#it's not as simple as people make it out to be

[bunnis-monsters]

🎄NSFW 🎄

warning: oviposition, gangbang, fluff+smut

Your first Christmas with the bee hybrids was… certainly an experience.

You’ve only been queen for a year. Your own little ones are barely toddlers learning to walk and fly, but the babies from the previous queen have grown attached and see you as their mama too.

“Mama, what’s Christmas?”

Oh, the dreaded question. The hive had been teaching the little ones human traditions and simple biological facts to make sure they grew up knowing how to properly take care of their queen.

“Oh… it’s a holiday where the family gathers around, exchanged presents, and then we eat a nice dinner.”

One of your own toddles over, teething on one of your fingers as you speak. “Sometimes during the season, people go caroling or look at Christmas lights. There’s a lot of baking as well.”

They all let out a collective “ooo”.

This was the beginning of the end.

The second Halloween was over, the baby bees were buzzing around, begging their mama for some Christmas fun. It wasn’t fair that the humans got to celebrate such cool traditions while they “wasted away” in their cribs.

“Mama, I wanna make cookies!”

“A-and I want to see Santa!”

“Mama, are we elves?”

Overwhelmed by all of their requests and… odd questions, you quickly roped in the adults in your hive to help you make Christmas possible for your baby bees.

Surprisingly, the hardest part was your subjects trying to comprehend why the little ones should receive a gift from an outsider of the hive.

“This Santa creature… is he safe? What does he want in return for gifts of this amount? I’m not sure we have enough honey to satisfy such a beast.”

That’s when you had to break it to the adults of your hive that Santa was in fact not real, and that all of the presents would come from them.

A few of your attendants whined, burying their faces in your neck and tummy, rubbing their fluff against you. “My queen, he’s not real? We won’t get presents?”

“Oh dear…”

It took the entire month of November to simply gather all of the supplies together, and you wondered if it would be possible to give your babies the Christmas they wanted.

First up on the list was Christmas caroling. They refused to do it in the hive, babbling on about spreading Christmas cheer.

So you hid their antennas under hats, bundled them up nice and warm, and escorted them down a relatively safe human street. The bee hybrids guarded the little ones, buzzing threateningly at anyone that got to close as they sang their little songs.

You watched out of the corner of your eyes as one of them fell face first into a snow bank, their little legs wiggling while being pulled out by one of the guards.

It was difficult not to laugh.

After their caroling, they wanted to play in the snow for a while. You let them play until they were running to you and crying, their little noses runny and their hands cold.

“Alright, let’s go home.”

Through December, you helped them do fun crafts and write their letters to Santa. There was a certain magic in the air, everyone was excited for the big night.

And then it came. Christmas Eve was filled with activities, the first being a special breakfast.

The next activity was baking cookies for Santa. Since you had so many little ones, multiple ovens had to be used just to make enough cookies for them to decorate.

Of course they all ate most of them, unable to resist the sugary treats, but you were able to save a plate full for Santa.

They all gathered around the giant tree the bee hybrids brought into the hive, all giggling and decorating it as others snacked on the Christmas cookies. Seeing your cute little fuzz balls so happy made your heart soar.

The last activity before bed was to watch a Christmas movie, and they all wanted to be snuggled up with you while they waited for Santa.

They all wore little matching pajamas, their wings buzzing and antennas twitching as they curled up with their mama.

“Mama… Christmas is the best…” one of your babies cooed as another nursed. They were still so little, you hoped you’d have many more Christmas memories like this in the future.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from the pile of sleeping baby bees and made you way to the adult Christmas party.

When you opened the door, all eyes were on you. Some were drunk from overripe fruit while others were feasting on sweets and playing games while waiting for you to arrive.

And every single one of them was hard.

“My queen~!”

You were approached by your attendants, who all rubbed around you, desperate for your attention after you had been busy with the babies all day. “We missed you… everyone’s been waiting for our Christmas present!”

All of the bee hybrids cooed and hummed, buzzing with excitement. In exchange for them working so hard to give the babies a nice Christmas, you promised to give them a special treat.

Your body.

Instantly you were surrounded, being caressed and sniffed, your clothes easily coming off. Your hive had been working nonstop all month to make you and the babies happy, which meant you hadn’t been mated with much.

And embarrassingly enough, you craved this as much as they did.

You cried out in ecstasy as one of the bees latched onto your clit, sucking softly as your cunt was being fucked by another. Both of your nipples were being attacked, and your mouth was stuffed with a fat cock.

“Is this okay, my queen?”

“Ahh, my queen, you’re so tight…”

It was a night full of many orgasms, your tummy heavy and full of eggs by morning.

Each bee hybrid got their turn inside of your cunt, and admittedly it was arousing to watch them jerk off to the image of you being fucked by the others, some even sucking and fucking each other because they were too impatient.

But they ended up completely satisfied, lapping softly at your cunt, licking up some of the cum and gently pushing eggs back into your pussy.

You were so, so full and kept cumming around the eggs that it was hard to keep them inside… but your attendants swooped in to take care of the aftercare and make sure you would be ready for the morning.

You yawned, resting against a fluffy bee hybrid as your little ones opened their presents in the morning. They were all so happy, giggling and carrying around their toys to show to their mama.

It was a great first Christmas with the bee hybrids, and each one of them was looking forward to next year!

[goqmir]

cis people reading this post, you should understand two things:

1) if you think you are being kind and have a good relationship with a trans person, and you misgender them or deadname them once or more every time you see them, you are not being kind, and you probably don't have as good of a relationship as you think.

why? because misgendering and deadnaming fucking hurts. it actually hurts more than you can comprehend. it hurts like hell. it hurts like you just got stabbed for real and i'm not joking and it never ever feels better.

so answer me this: if you wanted to hang out with someone you love, and every time you did so they stabbed you once or twice with a big sharp knife and it hurt like fucking hell and left a lasting wound on you, would you still go hang out with that person regularly? if not, why do you feel entitled that the trans person you have this relationship should come visit you, knowing that possibly more than once you'll deadname or misgender them? why are you putting a knife to their throat?

