#help people learn to get out of trouble on their own

[riastarthe]

sure whatever. Yes. that's fine. i do think it's pretty irresponsible to say all this and not offer alternatives, something to go on that Can be trusted. i think providing exceptions helps prove the rule, no?

The people in the notes, particularly, who are very comfortable asserting that the vetters themselves are suspect would do well to share their own criteria, what their methods of vetting are, who they DO trust. if the answer is no one then you're as much of a fool. much of the vetting is also done offsite by talking to multiple families and their friends. yes, many of these people know each other, or know friends of friends, just like people from enclaves in a city are more likely to. "why so many emojis in a war zone" "why do so many messages sound the same" look, most of these people don't speak fluent english and don't know that this is the shit that looks like spam/scams to you. as someone who habitually talks to palestinians on bluesky and whatsapp,

1) emoji usage aren't grounds for disqualification. they're trying to express how they feel, like yourself.

2) they aren't FLUENT ENGLISH SPEAKERS! THEY COPY THE SAME MESSAGES OVER AND OVER BECAUSE IT'S A PAIN IN THE ASS TO MAKE NEW ONES! and many explicitly ask for help writing new messages because they KNOW that goes much further than what they already KNOW is brushed aside— worse, reported— as spam.

3) YES they have time to "panhandle" during a genocide. how do you think time works? how many people do you think there are who need help? no one can go to work anymore, there is no work, no fun, no hobbies to enjoy. everything is taken up by trying to get food and water and get a stable enough connection to ask your mean bitch ass for help. but they have some time to do that, and the people doing it are often mothers and their older children. they have the time.

4) you don't have to like what they say. no one in Gaza wants to be talking to you, personally, about their abject horrific circumstances. you wouldn't like it if you were in their position. when someone says "i've thought about killing myself" or "i'm ashamed to be their parent" or somesuch thing, think about what the fuck is going on. you don't have to listen, you don't have to reply, but there's nothing outrageous about this. bombing. starvation. illness. planes overhead. an armed quadcopter hovered in my friend's window before thankfully leaving. you can think you'd act better in this scenario! you can chide a desperate parent in front of everyone to prove it! i hope you never have to go through it yourself.

it is much easier to block, delete, and ignore suspicious messages than it is to escape a war zone. if in fact the messages are dishonest, then it should be no trouble to shrug it off. please put whatever overwhelm you feel into context— either it's people who cannot act their best and cannot communicate in keeping with your personal standards while trying to survive, or, it's scammers/bots.

yes, you DO need to be able to filter this stuff for yourself and do work that is difficult and time-consuming in order to learn to be discerning. you need to be more uncomfortable with the fact that real people who are suffering, even dying the slow death of starvation and disease, will slip through. you need to figure out how you're going to deal with that. the confidence you have that there is a one size fits all way of judging these things is false. it's not enough to say "yeah i get a bad vibe"— does that bad vibe just help absolve your conscience?

also the people in the notes saying "what's the point of donating money when there's not even any food to buy :/" hey: go to hell anytime. many organisations can't reliably or consistently distribute aid, let alone enter gaza. israel is blocking that aid so donating to orgs is not going to reach palestinians effectively. maybe sometime. but PEOPLE can withdraw money via gfm and chuffed, and gfm is pretty stringent, maybe overly so, given how many Very Verifiably Factually Confirmed For Real people have their donations returned and fundraisers shut down. many people also sponsor or otherwise facilitate these campaigns, and there are extensive guides on how to do this, which includes knowing how to be smart and fact check, or vet, people.

but how can you do that without organising with and learning from the people who have dedicated their time to doing exactly this, dedicating their time to establishing networks in and outside of palestine, educating others on how to both identify scammers and even through language barriers help palestinians differentiate themselves from these scammers— but when everyone's hungrily and racistly looking for a way to write them off, very often no amount of evidence is good enough. these networks of dedicated assistants even facilitate the apologies necessary when photos are sometimes taken from verified real palestinians to be used by Other verified real palestinians— something which near-exclusively occurs because they can't take new ones of their own, or, feel everyone has lost interest in the facts they've already provided. this is something which is completely understandable given the situation, but is looked down on as a major faux pas by palestinians themselves, and will call each other on it. this stuff doesn't go unnoticed. and if you are capable of noticing it, it's worth saying so, but you ALSO MUST COMMUNICATE. there's no sense in making a callout for a person you can so easily cut off and to relegate them to such terrible circumstances while leaving no room for improvement, that's just bastardly.

i have been honest with my dear friend in Gaza about my limitations. they have no reason to be as patient with me as they are— i have no money to offer— but following my honesty, they are. they are consistently patient and understanding even under constant threat.

but seeing you go "ummm that is NOT how you speak to someone when you want their help!" and "phew! i support palestine or whatever, but come on!" in the responses to this post, i actually do not trust that you are capable of the diligence you believe is required!

I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.

[lobstermatriarch]

living the sapphic white knight fantasy of actually being able to catch women bridal style when they fall from a height

[bitegore]

ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.

[ourceliumnetwork]

the list of traumas i need to unpack still and my coping mechanisms (or, more frequently, lack-thereof) keeps getting longer and i'm not sure i like that. I think i like less how much i already know they're hangups before they become a problem i have to actively work on, too.

[delugyu]

beomgyu teaching you how to jerk him off (pls i’m ovulating i need to be put down)

hey twin i’m ovulating too! can u tell by how depraved this is

(wc: 2k / warnings: virgin!reader, corruption kink, big dick!beomgyu, handjob)

beomgyu’s head might explode. quite possibly his dick too. you’re sitting in front of him on his bed, wide-eyed and innocent but so eager to help him with something so dirty. he has to calm down before he blows his load too fast and makes himself look like the virgin here.

“you sure you’re okay with this?” beomgyu asks, checking in one more time before he lets you put your hands on him. you nod with sparkling eyes and a cheerfulness that doesn’t match the situation at hand. he can’t deny how much your eagerness turns him on, though. beomgyu never thought he had a thing for virgins, but fuck, you’re doing something to him.

you sit cross-legged, hands held in your lap as you await instruction. it makes beomgyu’s cock throb, and his head is reeling with all the images of things he wants to do with you. he keeps himself grounded as best as he can, trying to remember that you’re here to learn, not to fulfill fantasies of his own.

“what do i do first?” you ask, looking at his pants. it makes him laugh. he grabs your chin to redirect your attention back to his face, smiling fondly when he sees a hint of embarrassment in your eyes.

“you should always start with kissing,” beomgyu says, tugging you towards him until you’re sitting in his lap. the surprise on your face is pretty cute. “it really sets the mood.”

“okay,” you say, but do nothing. beomgyu tries to hold back his laughter, but he just can’t. it’s so funny to watch you get so shy. you pout, then pull your face in to peck his cheek. he runs a hand up your thigh, endeared by your action.

“a real kiss,” he says. it really doesn’t seem like you’re going to make the move, so he decides to make it easier for you. he cups your face and brings you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that starts out much sweeter than what the moment would suggest.

your lips are soft and fit well against his own, and beomgyu finds himself feeling so lucky that you’d ask him of all people to help you with something like this. it makes him happy that you trust him this much. he bites your lip ever so slightly to get you gasping, letting his tongue slip between your parted lips to deepen the kiss.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he holds himself back from getting too intense. he’ll settle with this slow, sensual kiss, at least until you get confident enough to take more. your little noises are admittedly very hot, and beomgyu knows you must feel his cock twitching beneath you.

you pull away to catch your breath, and your eyes fall on the string of saliva connecting your lips. beomgyu smiles and licks his lips as if he’ll catch any lingering tastes of you. you hesitantly bring your face back to his, and he closes his eyes and parts his lips expectantly, but your mouth meets his jaw instead. you don’t place a peck there like you did to his cheek—you suck on his skin like you would his lips, pulling away after a few seconds to blink up at him.

beomgyu’s stomach is doing cartwheels. he can’t help but find everything you do attractive, even when it’s done with such uncertainty and inexperience. your mouth continues latching onto his skin and sucking, trailing down his neck. he’s sure that you won’t leave any marks—you’re not really sucking that hard, but it’s enough to have him losing his mind. he groans when your hips involuntarily push forward. he wonders how wet you must be right now if you’re already having trouble controlling your body.

