with a wide smile, "Come on in, sweetheart."

He waits expectantly on the couch by the window, the murky glow of the club lights shining behind him.

In vain, you keep your chin lowered and your hands clasped firmly behind your back.

"You wanted to see me?" you reply, avoiding his eyes.

"Of course I do. I always want to see you, baby," he answers, waving you forward, "Come here and tell me about your night. How are things goin' downstairs? You holdin' up alright?"

Swallowing hard, you obey and sit down on your hands beside him. You feel your limbs trembling as you search for your words.

"It's good. Busy, busy night," you reply, nodding.

Before he even speaks, you can sense Oz's gaze on you, and just how skeptical it is.

"Good? Just good? So stiff all of a sudden!" he scoffs lightheartedly, "You feelin' okay, baby? You're usually my little chatterbox."

You open your dry mouth to answer, deciding to confess the truth, but he's already reaching to brush your hair behind your ear. The revealed wound speaks for itself, and you flinch as strands of your hair catch on the fresh, open skin.

"Who did this to you?"

The restrained rage in his voice sends a chill down your spine.

"Y/N. Who did this thing to you, sweetheart?" he urges.

He gently grabs your chin and turns your head towards him. Both his touch and his tone are soft, but in his dark eyes there is an unmistakable wrath.

You stare at him in total confusion, unsure if you should feel comforted or in dread. This isn't the reaction you'd expected. Not in your wildest dreams.

"It was...some drophead. Corporate type," you hesitate, composing yourself, "He wanted me to leave with him. I kept telling him no, but he wouldn't lay off. Then he got fresh and I pushed away. That's when I caught the backside of his hand with my face. He was hammered, but it was no accident. His ring's what cut me."

Oz sits back, twitching in agitation. "When was this?"

"About ten minutes ago," you reply, "I'll be alright, Oz. I just need to clean up. It's not a big deal."

"The hell it ain't!" he denies.

His outburst startles you a bit, but you could tell it was not towards you.

A heated moment passes, and his temper calms once more. He leans forward again, touching your arm soothingly.

"You ain't done nothing wrong, baby. I'm gonna take care of this," he assures, "Can you describe him to me? He and I need to have a little talk about manners."

You smirk. "Definitely."

☂︎

A few minutes later, you're standing in the corner of the room with a cold drink in one hand, and a towel pressed to your stinging temple in the other. While Oz sent the Twins downstairs to retrieve your assailant, you'd finally gotten a moment to check your reflection in the mirror and inspect the damage. The gash was deep, but luckily not too wide. You would need stitches, and there'd undoubtedly be a scar for you to remember tonight by, but the doctor could wait. With the bleeding slowing at last, you waited with quiet anticipation to see if the sleaze would get a taste of his own medicine. Meanwhile, Oz stands by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking down in silence at the dancing throngs below.

Your shared reverie is broken by the arrival of the Twins, each dragging the man by one of his arms. Somehow, he seems twice as wasted as before. Now he's barely able to hold his head up.

Oz turns around and looks to you, gesturing. "This the gentleman?" He says the last word with no small amount of disdain.

You nod, biting down hard on your lip.

With that, they unceremoniously toss the guy into the chair in front of the vanity.

"Nice work, fellas," says Oz, giving them a pointed look, "Give us a minute here. Don't go too far."

They nod in confirmation and exit as swiftly as they'd come.

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with how close the lowlife is to you again. The familiar smell of vodka, drops, and sweat burns your nose. You half have a mind to dump the rest of your own drink out on his head, if only to douse the odor. The other half of you is afraid of what might happen if you do.

As if he'd read your uneasy mind, Oz invites you over to his side of the room. "Come over here, sweetheart. Why don't you have a seat? You should be resting in your condition."

More than happy to oblige, you set what remains of your liquid painkiller down on the crystal table and return to your place on the couch.

"What's going on," the man finally speaks, his words slurring together. Then he sets his intoxicated gaze on you, and his bloodshot eyes narrow in recognition. "You...I know you..."