2) you actually, inherently, need to put in more effort about the little parts of speech, such as pronouns, names, and gendering words and phrases, when talking to a transgender person rather than a cisgender person. it's actually more effort. you need to take the time when talking to make sure you phrase things correctly so you aren't misgendering them or deadnaming them. because, as we've established, and even though it might be a simple mistake to you, it hurts like hell to them, like a knife entering their body.

cisgender people do not have this problem, so it's somewhat harder to hurt them in casual conversation by mixing up a pronoun (which is a common mistake when talking without thinking too much for anyone!). when talking to a trans person, you need to think about your words. every cis person i've ever met not only doesn't understand this, but feels entitled to not having to pay any more attention to gendering me correctly than any cis person. and that doesn't work, because cis people don't get stabbed by simple words that are easy to mix up. you gotta talk slower and more thoughtfully until gendering this person right is second nature and if you don't you will hurt them and they'll bleed and it will be entirely your fault.

trans people are not weak because they can be hurt by your carelessness-- rather, you are cruel for hurting them for it. and the only way to not hurt them is to stop and take a second to think about what you'll say before you say it to them. but no cis person i've ever met understands this. maybe you could be the first?

sometimes i see cis people say "trans people will understand if you misgender them at first. i call my nephew 'her' all the time and he knows i don't mean it" no he doesnt. he probably never hangs out with you for more than ten minutes because that's how long you can last in a conversation before making him feel like shit. also he thinks you're, best case scenario, stupid for not being able to figure it out, or worst case scenario, uncaring about him and his needs. he doesn't like spending time with you. you're deluding yourself into thinking you're far kinder than you are. you're weird man.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane Preference] And Their Favorite Hot Drink

Every time I say I want to make at least three, and every time it takes me a month to make three. But between today and tomorrow, I want to post something else with a cozy/winter theme, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, in my little self-promotion corner, I'll let you know that you can find my fanart here, and here you can find a fanfiction I'm working on, if you want to check out my other projects!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 |

Jayce:

Hot tea.

With lots of cookies, not just one or two like nobles who drink tea to be chic.

He drinks tea because it makes the cookies taste better and softer.

And if I told you he prefers fruity tea?

Basically, he likes a strong flavor, and fruity teas have the most aroma, although having grown up as the Kirammans’ ward, he’s learned to drink it in any form.

Viktor:

Sweet milk.

Or milk and honey.

Occasionally, milk, coffee, caramel, and whipped cream if he wants to be fancy, but he never has the time, so it’s usually just sweet milk.

He has such a stockpile that statistically, at least one bottle is expired, but it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t pay attention to those things.

Ekko:

Cappuccino. It’s quick, it’s hot, it gives energy, and the milk makes it sweet enough without adding sugar.

Easy to find and great for the group because it’s not expensive—just steal an industrial-sized can of milk and some instant coffee, and he can make it for more than 20 people.

Tea is problematic because there are no plants in Zaun, and in Piltover, they either sell it in small doses or loose.

Vander:

Hot chocolate, because I say so.

This man was born to be a father, and what do kids love? Hot chocolate.

Hard to come by in Zaun, which is why he always adds chocolate bars or cocoa powder as an extra price in his smuggling deals.

It became his favorite because of the connection it has with his kids and his happy place.

Silco:

Whiskey doesn’t count as a hot drink, and that’s a bit of a problem.

But luckily, coffee exists.

Not American coffee, long and watered down, but espresso.

He holds the small cup in his hands to warm himself, but subtly enough that no one notices.

Jinx:

Sugar.

Not a hot drink, sure, but any drink works for her if it has enough sugar.

Milk and honey remind her of when she was little, tied to special occasions when her parents actually managed to get honey.

But pretty much anything works for her: fruity teas with three tablespoons of sugar, hot chocolate with one spoonful, cappuccino with two…

Vi:

Anything works for her as long as the cup is big enough to warm her hands.

Simple and easy-to-find drinks are great, sure, but no one can convince me her favorite drink isn’t either hot chocolate with rum or a complex, spiced Piltover-style beverage.

She doesn’t mind sweetness but never adds sugar to her drinks—she’d rather choose something with natural sweet notes.

Caitlyn:

Tea.

English breakfast tea with sugar and milk is something her parents made her during festive mornings, so it holds sentimental value.

But the tea she’s used to drinking is Oolong or Yorkshire, typical of the five o’clock tea tradition with her mother and occasionally their guests.

Mel:

Coffee and variations.

In my little artist brain, Piltover has an ethical equivalent of Starbucks, and that café is Mel’s happy place.

Coffee is easier to find for sure, but coffee-based drinks with caramel, ginger, and plant-based milk are absolutely her favorite.

She loves sipping them slowly, savoring the flavors, taking half an hour or more to finish her cup.

Sevika:

Whiskey.

No, she won’t accept that it doesn’t count as a hot drink.

She doesn’t like milk, but if she’s forced to have it, she spikes it with whiskey or gin.

The same goes for hot chocolate.

She’s not a coffee person either; she doesn’t see the point of drinking something so bitter without a real purpose.

[thrashkink-coven]

Super easy and cheap devotional acts for beginners.

A nice cup and some clean, fresh, water on the altar can often be all you need for daily offerings

Grow a plant on your altar, use your weekly watering as a devotional act. Hermes is currently helping my peace lily grow :)

Draw their sigil on your nails and then paint over them with nail polish that matches their color correspondences.

If you can’t acquire alcohol for your deities (wine, vodka etc) because you’re too young, white vinegar also works. The quality we’re looking for is the purification aspect. White vinegar is natural, antibacterial and never goes bad. You can leave it on your altar until it evaporates if you want.

If you work with a deity involved with self love like Aphrodite, investing a little more time into your skin care and scent can be very rewarding. Nothing super boujie, it can be as simple as getting some nice smelling lotion at the dollar store.

Food and water offerings don’t have to be external, especially if you’re in the broom closet and don’t have an altar. Reserve the first bite of your meal for your deity. Savour its taste while you think about them. Pour yourself a crisp glass of cold water and guzzle it as a devotional act.

Use a washable or dry erase marker to draw sigils on your shower wall for bath rituals. It’ll come right off when you’re done.

Tea bags are just bags of dried herbs. You can use these as offerings or draw sigils on them and burn them for witchcraft. No one is ever suspicious about a little tea. Adding a tea bag to your water offerings also gives them an extra kick.