“can i touch you now?” you ask, fingers dipping into the hem of his pants. god, beomgyu’s head is spinning. you must be some kind of succubus sent to taint his soul. if you are, it’s fucking working. he’s obsessed and all he’s felt so far is your lips.

he nods and leans back a bit. “yeah, take those off.” you pull down his pants and boxers both in one go, and he watches with a grin when your eyes widen at his cock springing out.

“you’re really big,” you muse, still staring at his dick. beomgyu bites his lip as he watches you wrap a hand around his shaft, not able to close your hand all the way because of his girth. you look up at him, unsure what to do next. beomgyu has to reel himself in, remembering that he should be teaching you right now.

“you should spit in your hand to lube it up. dry handjobs don’t feel that good,” he advises. he holds his breath as he watches you bring your hand to your mouth, a glob of spit falling past your lips and into your palm. he shuts his eyes tight to keep himself together, trying not to cum from just the sight of you doing something so dirty.

your hand falls back to his cock and gives it a few jerks to lubricate it. beomgyu bites his tongue to hold back a moan, but he can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your fist. your eyes meet his again, curious and bright. he wants to kiss you again, but he has to remember that this isn’t about him.

“is this good?” you ask, working your saliva-slicked hand over his cock. if you only knew how hard beomgyu was holding back right now—even through your clumsy handjob, something about you is making beomgyu lose his mind.

“y-yeah. you can try squeezing a little tighter, maybe,” he says, and he cringes at how uncomposed he sounds. the moment you take his advice and wrap your fist tighter around him, he throws his head back and groans. it seems to encourage you, and you start moving a little faster.

fuck, he can’t cum yet. he’s trying to think of anything else, something to keep him from bursting at the seams, but the feeling of your hand wrapped around him is so overwhelming. you look so focused, like you’re taking notes of his reactions and repeating anything that makes him keen. you’re fucking ruining him, god.

“how do i make you cum?” you ask, and the question itself is nearly enough to do it. he’s catching his breath and looking at you through hooded eyes, taking in your eager little hand tugging at his cock and the way you look so determined to get him off. a part of him wants to lay you down and get you all worked up; it’s not fair for him to be suffering alone like this.

“you can—ah, fuck—twist your hand when you come up,” he suggests, and his eyes roll back when you try it out. your movements are getting more confident now, and beomgyu can’t contain his moans anymore. his mouth hangs open, panting pathetically as he feels his orgasm creeping up on him.

you surprise him when you lean your head down to spit onto his cock, lubricating it even more and allowing you to move faster. you really are a little demon. he wants to bend you over and fuck himself into your cunt, wants to have you leaking arousal and crying out for him. he wants you to be moaning and shaking and begging him for release, but instead it’s him on the receiving end of that. he’s going crazy.

“fuck! i’m gonna cum, keep doing that,” he urges as his hips fuck into your fist. you don’t stop him, letting him chase his orgasm until he’s spilling all over his cock and your hand. he’s groaning as he watches his seed spill onto you, imagining what it would be like to cum on your face or your tits instead. shit, what are you doing to him?

“was i good?” your eyes shine with hope as you wait for beomgyu’s answer, and he chooses to respond with a messy kiss to your lips. you’re not here to let him make you cum, but god, he wants to so bad. his brain is flooded with the image of you squirming beneath him, of defiling you and taking your virginity. he wants to dip his hand beneath your pants and feel how wet you are.

you push at his chest to separate from his kiss, eyes darting across his face curiously. this is killing him. he already feels his dick stirring back to life.

“i can show you something too, if you want,” beomgyu offers, still panting from his orgasm.

“like what? you already came.” he attaches his mouth to your neck and sucks desperately, so needy for you to stay here with him. he’s not done with you yet, you can’t leave him without giving him a taste of you. “gyu?” your voice is laced with confusion, your eyes are too when beomgyu looks up at you as he marks your chest. thank god you wore that slutty little low-cut top.

“maybe i could touch you?” he suggests, hand massaging your thigh.

“but that wouldn’t be teaching me anything,” you say, tilting your head. he kisses you again, so endeared and turned on by your innocence. he coaxes your mouth open and shoves his tongue inside, licking into your mouth and holding your face still. he wants to leave you dripping and needy, to tease you until you’re begging him for more.

he guides you down against the mattress, never disconnecting from your lips, eating up your moans and whines. his hands descend down your sides slowly, stopping when they reach your hips. he’s dying to take off your pants and dive into your cunt.

he pulls back to look at you. your lips are puffy and red, and your hair’s all disheveled around you. your eyes are glassy, and your chest heaves with how hard you’re breathing. he might cum again just from the sight.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asks, hoping you’ll say yes. if you even start to nod, beomgyu wouldn’t hesitate to tear your pants off. he needs this more than he’s ever needed anything else in his life.

you sit up suddenly, which makes beomgyu pull away in confusion. “i should go,” you say, picking up your phone from his nightstand.

“what? why?” did he do something wrong? he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he could have sworn you looked just as into it as he was.

“i have to see taehyun tonight,” you say meekly.

“oh. right.” you’re seeing taehyun. that’s why you had him teach you any of this, after all. he got too caught up in the moment.

you stand up and stare at him, swaying awkwardly in place. beomgyu thinks briefly about convincing you to stay.

“thank you,” you say, not even looking him in the eye. beomgyu’s hands itch to pull you back onto the bed. he wants to hold you down and keep you from leaving. he’d kiss you speechless until taehyun’s not even a thought in your mind anymore.

“yeah,” he says, feigning nonchalance with a simple nod. you’re walking out now, and he has to ignore the voice in his head telling him to run after you.

he collapses against his bed when he hears his door close. taehyun’s his friend, but beomgyu really hates him right now. he can’t think about you and taehyun together without seething. beomgyu doesn’t know where this is coming from—sure, he had a little crush on you some time ago, but he thought that left as soon as you two started hanging out more.

he just hopes that whatever you’re doing with taehyun isn’t better than what you did with him. he’ll be damned if he finds out that taehyun laid his hands on you tonight. he prays and prays that you miraculously stop finding interest in taehyun and leave him before anything happens between you.

what does he want then? for you to come back to him, crying about how bad you need him?

…yeah, that kind of is what he wants, honestly.

[ubeb0nes]

Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner! Reader

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

𖢅 ------ 𖢅

You were new to Zaun. No one had seen you coming, nor your success as soon as you'd laid roots down. Most people who came here for opportunity and enterprise were mad inventors from Topside, or business sharks in the Chemtech and Shimmer industry.

But you? You just ran a bar.

…You were burying your past life as a smuggler in Bilgewater by moving to Zaun, but that was neither here nor there. People had come across wealth in more morally abhorrent ways.

You learned the ways of the Undercity quickly. It'd tried to teach you a swift lesson your very first week open, when a few crooks walked in and tried to threaten you into giving up what was in your cash till. Your trusty shotgun and a few thrown glasses had been an effective solution.

You were not gonna get scammed out a livelihood down here. You swore it to yourself. You were gonna make a space that was all your own, some place people could relax and be together since The Last Drop evidently wasn't that anymore.

Then she comes around.

You knew her face. You'd seen her walking around the Lanes while you were hunting for dishware and cutlery for cheap. You'd thought "smash", and then kept it moving.

You could tell she was important even then, with the way she stalked through a parting crowd. It was no different when she entered your bar for the first time.

"What's Silco's bloodhound doing here?" "God, Sevika? C'mon, let's get a corner booth in case shit goes to hell." "Uh oh, bar lady's in trouble with the higher up's." Your patrons were not helpful.

She sat at the bar, trying to talk you up. Trying to gain information, you realized. Yeah, you weren't new to this.

Sevika was intrigued, at the very least.

Silco had sent her to scope you out. Your business had been doing too well, too fast. If you had savvy, he wanted to know about it.

And you definitely did. She'd never admit it, but she was… charmed. As much as someone like her could be, at least.

You radiated quiet control behind the bar, a rag thrown over one shoulder and another hooked on your waist while you juggled multiple shouted drink orders effortlessly. All the while making banter with her.