You frown, folding your arms over your chest in response.

"You don't talk to her. You talk to me," Oz interjects, stepping forward.

"And...you are?" he replies hazily, furrowing his brow with indignance.

"I'm the manager of this club, pal," he answers, taking on a cool tone of superiority, "Now, I don't know you. Based on that suit you got, I'm guessin' your checkbook is bigger than the average drophead's. And maybe outside of these walls, you're some bigshot who can do whatever he likes, to whomever he likes. But in here, you're in my world."

Before Oz finishes speaking, the man's eyelids begin to flutter. It's quickly becoming clear that he's losing the battle for consciousness.

Oz glances over his shoulder at you exasperated.

"Geez, how many friggin' drops has this sack of crap had?" He snaps his fingers in the guy's face. "Hey pal, you mind joining us here back on planet Earth for a moment? I'm tryna teach you something."

The loser rapidly blinks and rouses, violently wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"There you go, that's better," Oz says, stooping to be eyelevel with the guy, "Like I was sayin'. You're in my world. And here, we got rules. They're very simple. So simple, even a miserable little roach like you can understand 'em."

Oz lightly slaps the man's cheek and stands upright once more. He proceeds to remove his suit jacket and lay it on the nearby vanity. Your pulse quickens as he continues his monologue.

"There are some rules you can bend. Hell, there's even a few you can break once or twice and I'll look the other way. But there's one rule that you never, ever break. And that, is where you messed up, pal."

You're frozen in place, your heart full on racing watching Oz roll up his crisp white shirt sleeves.

"I...wait-just, hold on," the slimeball stammers. Every trace of arrogance had vanished, along with all the color in his face. He scrambles in an attempt to right himself, but he's far too inebriated to escape. At last, he was horrifically aware of situation he was in. He raises his now shaking hands in front of him, and you can't help but grin in satisfaction.

"You never hit a lady," Oz seethes, grabbing the guy's coat collar in his fists, "It seems you need a reminder of that. So I'm gonna give you one won't forget."

A yelp escapes the man's chapped lips as Oz hurls a right hook into his jaw. His arms go limp from the impact, and they only flop about from there as Oz lands another punch. You gape at the massive cut sliced into the guy's cheek by Oz's own ring.

"How do you like it, huh? Stings, don't it?"

In his drug-induced stupor, the drophead makes no attempt to fight back. All he can muster is an agonized moan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

This only serves to enrage your boss further. Oz grabs the guy's collar again, this time tugging him forward out of the chair. His skull hits the floor with a nauseating crack. The sound, and the convulsing that follows, doesn't deter Oz, however. He hoists the man up with a strength that surprises you and pushes him against the brick wall.

Miraculously, the pathetic soul was still conscious, if just barely. The blood dripping from his mouth deepens the pit in your stomach, but you don't turn away.

Oz shoves the man's head to turn your direction.

"You think you can come in here and do that to one of my girls? Huh? Look at her face. You piece of rat filth!" he shouts, punching him in his ribs, "How dare you touch her. I oughta cut your hand off and feed it to ya!"

He proceeds to lay into him with a ferocity you can scarily believe. Every blow is more brutal than the last, each one punctuated by infuriated curses. Each time the lucid fool slumps forward from the impact, Oz sends him back with another slug to gut or head. It feels like an eternity passes before he finally has his fill of retribution and lets the man fall at his feet.

You peer at the unmoving heap, searching for signs of life, but your focus quickly shifts back Oz. He stands with his back to you, still muttering incensed profanities between heaving breaths.

This was a side of him you'd caught glimpses of, but never fully witnessed. Perhaps not many had. The fury that flowed through him certainly stemmed from more than revenge for tonight's incident. You imagined there was probably a lifetime of buried rage behind every blow struck. The thought of where such intense anger came from, and how much more there might be deep inside him, made you shudder.