A couple dollars at the thrift store will take you a long way. I love thrifting items because they’re usually well loved. I especially like thrifting spirituality books that past practitioners have written in. Sometimes my deities communicate with me through the books that are available on any given day. If I was just talking to Leviathan about the power of water and I see a book about Hydromancy, I know that he’s sending me a sign. Like, 90% of the books Lucifer has sent me popped up at the thrift store. Most expensive one was $7.99. (and I tag swapped it for 2.99 😊 thanks, Hermes-

and on this note, literally steal. Not from small local thrift stores, but I mean this with my whole chest, steal from Value Village. If you can sneakily swap a tag and get something for cheaper literally do it. Value Village gets all their inventory for free I literally do not care. Corporate thrift stores don’t deserve rights. I steal from Value Village as a devotional act to Hermes 😊 lmao )

If you don’t have money to spend on really nice paintings and posters of your deities for your altar, start buying books about them. It’s a double win. A book about Greek religion will certainly have multiple beautiful sculptures and paintings of Aphrodite that I can cut out and put on my wall. A book about angels might have a cool painting of Lucifer. Books about Goddesses, ancient religions, anthropology, astrology etc. You get the opportunity to learn, and if it’s a book you don’t particularly care too much for, you can take it apart for imagery. People ask me all the time where I got all of my paintings and pictures from. BOOKS.

Does your deity have a kind of complicated sigil that you love but you also kinda hate redrawing every other day? Sorry Cerberus (Naberius) I love you but that sigil is so complicated babe.

Learn how to block print! It’s very simple. You get a block of linoleum (usually pretty cheap, I think mine were like $5) , some ink (~$10), and a carving tool (varies depending), and make a sigil stamp! All you gotta do is draw your sigil and carve it out nicely one time. You can still bless it and imbue it with your energy, and you can easily put it on prayers, talismans etc.

Chalk is your best friend. Use it to draw sigils on the floor or wall that can easily be wiped away. You can imbue special chalk and use it for casting circles if you don’t like the mess of salt.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Whispers & Guesses

In which Max lets the news of his secret relationship with you slip out of jealousy.

Warnings: nothing Pairing: Max Verstappen x Singer!Reader Word count: 1.3k words

Shoutout to @shelbyteller for sliding into my DMs with this idea. Inspired by the song ‘Guess’ by Charli xcx and Billie Eilish. This was SO FUN to write omg 🤭 and happy Christmas to all those who celebrate!!

Master List

You were used to the whispers that followed you. The questions that weren't meant to reach your ears, meant to stir up gossip were just part of your life. You had gotten used to people talking about you years ago. You had to or else all of the gossip and rumors would eat you alive.

Nearly ten years into your singing career, with almost 15 Grammy's to your name, the whispers about your weight, your outfits, your hair? They all just rolled off your back. None of it affected you anymore.

So when you walked into the paddock on Sunday morning at Silverstone as one of the celebrity guests, the whispers that followed you didn't even make you to miss a step. It seemed as if people were confused at your presence here, especially since you were in the middle of the European leg of your aptly titled 'Whispers & Guesses' tour.

To the outside world, you were in the paddock as Red Bull's guest just like any other celebrity but those closest to you knew better. You weren't just there to watch a Formula 1 race, you were there to watch your boyfriend race for the first time since you'd started dating him earlier in the year.

You hadn't meant to fall in love with Max Verstappen and you certainly hadn't meant to fall in love with him so quickly but sometimes things don't work out the way you plan for them to. It had all started right after the New Year when Max had treated his sister and mom to VIP box tickets to your concert in Amsterdam.

Your assistant had coordinated a quick meet and greet with the Dutch driver and his family before the concert and you had been stopped in your tracks when you first laid eyes on the Dutch driver. You'd never even heard Max's name before, didn't know how legendary he was in the racing world. You no idea he was a 3 time world Champion and you certainly had never even watched a F1 race but the moment he looked at you with those icy blue eyes, mouth hitching up in that signature lopsided grin, you had been an absolute goner for him.

Max, on the other hand, knew exactly who you were and if he had been pressed, he would have been forced to admit that the meet and greet he had pushed for had been more for his benefit than his niece's. You'd secretly topped his Spotify Wrapped list for the last three years running, although if anyone saw that he'd blame the fact that he shared an account with Victoria and she was a huge fan.

What started out as simple infatuation turned into clandestine meetings carefully coordinated by your entire team as both you and Max wanted to keep the budding romance as quiet as possible for as long as you could. Secret flights for you into Nice to sneak into Monaco on weeks Max wasn't racing were thrilling and when that wouldn't work, Max would charter his plane to find you wherever you were in the world. It was difficult and honestly, not an ideal way to start a relationship but the chemistry between you and Max was undeniable. You both had decided early on that whatever was happening between you two was worth exploring and worth the extra work that it took to spend the precious free time you both had.

You had wanted to see a race for months now but it had posed quite the security headache since access to the paddock was kind of played fast and loose sometimes. The head of security at Silverstone had taken a particular interest in making sure that things were secure for you and after several meetings with your team and theirs that lasted multiple hours, it had finally been enough for your head of security to agree to let you attend.

It had been a complete surprise when you turned up at Silverstone Sunday morning, no one but Red Bull's PR team had known you were even considering coming to the race. As you walked through the paddock with your best friend Alice and PR manager Ginny, the whispers kicked up and only intensified when you 'accidentally' ran into Max where he was stood with Lando and Charles in front of the Red Bull garages.

"Max, it's so good to see you again." You say, pretending that you two don't know each other beyond that time you had met at your concert earlier in the year. When Max had made the request to Red Bull's PR team, he said that you had mentioned at the meet and greet all those months ago that you wanted to attend a race and your schedule had finally lined up.

"I'm so glad your schedule finally opened up to come see me at work." He says, enjoying the role you're both playing in front of everyone else, knowing that you're going to be in his bed later that night.

Introductions are made with you and Alice spending quite a bit of time chatting with the drivers. Lando flirts shamelessly with you, not knowing that your heart already belongs to his friend standing next to him instead. Max thinks it's cute, how Lando thinks he has a chance.

"Ok, ladies, we've got to get over to the hospitality suite before the race." Ginny says eventually.

You give all three drivers quick hugs and wish them good luck, Max's arms holding you just a beat longer than Charles and Lando. "Come back to me safe and sound, okay?" You whisper, mind drifting to that awful crash Max had gotten into with Lewis a few years ago. You had happened upon footage of the crash late one night when you were lonely in a hotel room and Max had been half way across the world at a race. It had scared you half to death and you hadn't been able to watch a race the same since.

Max simply nods, resisting the urge to press a kiss to your forehead. "Always, schatje." He whispers back, voice low so only you can hear him.

All three men watch you saunter away, hips swaying with each step.

Lando catches his fist in his mouth and groans. "God, I love when you can just see the little bits of lace peeking out under their clothes like that."

"And the little sliver of skin? Did you see that tattoo on her lower back just barely making an appearance?" Charles can't take his eyes off your retreating frame either.