She was still debating whether or not to report back truthfully to Silco when the bustle of a few kids walking in cut through her train of thoughts.

You talked them down from their hyperness in a swift moment, jutting your thumb to the kitchen in the back where, apparently, there was some sandwiches waiting for them.

You shrugged off the scrutinizing look she was giving you.

"Somebody's gotta feed them," is all you said. She sees somebody else's old fire, somebody she used to know, in your eyes for a moment.

"Owner's an airhead. Nothing to worry about. Definitely just a lucky break," she tells Silco later that night.

She lets you know subliminally that your bar is off limits. Some of her men patrol around your business's property, for your property. No one comes in demanding your profits anymore.

You don't need her protection, but you still appreciate it.

You start keeping cigarillos behind the bar for whenever she comes in. She's a little suspicious the first time you offer her one and a light.

"What, are you picky about the brand?" She almost laughs at that, and takes the offering.

One of your customers calls out asking how much for a cig. "Sorry my friend, they're exclusive for the pretty lady."

Sevika feels a pang of… something. What pretty lady are you talking about? She thought the cigarillos were for her- ohhhhh…

She starts smoking less. If only to make it a whole treat for herself to stop by your establishment every week, and let you hold open a lighter while she leans forward to light her smoke and talk with you for a bit.

Your establishment becomes for her what it's already become for everybody else in the city. A safe space. A comfort.

Your warmth was undeniable. And it reflected in your place of work too, polished and furnished with a care that Sevika remembers The Last Drop used to have.

This wasn't the first time she's lied to Silco, making the executive decision herself when she didn't trust his. She hoped it wouldn't come down on you.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤIN THE DARKㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Bruce Wayne is a man shaped by tragedy, a billionaire with an iron will and an unrelenting sense of justice. But beneath the stoic façade lies a broken soul. When Bruce becomes obsessed, it isn’t violent outbursts or chaotic behavior—it’s cold, calculated, and methodical. He doesn’t lose himself to obsession; he leans into it, weaponizing his resources and intelligence to keep you close. After all, what is Batman if not a man who cannot let go?

Maybe you’re someone he met at a gala—a rare individual who caught his attention without trying. Maybe you’re an employee at Wayne Enterprises, someone who treated him like a person rather than the playboy billionaire. Or maybe you stumbled into Gotham’s darker corners, and he saved you as Batman. Whatever the case, Bruce finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn’t been to anyone else in years.

At first, he tells himself it’s curiosity. You’re intriguing, sure, but nothing more. Yet he can’t stop thinking about you. Every word you said, every look you gave him, replays in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. And Bruce, has to understand why.

Bruce doesn’t approach you immediately; instead, he observes. He justifies it as caution. After all, he’s Batman—he needs to know everything about you to protect you.

He learns everything there is to know: your name, your routines, your friends, your secrets. He watches you through security cameras, listens to your conversations through bugs he discreetly plants, and even monitors your online activity.

But to Bruce, this isn’t invasive—it’s necessary. How else can he ensure your safety in a city as dangerous as Gotham?

As Bruce Wayne, he’s charming, attentive, and subtly magnetic. He uses his wealth and influence to insert himself into your life. Invitations to exclusive events? Job offers at Wayne Enterprises? He makes it impossible for you to say no without coming across as ungrateful.

As Batman, he’s your silent protector, always one step ahead. If you’re ever in trouble, he’s there—appearing out of the shadows to save you. He doesn’t speak much when he’s Batman, but the way his gaze lingers on you feels almost suffocating.

You’d never suspect that the billionaire who’s so eager to help you and the vigilante who seems to always be around are one and the same.

Bruce’s obsession manifests in his need for control. He doesn’t see himself as possessive—he sees himself as protective. You don’t need to worry about toxic friends, late-night walks, or bad decisions because Bruce will take care of everything.

If someone gets too close to you, Bruce doesn’t lose his temper. Instead, he uses his resources to quietly remove them from your life. A coworker who flirts too much? Suddenly transferred. A friend who badmouths Bruce? Their secrets mysteriously come to light.

“It’s for your own good,” he tells himself. After all, Bruce believes he knows what’s best for you better than you do.

Bruce is painfully self-aware. He knows his feelings for you aren’t healthy, and he hates himself for it. But his guilt doesn’t stop him; it fuels him. He rationalizes his actions by convincing himself that you’re safer with him watching over you.

“I’ve already lost so much,” he whispers to himself late at night in the Batcave, your face flickering on the monitor in front of him. “I can’t lose her too.”

In his mind, his obsession is just another sacrifice he makes for the people he loves. He can bear the weight of being a monster as long as it means keeping you safe.

Bruce rarely shows his jealousy outright—it’s subtle, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If you mention another man, his jaw tightens imperceptibly. If someone touches you, his eyes darken, and his hand lingers a little too long on your shoulder as he pulls you away.

Behind the scenes, though, he’s ruthless. The man who asked for your number? He’ll find himself the target of a police investigation. That friend who keeps trying to set you up on dates? Suddenly, they’re avoiding you without explanation.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says when you start to notice how people in your life seem to vanish. “Gotham is dangerous. You can never be too careful.”

Bruce’s obsession remains controlled until you try to distance yourself. Maybe you’ve started to feel smothered, or maybe you’ve realized that the people disappearing from your life aren’t coincidences. When you confront him—whether as Bruce or Batman—he’s calm, almost unnervingly so.

“I only want what’s best for you,” he says, his voice steady. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in without me?”

If you try to leave, that calm facade shatters. He won’t hurt you—never you—but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you stay. He’ll cut off your options, isolate you, and remind you that no one else can protect you the way he can.

“You think you’re safer without me?” he says, his voice laced with desperation and anger. “You’re wrong. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out. I’m the only thing standing between you and harm.”

Despite his obsession, Bruce’s love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. He wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand that his actions are suffocating you.

There are moments when the mask slips—when Bruce is just a broken man trying to hold onto the one good thing in his life. Late at night, he’ll hold you close, his voice trembling as he whispers, “You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. Not after everything I’ve already lost.”

In those moments, it’s hard to tell where Bruce Wayne ends and Batman begins. To him, they’re both the same—a man who would do anything to protect the one person he can’t live without.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[nerdygirlramblings]

omegaverse 141

previous

The following morning, after formation, you have your squad follow you onto the trail that runs around base. The same one Soap had seen you running a few weeks back.

"You didn't tell us we be runnin' today, Sarge," Geoffrey says, barely concealing a whine.

You chuckle to yourself and roll your eyes. Glancing over your shoulder you ask, "When have I led ya wrong?" Your squad is quiet behind you. They may not want to socialize with you as an omega, but there's no denying you've been getting the job done. "Brought ya out here cuz I wanted to talk. And to do it without any alphas or other CO's around."

There's some muttering behind you, not loud enough to make anything out, but not quiet enough to dismiss either. You notice a change in the air around you. Though they're betas and have learned how to project their calming scent, most are still working on controlling their fear and distress. You can smell the slightly sour milk and rush to allay their worries.

You turn to face them and say, "You're not in trouble! We are not in trouble." You face the trail again and resume your walk, talking as you go, "But something's come up, and it impacts everyone." You pick up your pace ever so slightly . You're looking for the clearing you'd passed the first time you ran here. It's a little space set off from the main trail, big enough for a few people to camp or for a squad to meet. You want to get there quickly to have this whole conversation out rather than dropping breadcrumbs. Your squad deserves that.

Once everyone is off the trail and standing around you, you tell them about the offer you've received from the 141. "Oh my God," Molly whispers, awe in her voice. "There, like, the best!"

You bob your head in acknowledgment and respond, "Some of, yes." It's clear that your squad doesn't understand the full implications of you joining the 141. So you lay it out for them. "If I take this opportunity, they'll pull me as your CO. Captain Price said -"

A voice interrupts, "You mean you actually talked to Captain Price?!?" You smile self-indulgently remembering how awed you were when the man first approached you.