For now though, you were just grateful he tapped into it on your behalf. His violent appetite was satisfied, and you had your payback. It'd hardly been a fair fight, and you couldn't care less. As much as your mind told you that should be afraid in this moment, or at the very least unnerved, you weren't. You felt relieved. More than that, you were mesmerized.

Oz whistles for the Twins, and they promptly return. He produces a dark purple handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes away the blood from his knuckles before acknowledging them.

"Would you fellas be so kind? Our 'guest' needs help finding his sea legs," he invites, slicking his hair back.

It was only an expression, of course. If he didn't succumb to his injuries, you doubted the guy would ever be able to stand again. He wouldn't be backhanding anyone, either. That thought brings a smile to your face.

The identical men hoist the nameless victim up in much the same manner as they'd brought him in. Only this time, with his black and blue face utterly plastered with fresh lacerations, he was nearly unrecognizable. The low gurgling noise emanating from his mouth was the only proof that they weren't propping up a corpse.

"In case I wasn't making myself clear," Oz begins, rolling his sleeves back down, "If you so much as think about coming back in here, I'll carve you up into so many friggin' pieces, only God would be able to find them all."

It sounded like the man tried to vocalize, but it was scarcely more than a whimper.

Oz sneers, "Get this scum outta my sight."

You watch as what's left of your harasser is carried away from view. Just like that, you and Oz are alone once again. As much as you could be anyway, since several of the girls in the dressing area had become aware of the beatdown and were peeping from the other side of the shared window. Surely the whole club would know about what'd just taken place before sunrise. After all, Oz wouldn't do that for just any of the girls here. He didn't even know half of their names; but he knew yours, and he almost beat a man to death to defend it. You shake your head and resolve to ignore the onlookers, trying to come back into your body after the sobering surreal experience.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, baby. But it had to be done," he sighs, putting his jacket back on, "He won't be bothering you no more."

You stand up and walk over to him, "I'm just sorry I couldn't get a punch in."

"Listen to you, little killer over here," he chuckles, "Tell you what. Next time we got a jerk that goes sideways, I'll hold his arms back and you can go nuts on 'em. Deal?"

"Deal," you agree, your playful words turning sincere, "Thank you, Oz. You didn't have to do that for me."

"Yes, I did. Someone disrespects you, they disrespect me too. You bleed, I bleed. I had to make it right," he argues, slightly stern. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "Here. For the doctor. If you need more, you call me."

You softly gasp at the six hundred-dollar bills he holds out.

"This is too much," you begin.

"No, it ain't. I never shoulda let you go down there in the first place. They're friggin' animals," he says, regret in his voice, "You take all the time you need before you come back, alright? Don't worry about it."

You let him place the money in your hand. Tears start to well up in your eyes as you look to him with gratitude.

"Thank you," you repeat.

He reaches to brush your hair away from your eyes, his bruised knuckles grazing your cheek. "Don't you go startin' with the waterworks now," he smiles, "Scars ain't nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. You'll always be beautiful to me."

Anyone who'd spent just one minute with Oswald Cobb knew that he had a way with words, but something about the glint in his eye made you believe that he truly meant these ones.

You chuckle thoughtfully and straighten his tie. Then, leaning in, you press a kiss to his cheek. For a second time that night, you'd taken him by surprise.

Turning to leave, you smirk over your shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."

He grins. "No promises, doll. No promises."

[seaofreverie]

So I wanted to apply to the second level of studies at the university where I did my bachelors degree after a year long break and it was lowkey my only plan for the forseeable future (2 more years of studying until I have to start thinking again about what in the actual fuck I want to be doing with my life). And today I learn that despite me passing the final exam one year ago with 100% points and them saying on their website that results from last year will be taken into account during this year's recruitation for the second level... it turns out that no, you have to pass the exam THIS year, and those start in about two weeks from now. I emailed them about this because they were giving me some contradicting information to put it mildly and they tell me that ooops, sorry about that, that thing on our website was outdated. So, you're saying that you have chosen war.

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...