Max isn't usually much of a jealous man but the way his friends are talking about you has something burning hotly in his chest. He works to keep his mouth shut as Lando continues to chatter on about you.

"Do you think it's a matching set? The strap I saw was navy...I bet it's a matching set." Lando mutters as he rubs his hand over his jaw.

"It is." Max says simply, hands tucked casually in his pockets. He nearly laughs when both Charles and Lando whip their heads around so fast it's a miracle neither of them snap their necks.

"How...What?" Charles stammers.

"It's a matching set." His tone implies that he knows something that the 2 other drivers don't. "Navy lace with one of those little red bows right in the middle" He points in the middle of his chest as a visual aid.

Lando's jaw is on the floor as he tries to figure out the implications of what Max has just said. Max simply smirks, allowing Charles and Lando to put two and two together on their own.

"I'm not saying your wrong, mate but like, how the fuck do you know?" Lando asks, voice heavy with confusion.

"Well, I picked the set out this morning when she woke up in my bed." Max has to stifle a laugh when Charles' jaw joins Lando's on the floor. "And it's the set I bought for her a few weeks ago when we were in Japan."

With a shrug, Max claps both men on the back and turns away without another word, wandering towards the garage before pulling out his phone to text you about what just happened.

Tag list: @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland @chlmtfilms @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @eloriis @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @bibissparkles @llando4norris @chelseyyouraverageluigi @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama

[axolotl4days]

Batfam au angst :) also leading into (platonic) yandere batfam

What if Jason wasn't the first kid to die :)

And what if Damian wasn't Bruce's only biological kid :)

Au idea I'm simple terms: what if Bruce had a daughter in his early years of batman, who went missing and dead, but then years later reappeared and was found again, Bruce and the others won't make the same mistake twice.

Author's note before reading: Please keep in mind I'm new to this fandom, so I don't know much about what's canon. I simply get creative ideas really easily and have decided to share them.

If anyone else likes this idea, feel free to rewrite or add onto the concept, if you do please tag me I'd love to see what others do with this concept

I'm picturing reader to be the same age as or potentially slightly younger than Damian, but no specific ages are mentioned

Damian POV:

It was a day like any other, awful, Damian had to go to school. He didn't hate school, just the people there, loud, annoying, nosy.

He went about his day the same as always, reading in class and working on his work, until suddenly the principle came to class abruptly saying they had a new student, which the teacher promptly assigned to sit next to Damian. Great.

The teacher also informed him that he would be the one to show this new student around. So Damian braced himself for the extra annoying questions about him and his family, after all that's what people always want to know.

But to his suprised? This girl didn't care about any of that, simply asking questions about the class and school. She didn't even ask if he was really a Wayne, she looked a bit suprised but it wasn't the usual suprise most people had, and she didn't ask him any questions about it so it didn't matter.

As he showed her around he found out that they had the same classes, he heard her sigh of relief, but when questioned she said she was glad because it ment she wouldn't be alone in any of her classes and she'd have someone to turn to.

As the day went on they would go to class and work on classwork, it seems his new classmate was a lot smarter than the rest of them and he didn't have to constantly help her with work.

At the end of the day he made a mental note of a new acquaintance.

Later that day

"Ah, Master Damian, welcome back. How was your day at school?" Alfred asked, greeting the young boy

"It was alright Pennyworth, we had a transfer student today, but she seemed to be quite intelligent unlike the rest of those peasants" Damian replied

"Oh? A transfer student? In the middle of the school year? How odd."

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior, but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary, her name is Y/n." Damian said, but after saying her name he noticed Alfred looked pale

"Pennyworth? Are you feeling ill? Do I need to inform father?" Damian asked

"No no, I'm quite alright, it's just, I... used to know someone with that name, so I was suprised to hear it. That's all." Alfred replied, but he still looked pale

"If you say so. I'm going to head to my room and work on schoolwork before it's time for patrol" Damian said, and he was gone without another word

Alfred's POV:

'Calm yourself Alfred. It's a normal name that anyone could have, besides, it's been 20 years. Even if it was her she wouldn't be part of the young masters class. Still... I should inform Master Bruce, incase he mentions this classmate' Alfred thinks to himself before heading to the batcave.

There he finds both Bruce and Tim, working on the computer, searching for sightings of criminal activity, recently rumors of a new villain with unknown powers had started to arise, so it was the batman's job to keep Gotham safe

"Ahem, apologies for interrupting, but I need to borrow Master Bruce for a moment" Alfred says

"Did something happen Alfred?" Bruce asks

"No, not necessarily, it's nothing serious but we need to talk" Alfred replies

Bruce gets up and follows Alfred out of the room

"What is it Alfred? You look like you've seen a ghost." Bruce states

"Apologies Sir, as I said, it's nothing serious, however Damian informed me of a new classmate at school today" Alfred starts

"In the middle of the year?" Bruce comments

"That's what I said, however that isn't the point, I simply wanted to let you know before hand, incase the young master mentions this classmate infront of you.." Alfred pauses

"That's it? Why would you need to inform me of that" Bruce asks confused

"Well you see. He said that her name was... Y/n" Alfred states, and Bruce becomes just as pale as he is

"I see.... did Damian tell you anything else about this.... classmate?" Bruce asks

"No, he did not. But simply stated he'd keep an eye out for anything suspicious." Alfred said

"I understand." Bruce said with a deep sigh

"Are you alright Master Bruce? I know it's been a long time but-"

"I'm fine Alfred. I just... I'm fine. I need to head back to work now, we still don't know what this new villain is capable of, or what they're after." Bruce says, turning away

"Alright sir, if you insist. Please take care of yourself."

Alfred says, but he knows how Bruce is

The patrol went on as normal, and so did school. Nothing particularly interesting happened it was a week like any other, Damian and y/n would work on schoolwork together during breaks, since y/n joined late she had a lot of work to catch up on but she didn't have much trouble and Damian helped her when she did. The two had even become friends, turns out they had a lot in common, and some classmates tried to joke about how they were like siblings, but the two didn't mind. The jokes did make Damian aware of how... familiar y/n looked. He pondered the idea of her being a child from a one night stand, but the timelines didn't match up so he brushed the thought away, thinking it was a coincidence that she looked so much like Bruce. But nothing out of the ordinary happened of note, not until one fateful patrol where Damian made a discovery

Y/n POV:

Y/n didn't know where to go after waking up again, it was clear so many things have changed, and her dad taught her well. She needed more information before she made any decisions.