"Yes, and 'e said that it's too disruptive for any of the 141 to have a squad of their own. Apparently, we can be called out at any point, and be gone for weeks. It would leave ya without a commanding officer." You look at each member of your squad, meeting everyone's eyes. "If I do this, you'll have a new CO. I don't know who it would be, and I don't know what that would mean for your trainin'. 'At's why I brought ya out here. Wanted to get yer honest take on what this means fer ya." There's some uneasy shuffling as it seems no one wants to quite be honest about their feelings. You remind them that you're not like other COs, and that you're an omega. Not that they need the reminder about either, but it seems to help settle some nerves. "I know it's hard fer ya having an omega as a CO. I know the stigma it carries. While this decision is mine and mine alone, yer time here is impacted by it, so I wanted to know what ya think."

It finally occurs to some members of your squad that they can be honest with you. "Yeah, 's tough around base having you as our CO. There're still a lot of alphas who won't want us on their team because you're the one who is trained us," Connor says.

One by one, your squad shares how they feel about you joining the 141. Some are like Connor and recognize the strain it puts on their careers to have you as their CO. Some are like Molly, excited for your opportunity regardless of what it does for them. Some are like Geoffrey, recognizing how they've struggled and realizing that a different CO, a beta or an alpha who is harsher, will make their time in the military much more difficult.

You get the sense - from what they say and how they smell - that most of your squad have already accepted that you'll leave them. Some may be happy about this because of the way it might benefit them while others simply seem happy for you. You close by telling them to make their way to the shooting range to practice on the Glock 17s. You remind them that after range practice is lunch with the promise of a decision for them by the time you see them in the mess.

"An' I promise, if I do take Captain Price up on his offer, I'll still keep tabs on you. Gotta make sure you all make it through basic as brilliantly as I know you can," you say with a rueful grin.

Your squad disperses from the clearing, making their way in twos and threes back to base, but you hang back. You pull your phone out and call home, finally ready with a decision.

This time it's Mum who answers. She takes one look at your face and shouts off screen to Mama and Dad "We've got a decision!" There's commotion on the other end as Mama and Dad come into frame.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," you say apologetically.

Dad reminds you he's on glorified bedrest, "So either yer Mum or yer Mama is always home. This morning I've got both." He smiles, "But a call from you is never an interruption. Or, if it is, it's the best kind."

Mama nods and leans close to the screen. "So, what did you decide?"

You take a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs, and release it slowly. Before you can tell them, Mum says, "Good fer you, love."

"But," you sputter, "Mum...I didn't even tell you-"

"You don't have to, dear," she interrupts. "I can see the decision in your eyes. You're gonna join the task force." You hear the price, and fear, in her voice.

Beside her, Mama nods and tries to hide her emotions. "We're proud of whatever decision you make. And while I'm not happy with how much more dangerous this is, I think it's the right thing for you."

Dad is beaming, but you see the tears caught in his lashes. "Pretty girl, we love you so much! This is such an amazing opportunity for you. And if it feels right, if your omega feels safe, this might be the best thing for you."

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[smokesandsonatas]

among the twst cast, who do you think will be the best in-laws? just asking out of curiosity, cuz i personally think that trappola fam will be chill, also i imagine them doting on their grandbabies, or like crying at your wedding day xd

- I go crazy when I receive asks like this, djsjhs. I included everyone and how I think their actions will be justified as to whether their families will be good or 'bad' in-laws.

Reader is termed as "wife" and as a normal human. -

Right off the bat, let’s start with Riddle. You and Riddle’s mother will never get along. She and her son have much to discuss anyway, and we know how Riddle even mentioned that the Queen of Hearts has a lovely relationship his parents could learn from. If Mrs. Rosehearts is strict with her own child, imagine how much more she’d be with you! She probably has a list of acceptable spouses for Riddle, so just imagine her shock when he brings you home—shock that quickly turns to rage when she realizes you’re magicless. She will be a horrible mother-in-law. Mr. Rosehearts, however, will most likely be courteous about your relationship with his son. In fact, I can see him helping you and Riddle move somewhere away from their house in the Queendom of Roses. He’ll probably attend your wedding, but Mrs. Rosehearts? Probably not. It will take a long time before Mrs. Rosehearts can accept you wholeheartedly, and when she does, tears will be shed.

The Diamond family is harder to gauge. Mr. and Mrs. Diamond would likely respect your relationship enough to make sure you’re comfortable. Cater’s sisters, on the other hand, might urge you to become their new doll—though not as extreme as they did with him. Overall, they will accept you as part of their family. And if Cater doesn’t want to attend family reunions, they’ll accept that, though they can’t help but feel a little hurt and neglected. Maybe they’ll even start to reflect on how they’ve treated their son.

The Clover family are lovely people! When Trey introduces you to his parents, they’ll erupt into cheers, baking you pastries and a personalized cake tailored to your tastes. They won’t care if you’re magicless; as long as you make their son happy, that’s all that matters. Mr. and Mrs. Clover will even offer you and Trey the chance to manage their bakery. It’ll be up to you both whether to accept. Overall, they’ll be great in-laws, and they might even make wonderful grandparents.

Deuce’s mom, Dylla, is such a girlboss! As a mother-in-law, she’ll be the cool type, letting you hang out with her at car races, driving trucks, or doing anything outdoorsy. She might even suggest that you, she, and Deuce get matching small tattoos. She’s very chill and will always welcome you with open arms. You’ll have no trouble getting along with Deuce’s mom—sometimes, Deuce even wonders if his mom loves you more than him.

Ace’s family will welcome you with open arms—and with a bunch of pranks! Mr. Trappola is a normal human, so he won’t hold your magicless status against you. Ace’s older brother, however, will endlessly tease him with some good old brotherly banter. Mr. and Mrs. Trappola will probably shed tears on your wedding day, making it a fun, sentimental, and most of all, enjoyable occasion.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Kingscholars are royalty, so let’s be realistic: they’ll most likely not approve of Leona, their youngest son and second prince, marrying a normal human, especially a magicless one. They probably have plans to arrange a marriage with a fellow beastman from another noble or elite family, and your relationship could cause a scandal. But if Leona insists, then a wedding will happen. It will take a lot of convincing for the Kingscholars to accept you, especially since Mr. Kingscholar is ill. Falena will most likely be the first to accept you, either out of love for his brother or perhaps because he sees you as a key to fixing his strained relationship with Leona. Cheka, on the other hand, will love you! In fact, he might prefer your company over his lioness mother’s, though he won’t admit it.

Grandma Bucchi will shed tears of joy when Ruggie brings you home and introduces you as his lover. She’ll feel relieved that Ruggie has found someone who’ll take care of him—a lifelong companion, since she’s not as strong as she used to be. Prepare for a deep heart-to-heart with Grandma Bucchi, who will also show you pictures of baby Ruggie! She may even drop hints that she wants a grandchild from the two of you. Yes, she takes care of the other beast children in the neighborhood, but it wouldn’t hurt to give her a mini Ruggie.

The Howl family will accept you wholeheartedly. They believe that wolf beastmen like them have only one soulmate, and if Jack has found that in you, who are they to oppose? They’re not overly bearing, but they might occasionally ask whether you and Jack plan to have little Howl children. Jack’s siblings will adore you!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Ashengrotto family will welcome you! Azul is their baby, so whoever Azul loves, it’s guaranteed that they’ll accept you too. It probably won’t matter if you’re a human or magicless. Azul has a way with words and will have nothing but praises for you in front of his family. Mrs. Ashengrotto might sulk a little if Azul chooses to live on land and start a family with you there rather than in the sea, but the compromise is that you’ll build a house near the seaside. Mr. Ashengrotto will likely insist on having both a sea and land wedding, though Azul probably planned on that anyway. They won’t be toxic as in-laws and will likely dote on you, but they’ll definitely want to take care of any little Ashengrotto babies you have. Sometimes, you might wonder if they’re a bit too attached to their grandchildren…

The Leech family will also welcome you. If you decide to marry one of the Leech sons—or both of them (polygamy isn’t unheard of in the sea; hey, different customs)—they’ll make sure you feel at ease. Mr. Leech, who reminds you so much of Floyd, might ask if you know self-defense. When you say no, he’ll laugh and assure you that his sons will protect you anyway. He finds it amusing that Floyd calls you Shrimpy, though there’s a certain air of intimidation when he speaks... Mrs. Leech, who reminds you of Jade, is beautiful and speaks just like her other son. She’ll ask you questions like, “My dear, how can you protect yourself when you are magicless?” with a smile on her face. At one party dedicated to your arrival into the Leech family, you saw firsthand how Mr. Leech made everyone sign...something. When you asked the twins about it, they dismissed your concerns and assured you not to worry. They’ll be cool in-laws, but they won’t disclose any personal business with you—only with their sons. No matter how much you ask about their family business, because you want to help, you’ll get nowhere (it's for your safety, they say). The Leech family will dote on you, but there’s always an underlying sense that you’ve been inducted into something much larger and deeper than just a family of merfolk eels. Sometimes they have unexpected visits to your house in land, and you had a feeling that Mrs. Leech might dote on you only so she can spend time with her Leech grandbabies...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Al-Asims are so supportive of Kalim! There’s a certain sense of relief that you’re not associated with anything in their world, because they might worry that whoever is with Kalim, one of the richest men on earth, would take advantage of his kindness. But you don’t. Mr. Al-Asim will provide anything you ask for and will probably give you and Kalim a bunch of mansions, cars, and luxuries everywhere. Though they likely have a list of potential spouses for Kalim, the Al-Asims are glad he chose you. However, they’d be delighted if Kalim produces an heir one day. If Kalim chooses to be monogamous, they’ll accept it.