Unfortunately this ment she had no place to stay. After all, she couldn't go to an orphanage, she wasn't an orphan and she didn't have any documents or a story on where she came from. She knew better than to go to the police, what would she even say to them? So here she was. Sitting under a bridge hoping she won't get sick. But she was strong, she'd do what she'd have to in order to understand the situation better. Even if that means sleeping under a bridge like a troll, even if it means only eating the food provided by the school, even if it means-

"Hello there. Are you alright?" A voice asked making her jump

She turns to see, some sort of vigilante. She had heard in passing about how her dad Batman wasn't the only vigilante in Gotham anymore, so she figured it was one of them

"Oh um, I'm alright" she replied, she hadn't planned to meet any of them, she knew she might meet batman, which she kind of hoped for because then she could get some answers, but this was new territory this was- wait a minute why does he kind of look like Damian?

"Are you sure? Your sitting underneath a bridge at night, kids shouldn't be out here like this you could get hurt. Or worse. Why aren't you with your parents?" The vigilante (Damian) said, after recognizing his classmate, assessing the situation

"It's... complicated" y/n replies, before wondering how much she should tell him "I... can't really talk about it, but I can't go back home.. not yet at least, and I don't have anywhere else to go, so I've just been here" she states, hoping she didn't say to much

The vigilante just stays there for a moment, not saying anything, and she wonders if she said to much or if he thinks she's a criminal

"I see. In any case, you shouldn't be out here alone, the streets of Gotham aren't safe, however if you insist on staying out here may I suggest somewhere that isn't so easily spotted? You wouldn't want to be attacked. I know a few places that are safer than.. this" The vigilante says offering a hand

"Oh, uhm" y/n thinks for a moment, weighing her options "I'll take you up on that offer, it's not great down here" y/n replies, taking his hand

The two go to a more remote, slightly cleaner area

"Here we are, even if it's temporary this would be a better place for a shelter than where you were before. I don't know what's going on, but if you need assistance, im willing to help" the vigilante replies

"Thank you, you've really been more than enough help and I appreciate it a lot. If I need anything il let you know....."

"... Robin. My name is Robin." Robin says, noticing her pause

"Robin... thank you for the help, good luck with the rest of your patrol" y/n says

"Of course, you be careful now, always keep an eye out." Robin says, before leaving

'Phew.... he's gone. That was definitely him, and he definitely recognized me. Now what. He didn't say anything so they're definitely still doing the secret identity thing. I guess I'll just have to play it cool and hope he doesn't say anything at school. If any of the teachers find out I'm definitely gonna get investigated and then my whole plan will be thrown out the window.' Y/n thinks to herself 'Maybe this is a good thing, if he's Robin, it's likely that dad's still Batman too, which means I might run into him. What if he doesn't recognized me? What if he does recognize me?? What if- what if he didn't miss me.... no, no! This is dad, of course he missed me but it's been... so long... what do I do if he doesn't want me back...' y/n starts to worry about before she falls to the floor and starts to cry

Which, unbeknownst to her, Damian saw, he doesn't know why she's crying or why it makes him feel so... protective but he knows somethings up, so he goes off and reports what he knows to Batman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aaaaand cliffhanger! Mwahahahaha

I would have kept going, and I know exactly what's coming next, but I've been typing for awhile and I have no idea how long this post is, and I don't want it to be too long

So I'm stopping it there,

This wasn't supposed to be this much but my creative brain decided to run with this idea, so there's gonna be a part 2 soon

Also I've decided to call this au

Batman Dead Daughter Au

Because.... idk what else to call it and if I'm gonna make a part 2 and potentially more depending on how this goes, I'm gonna need something to refer to it with.

As I said before, I'm extremely new to the batman stuff

Pretty much all of my knowledge comes from youtube and tumblr, so bare with me if things are out of character

I've also never written fanfiction before, it's always just been in my head, so the writing is probably a bit funny

Yes I'm a writer in the making but I haven't actually gotten to the writing part

And fanfiction is a bit different

Hope yall like the concept tho

Again, feel free to write your own version of this if you want to, just tag me so I can read it too lol

[linddzz]

I am slamming that validation button like a rodent wanting more sugar water so here's more mostly rough draft Jayvik.

A continuation of the nicknames fic. More science dorks being dorks, this time greatly featuring some seriously questionable boundaries between totally normal lab colleagues, and much more briefly featuring Viktor being so horny it makes him stupid. Also appearing is Jayce Talis, ADHD King and allusions to Viktor's past slut era. Both fics are a sort of preview chapter in the bigger thing @amahhi and I are working on!

Thank you to @avelera for planting the idea of platonically dubious scritches in my head, and for being a constant sounding board!

Rating: PG

Pair: Jayvik pre-relationship

----

It continues to be surprising, how not surprising everything is when it comes to Jayce.

A week into the partnership, and that initial bright thrill of something new has not dulled in the slightest. Nor has the perfectly ordinary, easy comfort that he feels with Jayce. The un-remarkability of this calm is what makes it remarkable. With Jayce, there is none of the discomfort of dealing with another person. None of the abrasive tension that arises when Viktor must face other people as distinct personalities which he must contend with, instead of the larger concepts of People. People as an idea have problems that he can solve, whose suffering he can reduce without any needs for interaction causing issues.

But Jayce functions outside of these issues Viktor often finds himself in. Jayce slots into a space Viktor hardly knew existed, like there had always been this jagged edge to him that, to his great surprise, was actually part of a puzzle that Jayce had the other half to.

Past experience would have him expecting that, with time, the shine would wear off. The glow would dim. He would learn all the little faults and human contradictions of Jayce and would grow to feel that jagged tension return. Spending hours upon hours each and every day for a solid week with him have revealed Jayce’s little foibles, yet not one has grown into a frustration. In actuality, Viktor has had nothing but further data points to add weight to his newly forming thoughts of destiny and its relation to himself and Jayce. For each little fault and lacking Jayce has, Viktor can help. He can, perhaps, be the puzzle piece that returns the favor to fit neatly into Jayce's life.

For example, Jayce can grow blind to his surroundings, his mind too caught in their work. Viktor had assumed that the apartment was in the state he first found it in due to an explosive force of arcane power. He still thinks that, but he has learned that this great force was not the struck gem amplifying and reflecting the kinetic force aimed at it to exponential levels, but Jayce himself. He often forgets his keys, or his mugs, or his pencils behind an ear, his goggles on his head, his tools, everything but his journal really.

It was the third time that he left his keys in the lab (on top of twice that he came in groaning that he had locked himself out of his temporary housing), that Viktor realized what the pattern was, and that he could provide a solution.

Jayce had more important things to focus his mind on, so it was both useless and counterproductive to adjust Jayce’s behavior or habits so he could track the little necessities of life. Fortunately, Viktor is well practiced on keeping track of what he needs to. It’s a skill that was refined when he first used it to avoid detection in the Academy, and then even further developed as Professor Heimerdinger’s assistant. When Jayce left his keys behind again, the answer was simple and obvious. They were already missing from Jayce’s person, so Viktor simply took them to the sort of establishment in the lanes that would never ask any questions, but would always make a perfect copy of any keys brought to them.

Jayce’s keys were neatly returned to him, and Viktor took no small delight in waiting for the next time Jayce smacked his forehead as they left for the day, realizing that he had once again locked himself out of his rooms, to reveal his backups. There was a brief moment, where Jayce stared at the keys hanging from Viktor’s finger, when he worried in a flash that this was not something a friend or colleague should do, that he had overstepped in some way. Then Jayce snorted with his grin, called Viktor brilliant if a little terrifying, but mostly brilliant, and everything was perfect.

The key was only for Jayce’s temporary rooms in the Academy housing, but Viktor could make another set once the apartment repairs were complete, even if it seems wasteful to have Jayce eventually move out of the building that Viktor lives in.

Jayce is also wonderful at taking notes for his work, but less skilled at going back to reorganize or refine those notes. His notes are exemplary, even with the little flair of him signing every single page, but it leads to problems.

These problems are their current struggle in the cramped space of their semi-lab at some odd hour of the night. Viktor stands and contemplates the board crowded with copies of Jayce’s notes, additional observations both have about that first successful arcane spell, and Viktor’s little chalked notes next to clusters of paper denoting what sections of an article each goes to. Behind him, Jayce is not exactly pacing, which would require repeating of one path, but he is in a constant state of muttering movement with occasional bursts of frustration over paperwork.

Because they can make a fully stable arcane frame that affects the gravity within the dean’s office, but that means nothing to the academy if it is not properly written and submitted for review. They are on their fourth draft of the paper, and the initial excitement over being published has dwindled with every draft that has been returned with Heimerdinger’s cheerful blue ink slashed across the pages. One of Jayce’s faults, Viktor is finding, is that he does not take such things gracefully. It takes the second set of revisions for Viktor to realize that pride is not the primary hurt that Jayce feels, but the thread of anxiety Viktor had seen woven through Jayce’s journal. The need to prove himself, and the fear of impending failure at every turn.

“How else do they want me to explain it?” Jayce groans, and Viktor does not need to turn around to know that the perfectly clean cut hair is likely sticking out in every direction.

“I was hoping the Professor would not have edited “crank it” so quickly out of the methodology.” Viktor muses. That was his greatest disappointment. “I am deeply curious on how he expects us to find half of the citations he has requested for this entirely new scientific field.”

“And when the Academy insists there aren’t more tomes on mage lore!” Jayce snarls.

“We will have to expand outside of the Academy in the future.” Viktor agrees, turning a little to once again look over the taped up pages of their latest draft and what blue marks are where. “However, I think a more concrete description of the runic array you conducted into the stabilizer may be our ticket past many of the other issues he has found.”

Instead of grumblings or more huffed complaints, a heavy weight thumps onto Viktor’s shoulder. He pauses, realizing immediately that it is Jayce’s head that has slumped against him, and Jayce’s impressive body heat against his back indicating that there is, at most, a few inches of space between them.

“I don’t know how.” Jayce groans, but it’s less petulant and quieter, almost fearful. “I don’t know how to describe what I did.”

“Hm.” Is all Viktor can say in that exact moment. He is, briefly, distracted by Jayce’s hair brushing against his jaw with the strong scent of some sort of…of fancy wood. It is not an unpleasant scent.

“Sorry.” Jayce mutters. “Sorry, I know you’re not touchy I just- gimme a second I gotta think.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” Viktor assures him. It is alright. Jayce is correct that Viktor is not nearly as tactile as Jayce is, but he is at this point well acquainted with Jayce’s propensity towards touch. His own lack of aversion or any other strong reaction to it was one of the earliest surprises in their partnership. “Take your time gathering your thoughts. This is a far less dire circumstance than that first stabilization was.”

“You told me there was no pressure then.” Jayce mumbles, already sounding a little less miserable.

“That is because I was lying.” Viktor hums, delighted at the snort he gets, and the way he can feel Jayce’s movement from the small laugh.

“Seriously V, I just remembered that night, remembered what the mage looked like and what all the magic looked like and I…did the same thing. But it wasn’t the same thing, because no one got teleported. I don’t even know if what I did was a spell.” Viktor thinks he can feel the resonance of Jayce’s voice through his core, spreading in waves from the point where Jayce’s forehead presses down at the top edge of his shoulder.

The distraction is not a true distraction however, because Viktor catches something in what Jayce is muttering. “You can remember how he moved, what the runes he summoned looked like?”

“I remember everything about that night.”

“Yes but-” There is something here. He has already seen Jayce's remarkable skill at memorizing things that Jayce deems worth memorizing. If Jayce says he can remember it, Viktor does not doubt it. “The order of them, could you remember that?”

The head on Viktor’s shoulder shifts as Jayce rolls it slightly to one side, but he doesn’t move it in the other to shake his head. It’s a contemplative movement. “Maybe…I think so. Let me...ok this is going to sound so weird but can I just uh, hang out here for a second? It helps me think.”

“By all means.” There’s something particularly marvelous about becoming a stabilizing agent for Jayce’s mind, he would be a fool not to agree to the opportunity. As Jayce calibrates himself, Viktor once again considers their paper, the problems it has given them. Jayce had moved the dial of the stabilizing framework like a conductor, with precision. Heimerdinger wants written out theories and explanations and citations, but what if they could instead find a formula. What if the precision of Jayce’s input could be broken down into components and quantified…

His free hand moves with habitual lack of awareness to where it would usually begin fiddling with his own hair, and it takes a few moments for him to notice the slight change in both texture and location of the hair he is rolling between his fingertips. Even then, he only notices because Jayce’s head becomes an even heavier weight on his shoulder.

“Ah, apologies.” He says, stopping the movement, thinking this might be a thing to feel awkward about. “Force of habit, it helps me think.”

“No, s’fine.” Jayce says, voice thicker in a way that is dangerous for Viktor’s higher thought processes. “It’s nice, actually. I don’t mind.”

After a second, Viktor continues. This time he notes the finer texture of Jayce’s hair. It’s very soft, sleek almost, with traces of the gel he uses to style it making sections of stiffness that crunch away under Viktor’s fingers.