The Viper family will be glad to welcome you. Although they belong to the servant class under the Al-Asims, they won’t force you to serve them too. You think Jamil might have something to do with this… Anyway, they really like you, and they see how genuinely you admire their son—a mere servant in their eyes, but so much more to you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Mr. Schoenheit will adore you! Because Vil is his precious, beautiful child, that love will extend to you too. He’s a different man as Eric Venue on set and as Vil’s dad in personal life. He’s quite strict, or so you’ve heard from the actual staff on a movie he’s co-producing, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The Schoenheits are hardworking, perfectionist people—not in a bad way, of course. When news breaks that you and Vil are expecting a child, either Eric Venue or Vil will put out a statement asking for your privacy to be respected. Overall, Eric will be a good in-law and a great grandfather. Imagine how cool it is to have a famous celebrity as an in-law and imagine being surrounded by a literal DILF and the most beautiful man in Twisted Wonderland. Damn. It’s a guarantee your child will be as beautiful as their father. Sometimes, though, Vil gets a little pouty when you stare at his father for a little too long…

You know the feeling of a family getting together for the first time in years despite their busy schedules to enjoy days full of celebration? That’s how Rook introduced you to his family. It is lively! The Hunt family likes you! The first thing they ask you and Rook is how the family planning is going. They’re quite a big family with six children, so they expect the same for you and Rook. Mr. and Mrs. Hunt are adoring in-laws, but when you ask about their family business, they’ll merrily dodge the questions, much like Rook does, telling you not to worry. When Rook leaves for long periods of time due to work, he’ll vehemently update you every hour. In the meantime, you and Mrs. Hunt, along with Rook’s sisters-in-law—the wives of his brothers—will go on pampering girls’ days! They’ll make sure you never feel lonely or left out, even when Rook’s away.

The Felmier family threw a celebration in your name when Epel introduced you. Grandma Marja cried, seeing how much her grandson has grown. Mr. and Mrs. Felmier hugged you tightly and thanked you for being with their lovely son, and you swore you felt a tear trickle down your cheek too. They will be loving in-laws, with a tight-knit family that supports each other. Once news breaks that you and Epel are expecting a child, another celebration will be held to welcome the new apple of their eye. They’ll likely insist on a traditional apple-themed baby shower, and they’ll spoil you and Epel with home-cooked meals, ensuring you’re both well cared for.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Shrouds, especially Mrs. Shroud, will be ecstatic once Idia introduces you to them. Mr. Shroud, while less outwardly emotional, will be overjoyed in his own way. Over time, you’ll notice just how much he and Idia resemble each other. It won’t matter if you’re not as tech-savvy as they are; Idia already has S.T.Y.X.’s management covered. Mr. and Mrs. Shroud will show their affection in small but meaningful ways, or surprising you with thoughtful gifts—your own helmet. If any negative comments about you and Idia pop up online, they’ll be blocked faster than you can blink. Kidding—mostly. They’ll likely expect a little Shroud or two in the next few years, and they’ll gently remind you of this as they’re getting older and eager for grandchildren. Despite their eccentricities, they’ll make you feel like a cherished member of their family, though you’ll need to adjust to their unique ways of showing love and the way of their work, ergo taking care of S.T.Y.X and their various shady businesses.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Draconias, especially Grandmother Maleficia, will formally welcome you into the family. However, the atmosphere might feel a bit too formal for your liking. A relationship with Malleus is one thing, but marriage is a whole different story. The Senate will likely oppose the union, with Grandmother Maleficia caught between keeping her beloved grandson happy and appeasing the increasingly vocal pressures from the Senate and close-minded fae who cannot accept a human—especially a magicless human—as their future queen. The weight of these expectations will hang over your relationship, adding tension to an otherwise loving bond. The prospect of Malleus Draconia marrying a human would be met with significant resistance within the Briar Valley. The fae population, steeped in centuries of tradition and wary of outsiders, would likely view such a union as a potential threat to their way of life. Some might even call for extreme measures, such as political unrest or, in the worst-case scenario, a war to prevent the marriage from taking place. However, Malleus will stand by you, determined to weather the storm together. Over time, and with Malleus’s formidable power and influence, even the most skeptical fae could be convinced that this union could bring about a new era of understanding and unity between their worlds. As for Grandmother Maleficia, though she may seem distant at first, she’ll eventually warm up to you, especially when she sees how happy you make Malleus. And should the two of you have children (the Draconias badly needed predecessors), she’ll be the first to dote on her great-grandchildren as long as she is alive, ensuring they’re raised with both love and the proud traditions of the Draconia family.

The Zigvolt family is not new to interspecies relationships, with Mama Zigvolt being a fae and Papa Zigvolt a normal human dentist. She will support you! Her fiery nature as a fae will come in handy, while Papa Zigvolt's kindness will help balance out her energy. Overall, they will be happy for you and Sebek. Grandfather Baur, on the other hand, might accept you more easily than you thought—he is not a close-minded fae anymore. He is at a point of contentment, so whoever Sebek or any of his grandchildren chooses, he will be eager to accept them. Also, he might—or might not—visit you every afternoon (he's just concerned, not excited... he says as he hands you a crocheted baby comforter) once he hears you're expecting a mini Sebek Zigvolt.

Silver’s relationship with his father, Lilia, is central to his life, so naturally, Lilia’s opinion of you will weigh heavily on him. Fortunately, Lilia err Mr. Vanrouge is likely to be one of the most supportive and understanding in-laws you could ask for. His playful and easygoing nature means he’ll probably tease you a bit, but it’s all in good fun. Lilia will genuinely be happy for Silver, and he’ll go out of his way to make you feel welcome in their home. Expect to be roped into all sorts of whimsical activities—like trying out new (and sometimes questionable) recipes, or being part of his elaborate pranks. Lilia will also be very protective of both you and Silver, always looking out for your well-being. And if you have another baby addition to the Vanrouge family, Lillia will be the happiest Fae alive.

Lilia Vanrouge is an ancient and enigmatic Fae, while appearing child-like he possesses a kind heart and incredible wisdom. While traditional in-law doesn't apply to him (seeing as he is the in-law himself), he does need someone who can stand beside him as a parental figure, particularly for Silver and by extent Malleus. Lilia’s “family” may be unconventional, but his close bonds with Silver, Sebek, and Malleus make them feel like one. He’ll cherish every moment with you, appreciating the little things that come with mortal life, and your companionship will be a light in his long existence. Your role isn’t just as a partner to Lilia, but as someone who can guide and protect Silver alongside him, offering the same wisdom, kindness, and love that Lilia has given. If you and Lilia have children, they will grow up surrounded by love, knowledge, and a deep sense of wonder, with Lilia ensuring they never lose their sense of playfulness and joy. Should it end like that then Lilia can say that he has lived it all, and he can go on to the stars wholeheartedly. He lived his life surrounded with the people he loves, finding contentment at the end of his days.

[ive-been-timebombed]

Oneshot

Request by @purplereaderfans

Prompt by @satoshy12

DPXDC

Aged down Danny beating Tim in college..

“Okay Danny, remind me of the rules again” Jazz looked to the kid in her arms, the kid was eating a bright green popsicle. Like the kid wasn’t a toddler and wouldn’t get sticky.

“Uh.. rule one! Don’t be loud! And if I have questions raise my hand.” Danny struggled to hold up one finger but when he managed he held it up his popsicle in his other hand.

“Rule two! Don’t interrupt with stupid things. Like puns or fart jokes!” Danny pulled his hand down again and stared at his hand till he got two fingers held up then which a looked at Jazz with a grin

“Then rule three! If I need the bathroom or food ask you,” Danny held up his thumb this time making three fingers being held up.

“Lastly! Don’t wonder off! Like momma and Daddy!” Danny put his hand down and put the popsicle in his mouth hurriedly licking up the melted popsicle off his hand.

“You forgot one Danny, Rule five dont Fenton the others here. You know what that means right?” Jazz asked bending down and opening the backpack she had packed it was basically a diaper bag. It held wipes, emergency ectoplasm, change of clothes, the Fenton Thermos, and many other things Jazz had knew they would need. Jazz had dug around in the bag and pulled out the wipes ready to clean Danny up when he finished the popsicle in record time.

“Yeah! It means.. be respectful of others bubble’s and no ghost things! Also don’t tell other people of things I shouldn’t know about them but I do know-“ Danny licked off the last bit of the ectopop enjoying the melting ecto in his mouth. He then gave a short scream as Jazz attacked him with the cold wipe. Cleaning off the ecto off his face and hands. She took the popsicle stick and wrapped the wipe around it and put it in the diaper bag.

“That’s right, now I know you’re not as old as you used to. And I don’t know your mental age right now. But I promise you won’t get in trouble if you do have an accident or something you would describe as childish.” Jazz stood up picking up the backpack in her hand and putting one strap over her arm and walked out of the stall. Where she was hiding when she noticed Danny looked dizzy and a bit pale. She guess it was the old ectoplasm in the air that he was absorbing. She guessed right and when Danny ate the emergency Ectopops he went right by back to normal.

She sat Danny in the bathroom sink and put the bag to the other side of him. Her body was in front of him so he couldn’t fall off the counter. As she washed her hands getting rid of her own stickiness Danny had put on her. Then she put the bag on both her shoulders and picked Danny up resting him on her hip Danny arm wrapping around her forearm instantly.

Danny was looking around as all babies did as Jazz walked out the bathroom pulling out her phone to look at her schedule.

“Okay, first is introductory psychology. Which in in building F.” Jazz mumbled to herself looking up and putting her phone back in her pocket and started to walk through the dorms.

_________

“Danny, you remember what happened last time you chewed on a pen?” Jazz asked looking over at her brother who was sitting in the seat next to herself. The chair was pulled closer and a random assortment of things were on the table in front of him.

“It explodes in my mouth..” Danny frowned taking the pen out his mouth. The pen had many teeth marks.

‘Well that explains the blue mouth of the kid..’ Tim thought to himself he was two chairs back a bit higher than the two siblings. He had started to wonder about the stained blue mouth and the blue marks on his hands and around his mouth. Even the kids teeth were stained blue.

Tim was in introductory Psychology as his minor. He needed to know more about what was going on in peoples head. It would help with many things.. even learn some tricks he could use on his siblings maybe? He was majoring in astronomy weirdly. Tim knows just about anything on Earth but when it came to the stars he was admittedly lacking.

He was curious about the kid when he overheard the kids sister suggested to the kid about asking the astronomy professor if he could sit in during a class as the kid was incredibly bored in the psychology classes. Danny, names were also learned from his eavesdropping, looked at his sister like she hung the stars which Tim didn’t doubt that to him, she did.

_________

Oh. My. Clockwork. Jazzy has the best ideas! And Profess Brunn is so nice! She says I can sit in on a lesson and if I’m good I can do it again! Jazzy just dropped me off at the classroom and gave me to Profess she sat me down in the front row so she can keep in eye on me. I asked if I could ask and answer questions and she said yes!

“All right guys! Since we just came back from break we’re gonna be getting back into it with our last lesson! I’m gonna do a review on last lesson and then hand out a paper. It will be worth a grade so please actually try” Professor Brunn started the class with energy most of the class didn’t have.

__________

Who the hell is this kid?!

Tim stared at the laptop with a blank face. He was in the front of the class staring at the paper taped to the board. Usually he wouldn’t bother but that kid, Danny, finished quickly and even asked if there was more. The professor sent out the five best grades to encourage or something. Usually Tim was first.. but he wasn’t this time.

Or the next. Or even the next before that.

It was fine because it was just the one class for almost a week. Then that kids name just started to show up more and more on each list. Till on every class Tim took it was Danny Fenton first and Timothy Drake second. Jasmine Fenton third usually second before Danny appeared.

Tim was genuinely questioning if he was mind controlled. Did he get a concussion and not notice? Did he have a chip in his brain that made him stupider? Was he losing his mind? Did he need to start sleeping more regularly.? Did he need to cut down his caffeine intake? He only drank a few coffees a day.. not including the energy drinks. But- but. What’s happening to him?!

_________

“What’s going on with Drake?” Damian scowled as he looked over to Grayson next to him. He was standing behind Drake with Grayson after he had been called to pick up Drake after he had picked up Damian from school. Damian followed his brother’s gaze to Professor Smith, the engineering professor, who was at his desk looked at them with amusement.

“He was second place in the scoring this week, he’s been staring at the paper for maybe half an hour after class ended” Professor Smith told the brothers

“So?” Dick shrugged looking back to his brother putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder which snapped the other out of his despair, “It wouldn’t be the first time,”

“Yeah, but this time it’s been multiple weeks and to the same kid. A four year old to be exact” Professor Smith added before looking to door as someone knocked and it was opened

“Sorry, Danny here forgot his notebook in here” Jazz held open the door for her little brother to slip in and run to a table that had a black notebook with stars draw on it. Jazz held her hand out for Danny to take it as he came back. Danny turned and waved to the Professor as the door shut after them

“Danny, the child genius, has beaten Timothy here.. five weeks in a row now in this class. But Danny only came to the campus after Christmas break. But I’m guessing the number will only continue to grow,” Professor Smith continued as he watched the door shut and the two other wall away through the door window.

Tim, who just watched his new four year old nemesis wave bye to him, had a twitching eye. It also didn’t help with the demon laughing at him and Dick holding in his own laughter..

[hrrtshape]

How to stop checking 3d no glue no borax

how to stop checking 3d?? no glue, no borax, no spiritual snake oil, just the facts.

right, so, you want out. you want to stop checking 3d like it’s a stock market crash, like it’s a renaissance painting where, if you just squint hard enough, the divine truth will reveal itself. you want to stop, but you keep doing it, and now you’re here, which means you are both self-aware and in trouble. let’s fix that.

let’s diagnose. checking 3d, whether compulsive, casual, or full-tilt existential crisis, is a symptom. you are looking for proof. confirmation. a wink from the universe that everything is working, that your assumptions are correct, that the metaphysical postman hasn’t lost your order. it’s like shaking a polaroid before it develops: you think you’re helping, but you’re just interfering.

here’s the brutal truth, courtesy of every dead philosopher worth their salt: reality doesn’t care if you check. schrodinger’s cat is going to be what it’s going to be whether you pry open the box or not. your job, if you actually want to stop checking, is to stop thinking you’re the forensic analyst of your own existence. because you’re not. you are the architect. and architects don’t micromanage bricks. they draw the plans and trust the builders.

so, the method. no glue, no borax, no manifesting mala beads necessary. just strategy.

i , replace the action :  every time you catch yourself checking, do something else. immediately. drink water. text a friend. recite some poetry (preferably by someone dramatic, like plath or pound). make this a rule: if you check, you must also perform an arbitrary task, like doing a plank or translating a sentence into latin. you won’t like this. that’s the point. your brain will get bored and stop the cycle.

ii , reframe the impulse :  checking is a power move in reverse. you are telling the universe you don’t trust it. that’s embarrassing. stop doing that. act like someone who already has what they want, because people who have what they want do not spend their free time poking at the logistics of their own happiness like it’s a faulty ikea table.