“You smell nice.” Jayce mumbles.

A response to that requires some consideration. Viktor…considers.

There was a time, not all that long ago, where he would have leapt on someone with Jayce’s build telling him he smelled good while standing a scant inch away from Viktor. He would have assumed that the intent was for him to leap. Viktor is more discriminating than he used to be about sexual escapades, mostly because he began finding the nights spent on dalliances not worth the distractions, but even he can admit that if Jayce had put a head on his shoulder and told him he smelled good a week ago, Viktor would know exactly how to respond. It would have involved leaning back against that broad heat, turning lightly twirling fingers into a fist in Jayce’s hair, then gleefully seeing where things went from that point.

But now…

Jayce fits in like a missing puzzle piece. Whatever Jayce is, it is not one of Viktor’s brief encounters. Viktor would want to tell Jayce he didn’t need to get his apartment repaired, when Viktor lives much closer to the lab and things would be much more efficient if they lived together. Viktor can be wildly in love with this man in every definition of love that exists, but romantic or sexual entanglements (and if there is one, Viktor very much wants the other as well) often end. In Viktor’s personal experience, they ended before morning, and that was only considering the sexual entanglement. Heightened intimacy was desperately tempting, but it risked a greater end to the entire partnership. Even if nothing ever started, a proposition alone could forever poison what there already is.

Jayce is tactile in a very casual way. He flirts with everything that smiles at him for more than three seconds, and there has been nowhere near enough data for Viktor to calculate the risk of losing that side of the puzzle, or how much of a reward he would gain from taking that risk.

“Thank you.” He says eventually, slow and still considering. Then, because that feels incomplete and awkward, he adds, “I use soap.

Jayce snorts again, the head on Viktor’s shoulder shaking as Jayce’s body shakes with quiet laughter. Viktor knows he is shaking with it, because every other hitch up of Jayce’s shoulders causes a tiny sway forward, which bumps Jayce’s chest against Viktor’s back. Each of these millisecond bits of contact makes Viktor once again run through the considerations of risk versus reward in relation to getting his hands on that chest. Under the shirt. He would need both hands. There is an awful lot of chest, after all. Maybe both hands and his mouth. Definitely all three. It really is so much chest.

He takes the fantastic effort to rein his mind away from Jayce’s prodigious chest, even more effort to pull it further from contemplating the amount of shoulder matching that chest and what the rest of the torso probably looks like. There should be a response in kind to Jayce’s. A friendly compliment to return a compliment.

“Your hair is very soft.” He decides, as that seems safe as well as relevant to Jayce's compliment. Jayce’s silent laughter turns into some small hitched sounds that near a squeak, which means that Viktor’s thoughts are successfully pulled away from the sexual distractions, but only into the romantic sort.

“Thank you.” Jayce says with a dreadful mimic of Viktor’s accent, which only strengthens Viktor’s resolve to not take any uninformed risks that could lead to him losing this, “I use a leave-in conditioner.”

Viktor’s hand drops from Jayce’s hair, and he turns his head as much as he can to shoot a baffled look at the top of Jayce’s head.

“Why the fuck would you leave in a hair conditioner?” He asks, affronted. “Conditioner already feels dreadful. It’s heavy and slimy, absolutely horrendous.”

Jayce shoots up (which is a shame) so that he can lean around and give Viktor a look of equal outrage. “What does- Viktor it’s a different thing from- do you not use conditioner!?”

“Of course not. It feels terrible, I already said that.” Jayce makes a pained sound, and Viktor waves him off. “Enough of that nonsense. It is a waste of time. I have an idea.”

Jayce moves up next to him, facing Viktor with an intent eagerness. “What is it?”

“You are going to describe to me exactly what you remember. Each rune, each movement, as much as you can.” Another thought occurs to him, and Viktor snatches his cane from where it’s leaning on the board so he can turn to the inert stabilizing frame sitting on a table. “And I want you to dial in the stabilizer as you did in Heimerdinge’s lab as you do so. I will record everything. I believe there may be something we can measure, some sort of constant in the timing and the runes used, a way to-”

“We can make it an equation.” Jayce interrupts, breathless and awed, knowing what Viktor is thinking without Viktor needing to explain any of it. He so deeply wishes Heimerdinger had let them keep “crank it” in the paper. “Something concrete.”

“Precisely. The runes are instructions, a code. Perhaps the clockwise and counter-clockwise cycles of them are additional instructions. We can use your stable field as a baseline to begin working on a formula.”

“We can give them a solid theorum.” Jayce is already rushing to the stabilizing frame, even recreating the hunched over pose he had that wondrous night. “Okay, tell me when you’re ready.”

Any thoughts on conditioner or smells are gone. In the future, it will be as common as breathing for them to be drawn together when they need help thinking. Jayce’s head will always find Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor will learn that playing with Jayce’s hair further settles his restless mind and channels his thoughts towards solutions. Whatever else there is, the most important goal to further all other goals of Viktor’s life is to keep the partnership. In the partnership there is the work, the thrill. The endless infinitesimal ways they fit together, two pieces destined to find the other. In the moment, Viktor takes up his notes and marvels again on the nature of fate, of probability, and of magic.

[misaerabl]

What's Your Christmas Wish?

Younger ellie X Older Reader

SUMMARY: Life in a small town is simple—until Ellie Williams comes along. At 21, she’s charming, persistent, and entirely too good at testing your resolve. For a year, she’s made her feelings for you abundantly clear, despite your insistence that the age gap is a dealbreaker. But on Christmas Eve, amidst the glow of fairy lights and the warmth of a town gathering, Ellie’s determination might just prove harder to ignore. As snow falls and boundaries blur, you’re left to wonder: is it the holiday magic, or has Ellie been right all along? WARNINGS: age gap, (Ellie is 21, no specific age mentioned but reader is in middle-late twenties), fingering, oral sex, top ellie, bottom reader, she calls you nurse sunshine, beautiful, etc.

December 22.

The warmth of the clinic wraps around you like a blanket as you organize patient files, the occasional Christmas jingle playing faintly from your phone. You’ve always loved this time of year—the crisp snow, the twinkling lights, the quiet hum of a small town preparing for the holidays.

But Ellie, well… Ellie loves to make this time of year something else entirely.

The bell above the door jingles, and you look up to see her strolling in, cheeks pink from the cold, auburn hair peeking out from under a wool hat. She’s carrying a tray of steaming hot cocoa in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other.

“Ellie,” you say with a sigh, knowing exactly what’s coming. “You can’t keep showing up like this.”