iii , refuse to engage with time :  checking is a byproduct of impatience. impatience is a byproduct of thinking time is linear and oppressive instead of weird and malleable. ignore time. pretend it doesn’t exist. pretend you are a 14th-century aristocrat who has never seen a clock and moves exclusively by candlelight and gut instinct. the more you detach from time, the less you will care about what happens when.

iv , control your narrative intake :  what you consume, you become. if you’re constantly reading anxious forum posts and scrolling through tiktok videos of people catastrophising, congratulations, you’re marinating in doubt. stop it. read things that make you feel powerful. read war strategy. read virginia woolf. read a single wikipedia article on some obscure form of combat and let your brain steep in the idea that you are the general, not the foot soldier.

v , become so interesting that you forget to check :  this is the most important step. if your reality is boring, you will check on it like a neglected houseplant. make your life impossible to check on. fill it with distractions so lush and decadent that you forget to care. become the person who is too busy living to investigate. read difficult books. learn weird skills. get obsessed with something obscure and ridiculous (medieval astronomy, japanese joinery, renaissance poison recipes). make your brain so occupied with living that it forgets to spiral.

last thing, and this is crucial: trust like it’s your job. because it is. trust is not passive. trust is an active, radical decision. the moment you commit to trusting, fully, unflinchingly, with the audacity of a gambler pushing all their chips forward, you become untouchable.

so go. don’t check. do something better.

[fallenbratfiction]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[chastiefoul]

—finally giving up on your unrequited love ft. alhaitham

a/n: ouch i hurt myself writing this. wc: 1.6k words of yapping about unrequited feelings

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

it seemed like a blessing once, like acceptance. the slightest open of the door, thinking you could invite yourself in and he’d embrace that fact. but as his apathy remain constant and unchanging, you’ve come to realization—an embarassing one at that.

that indifference, that should’ve been a sign for you; alhaitham will never return your feelings.

-

 a stroll a day, keeps the stressful thoughts away.

however today’s walk is just not doing it for you, once you decided to wake up from the dreamland you thought you’ve been living in. a faraway and unrealistic vision of a life where you end up together with the akademiya scribe. an exaggerated sigh escaped you at your own daydreaming. usually by now you’d be quick on your feet to visit the scribe, however the overdue revelation you had last night made you finally think twice before doing it. and only because of that now you’d realized just how much of your life was centered on the grey-haired man, which was a scary discovery, knowing just exactly how little you mattered to his.

you found an empty bench mid-walk, immediately sitting on it. you leaned back, both of your hands holding your weight as you look above. the sky was clear that day, but your mind was clearer, as if a thick fog has finally been lifted.

seriously, what have you been doing all this time? giving your all to someone who wanted none of you. alhaitham’s curt nod, his brief and short responses really should’ve been a clue as to how he felt about you. yet you kept being stubborn, and sometimes hope was human’s greatest enemy. what should have been a bare minimum gesture he did, your mind managed to twist it into something more; clinging to it like a water on a desert. when it turned out that was exactly all there was to it—a mirage.

you chuckled sadly. even remembering those pathetic displays, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully regret having this feeling towards alhaitham. those moments where you’d steal a glance at him and felt like the world was okay. you would not allow yourself to forget that as you became more selfish, wanting him to look at you and feel the same. but here you were, reluctantly learning to accept the fact that he may never does.

suddenly a shadow loomed over you, shielding you from the sunlight you didn’t realize was so bright.

a familiar blond invaded your vision. “(y/n)?” he called out unsure, not expecting you to be there. “oh hi there, kaveh,” you lightly said, as if your heavy train of thoughts hadn’t existed at all. you adjusted your sitting position, shifting yourself to the side as you spare an empty spot beside you for him to sit. kaveh swiftly took your silent offer up, making himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench. “i spotted you from afar and you seemed a little troubled, hopefully i was wrong?” the ever so kind kaveh spoke up, and you couldn’t help but smile. kaveh always felt like a friend more than alhaitham ever was, albeit knowing him after you got to know the scribe. you weren’t even sure if the grey-haired man would ever mention even a word about his roommate if it wasn’t for you hanging wround on his office on a peaceful lunch break when the fuming blond barged in and yell at him about a key.

as it turned out, it’s a known fact that most people became quiet irritable when it comes to being in contact with the curt and aloof scribe, since kaveh has been nothing but a good friend since the day he gave you a weird look about wanting to get close to the acting grand master.

“it’s kind of complicated to say,” you started, thinking of the words as you went on. “let’s just say i’m having a quite bittersweet moment.”

you rested your gaze on the bustling street in front of you. he nodded in reply, “i’m guessing it’s more bitter than it is sweet?” he asked genuinely as you smiled once more despite not feeling a drop of mirth. “i suppose so,” you replied curtly, not knowing what to say to his keen observation. keen and exactly correct.

it’s the kind of bitterness that lingered. a kind of flavor you’d expected, since you’re the one who put it in. still, when that sharp taste hit your tongue you couldn’t help but flinch. after all, things don’t stop affecting you even though you saw it coming from miles away. you just hoped the sweetness will get stronger overtime, overpowering as it wash down the unpleasant aftertaste.

kaveh mirrored your smile in return except his looked particularly patronizing, as if he could sense your helplessness.

“will you tell me what happened?” his voice sounded gentle, a care you’ve never heard from the man you’d give a limb to for him to say things along that line. how do you even begin to answer such a simple question? nothing happened, and that’s why it was the problem. the fact that you’re the only one who’s mulling all over this, being so conflicted to what he thought must be nothing. a pain so overwhelming that’s swirling all over your chest while his biggest inconvenient that day was probably a typo made in a document made by a lousy student.

the whole thing just sounded so... pathetic.

“nothing happened... it’s just, i have decided to finally give up on something,” you try your best to sound nonchalant despite having no bravery to look at him, scared that he didn’t look like he believed you.

“well, i might know a thing or two about it. sometimes when an architecture project is too... unreasonable,” kaveh paused, the word tasted like a sour lime on his mouth. “there’s no way but to give it up. especially if you take a step back as take the whole picture from many aspects; in my case, there are budget, location, materials, and so on. there would definitely be some regret about letting go especially an ambitious task, however i think many of my past-self would really like to give the present-me a big gratitude for not forcing it through,” he rambled on, despite having no idea what were you referring on. “even sometimes, the reward was just not worth the risk, you know?” he ended it at that, throwing the question at you.

you swallowed on nothing, but you needed that to let out a reply.

“yes, i do know.”

“yeah? does this mean in your case, whatever you were fighting for was not worth it in the end?”

oh, that’s the worst part. you knew, you knew it with your heart, body and soul that it would be so worth it if there’s an outcome, a scenario where alhaitham might return your feelings. oh it would be so worth it. you could smile, just imagining how worth it would it be.

but that was all it was. an unattainable imagination. an ending that you couldn’t allow yourself to be so cocky to reach.

kaveh waited for your respond patiently, but when the silence had gone for too long he moved his stare to you. he widened his eyes, his gaze softened.

“i don’t think you’re as okay as you made yourself to be,” he said softly, as you felt your cheeks wet by the uninvited tears, running along freely across your face. yet, you couldn’t make an effort to stop them, your heart knew more than anyone you needed that. to feel the sadness, to recognize it.

to let go of the fact that alhaitham will never return your feelings.

kaveh was just quiet as you sobbed quietly, putting a handkerchief silently at the space between you both. there is no empty consolation, no comforting words, no small pats on the back. there’s just silence, a little safe bubble for you to cry in without people coming over to you and asked why.

giving up is such a funny thing, how could doing it hurt more than to keep trying even though you received no sign of reciprocity at all? but you knew the answer of that.

when there hasn’t been a rejection, it’s in everyone’s nature to have hope. a hope that there’s a chance of obtaining something you’ve wished for. a chance that something could happen.

giving up means finality. a state of accepting an outcome you hadn’t wanted. a result you never asked for. an ending where all that’s left was what should have and what could have. a harsh reality people could only accept as it dangled the possibilities and visions of what ‘could have happened’ if you’d just kept trying right in front of your eyes.

like chasing your own shadow; a fun thing to do when you’re a child, but now it’s just a fitting metaphor, reminding you of a fool’s way who love in such a pathetic way.

-

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

but now it’s definitely a curse. after all, anything that has to do with love was not indifference.

it was never, indifference.

---

the urge to write this in alhaitham pov........................ should i?

[aamircoeur]

just distressed (not a damsel) - ultraman, ken sato.

getting familiar with your robot-like saviour after his nth time of saving your life.

PART 2.

cw: brief mention of bl00d. sfw, female reader. UNEDITED

"hello again, little ma'am." the huge character looked down on you, his glowing eyes acting as a spotlight as he held you on his palms. a purple-colored, lizard-like kaiju had destroyed the top of the apartment building that you were staying at, and luckily, ultraman was there to save you.

only for, like, the sixth time this month.

"not causing trouble again, are you?" ultraman teased, and you just rolled your eyes, making the being laugh.

the first time was when you were on your first (and after that incident, also the last) date with a guy you met at a bar. he took you to sumida river for some sight-seeing, and a kaiju appeared from underneath the waters, targeting those who were at the bridge. out of fright, the people screamed and scattered like ants, including your date who left you to flee for his own safety.

upset, you took a moment to process the happenings around you while you stared at the back of the guy as he ran. without noticing, the kaiju creeped from behind you in an attempt to catch you off-guard and eat you for its lunch (you assumed). fortunately, ultraman was there in the nick of time, blasting the kaiju with his powers that came from the moon or something, you thought. you really didn't understand how he or his powers worked, and you really couldn't bother learning either.

being the only person to stay on the bridge, ultraman approached you after sending the kaiju back to where it emerged from. "uhm, hi," he said, looking down on you as he was wiping debris off of his shoulder. "you okay?" he tilted his head.

"yes, i am. thank you!" you shouted at him, hands cupped to both sides of your cheeks.

he nodded. "okay, get home safe, little ma'am." he said before walking away. you looked at him as he made his way through the water. you thought about the weird nickname and shrugged, thinking that everyone must be little to him when he's that big.

upon arriving home at your apartment, you saw a series of messages of apologies and excuses from the guy you went on a date with. you scoffed and blocked him without responding.

the second time that you were saved by ultraman was when you unfortunately got in the crossfire between him and a kaiju that looked like a dinosaur. you were underneath a separated car door after trying to run to safety, your left leg and forehead dripping with blood, and you were too light-headed from the blood loss to help yourself out of your current position.

after the shaking of the ground has stopped, assuming that the battle has ended, you opened your eyes only to reveal that everything was blurry. an elderly woman was crouched in front of you, slightly tapping your face before wiping the blood off of your forehead. "oh, you poor thing," she said. a tear made its way across your cheek, finally feeling the pain after the numbness had faded away. "you'll be okay," the woman said before standing up and walking into the middle of the street, and it was the last thing you saw before passing out.

the elderly woman had called for ultraman, waving her arms out as high as she could. seeing her from a few streets over, ultraman rushed to her, careful with his steps to avoid stepping on a car. "hello! is something the matter?" ultraman greeted.

"here, here!" the woman called and led her to where you were. shocked, ultraman knelt down and lifted the car door, placing it down on the sidewalk before scooping you up into his palms. "poor girl has been bleeding since i saw her." she added, her hands cupped together, worriedness heard in her voice. "if you rush, we might save her!" she exclaimed.

ultraman nodded and stood up on his feet, slowly moving covering you with his other hand. "thank you, madame. please, go home to where you'll be safe." he said before flying off.

hearing a constant beep woke you up from the hospital bed that you stayed in. you squinted your eyes as you adjusted to the light on the ceiling, you then saw your right leg with a cast. groaning, you took a deep breath before looking around more. there was a desk beside you with a folded piece of paper.

you reached for it and unfolded it, and there was a note in blue ink that said, "the bills have been covered. please, get well soon."

the third time of being saved by ultraman was when a kaiju attack has been reported near you once again and ultraman took you to safety via his palm because you couldn't walk properly with your cast.

by the fourth time, you simply greeted the character with a simple hello despite having yet another kaiju attack near you. ultraman greeted you back, laughing after realizing that he was getting used to seeing you when there's a kaiju attack and saying, "hello, little ma'am."

for the fifth time, you were in a restaurant for dinner that had unfortunately caught on fire because of a flame-spitting kaiju. although you had the opportunity to leave early the moment smoke was seen to guarantee your safety, you helped every person you could to leave the restaurant instead before helping the staff control the growing fire.

the fire department in the city was handling the fire in a hospital which led to their lateness in handling the one in the restaurant you were staying at. fortunately, the five million meters tall (your exaggeration) superhero was there, helping the humans put out the fire and successfully doing so.

as the staff were being interviewed by news reporters, you went on your way to a different restaurant instead to continue your dinner. a few streets down from where the restaurant was, you walked downtown to where the road was quiet and empty, and you just casually bumped into ultraman.

by casually, you meant that he almost stepped on you after not looking before taking a sharp turn. "woah there!" the huge being exclaimed, his robotic voice echoing throughout the evening. you had your hands in the pockets of your jacket as you looked up at him.

"wait, i know you." he said before going down on his knees and lowering his body to take a better look at you. "little ma'am!" he exclaimed, his bright eyes widening.

you squinted your eyes at the brightness and smiled sheepishly. "hey, ultraman."

ultraman sat up and held out his palm for you, which you accepted. you stepped on his finger before making your way towards his palm, and he then lifted you up before holding you in front of him as he looked at you.

"what brings you here?" you asked, crossing your legs on his palm, making yourself comfortable.

he let out a small chuckle at how used you were to stay on his palms. "uh, fire, in the uptown," he explained. your eyes widened as your eyebrows lifted. "woah, were you there?" he asked, worried.

you nodded. "yeah, i was supposed to have dinner but then the ceiling started burning. i tried to help some elderly people to head outside." you explained.

ultraman smiled down at you, happiness obvious in his robotic facial expression. "you've helped greatly." he said.

you laughed and swatted your hands in front of him. "nah, the cook and waitresses helped control the fire before you got there." you said.

"no way," ultraman shook his head. "don't undermine what you've done, because you've done great. i never would've dumped the bucket of water if i had known that there were people inside, and it would have been hard for me to help them out with my big size." he said. "really, thank you for the help."

you just smiled at him and scoffed playfully. "just another day for a super human," you joked.

you and him shared a laugh and continued your talk. "so, what're you gonna do now?" he asked you, now leaning on the office building behind him as he got more comfortable throughout the conversation.

"ah, i wanted to continue my dinner, but there's this big bug that just wouldn't stop pestering me," you joked, referring to him which made him drop his jaw playfully as if he was offended.

the two of you laughed. "what about you?" you asked.

ultraman tilted his head to the side and rested it on his shoulder. "oh, man, i am beat. i might nap for weeks after tonight, so i'm leaving the city-saving to the new superhero called "little lady". ever heard of her?" ultraman said.

"nah, never. she sounds cool though, probably pretty with big muscles, i assume?" you rode along with his joke, making him laugh.

"oh, yeah, definitely. really pretty thing," he said casually.

your laughter halted upon hearing what he said, making your cheeks and ears flush at the compliment. when he finally realized the words that came out of his mouth, ultraman fixed his posture and stuttered an excuse. you laughed and patted his palm. "don't worry, hypnotizing people to make 'em think i'm good-looking is part of my one hundred and three superpowers."

ultraman let out a hearty laugh at this, making your stomach warm by hearing it. "yeah? better get started to knowing each one."

you smiled at him and took a deep breath. your conversation had finally stopped, the two of you thinking about your own things. after a few more small talk, ultraman had decided to call it a night to let his body rest after the fight with the kaiju. you agreed and he let you down from his palm before standing up to his height that surpassed the building's.

"also, if you want dinner, tonkatsu tonki is the place to go." he said before waving off and flying off.

and the sixth time was now. "hey." you greeted, a tired expression visible on your face.

"always in the centre of the tornado, huh, little ma'am?" he said as he had you in his palms once more, walking you towards the evacuation center.

"lucky me," you sarcastically said.

"lucky you, my personal damsel in distress." he echoed you jokingly.

you rolled your eyes.

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