“And you can’t keep pretending you don’t like it,” she retorts, setting the tray on the counter. Her grin is nothing short of shameless, the same one that’s been chipping away at your resolve since the day you met her.

“Ellie—”

“Relax. It’s Christmas,” she interrupts, sliding one of the cups toward you. “Consider it my gift to you, Nurse Sunshine.”

You give her a pointed look at the nickname, but she only shrugs, unbothered. This has been her game for the past year: showing up unannounced, delivering food or drinks, and throwing out lines that would’ve worked on someone less resistant. But you know better—or at least, you tell yourself you do.

“You’re a college student,” you remind her for the hundredth time. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with people your age?”

She leans on the counter, a playful glint in her eyes. “Maybe. But why would I waste my time with them when I could be here, convincing you to finally say yes to dinner?”

Your laugh escapes before you can stop it. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only because you’re worth it,” she shoots back smoothly. Her confidence is infuriatingly endearing, and you have to look away before she notices the faint smile tugging at your lips.

“Ellie, this… whatever you’re doing—it’s not going to happen,” you say, trying to sound firm. “There’s an age gap, and—”

“I’m 21, not 16,” she interjects, rolling her eyes. “You act like I’m some clueless kid.”

“And you act like you don’t understand what I’m saying.”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again, softer this time. “I understand. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

You shake your head, exasperated but oddly touched. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” she says without missing a beat, her grin returning. “But hey, I’ll leave you to your work. Just wanted to drop these off.”

She winks, grabbing her coat and heading for the door. Before she leaves, she pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Beautiful. I’ll see you around.”

The bell jingles as she disappears into the snow, leaving you with a tray of cocoa, a bag of pastries, and a heart that’s just a little too warm for comfort.

Ellie doesn’t make it easy to focus on your work after that. You sip the hot cocoa—it’s perfect, annoyingly so—and glance at the pastries, neatly arranged in their bag like a gift you didn’t ask for but can’t quite refuse.

She’s persistent, you’ll give her that. Every time you think she’ll finally take the hint, she bounces back with another clever line, another charming grin, another gesture that makes your heart waver just enough to frustrate you.

It’s late by the time you leave the clinic, the streets quiet under a blanket of snow. You’re halfway home when you see her again, this time standing by the town’s massive Christmas tree in the square. Strings of colorful lights cast a warm glow on her face as she fiddles with her scarf, pacing like she’s waiting for someone.

You hesitate. Maybe you could slip past unnoticed. But as if sensing your presence, she looks up, and her face lights up in a way that makes escape impossible.

“Hey!” she calls out, jogging over. “Leaving work so late?”

“It’s part of the job,” you reply, pulling your coat tighter against the cold. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you, apparently,” she says, falling into step beside you. “Thought you might need some company on the way home.”

You roll your eyes. “Ellie, I’m perfectly capable of walking home alone.”

“Sure you are. But where’s the fun in that?”

Her tone is playful, but there’s a sincerity in her eyes that makes your chest tighten. You’ve spent the past year trying to ignore the way she looks at you, the way her words linger in your mind longer than they should. It’s easier to focus on the reasons why this can’t happen than to acknowledge the part of you that wonders, just for a moment, what if?

“Ellie,” you begin, your voice soft but firm. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “The age gap, the professionalism, all that. I get it. But, come on, it’s Christmas. Can’t we just… enjoy the moment?”

You stop walking, turning to face her. She looks up at you, her auburn hair catching the light from a nearby lamppost, and for a second, you hate how easy she makes it to forget all the reasons why you’ve been saying no.

“This isn’t fair, you know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“What’s not fair?” she asks, her tone softer now, almost vulnerable.

“The way you make me feel,” you admit, surprising even yourself. “You’re young, Ellie. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t need to waste it on someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” she echoes, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re incredible. And if you think I don’t know what I want, you’re wrong.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. She steps closer, her breath visible in the cold night air.

“I’m not asking for forever,” she says. “I’m just asking for a chance. One chance.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the weight of her gaze almost too much to bear. You want to say no, to give her the same answer you’ve given a hundred times before. But something about the way she looks at you—like you’re the only person in the world who matters—makes it harder than ever to walk away.

“Ellie…” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

“Just think about it,” she says softly, stepping back. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Ellie steps back with a small smirk. “Just think about it,” she repeats softly.

But instead of turning to leave, she takes a step forward, brushing past you and walking ahead toward the direction of your house. She glances back over her shoulder, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “Come on,” she says, tilting her head toward the road. “It’s cold, and I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift, but she doesn’t give you much choice. The snow crunches under your boots as you follow her, her pace casual but her presence anything but.

“You know,” you say, catching up to her, “I thought you were all about dramatic exits. What happened to leaving me with some cryptic line?”

She grins, her breath visible in the frigid air. “I figured walking you home might make a better impression. Besides, I didn’t feel like saying goodbye yet.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but there’s no denying the warmth in your chest—whether from her words or the fact that she’s still here, you’re not sure. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Persistent or charming?” she teases, her tone light. “Be honest.”

“Borderline annoying,” you counter, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your words.

She laughs, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, the world feels a little brighter despite the winter chill. You walk in comfortable silence for a while, the snow falling gently around you, the quiet of the small town wrapping you both in its peaceful embrace.

As you near your house, Ellie slows, falling into step beside you. “I’m serious, though,” she says, her voice softer now. “I get why you’re hesitant, and I respect it. But… I really do like you, [Your Name]. More than just some crush.”

Her words hit you harder than you expect, and you glance at her. She’s looking ahead, her profile illuminated by the glow of a streetlamp. There’s no trace of the usual playfulness in her expression—just sincerity and a hint of vulnerability.

You stop in front of your house, the warm glow of the porch light cutting through the night. Ellie stops too, turning to face you. “I’m not asking for an answer now,” she says. “I just want you to know how I feel. And that I’ll wait… as long as it takes.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. But the way she looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes it impossible to dismiss her entirely.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you say finally, your voice quiet.

Ellie nods, her lips quirking into a small smile. “Anytime.”

You unlock the door and step inside, hesitating for just a second. She stays on the porch, hands back in her pockets, a soft smile still lingering on her face.

“Goodnight, Ellie,” you say, your tone gentler than before.

“Goodnight, Beautiful,” she replies, and with one last look, she turns and heads back down the snowy path.

You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment. Your heart feels unsteady, caught between logic and the pull of something you’re not sure you can keep ignoring.

And as you glance at the tray of cocoa and the star ornament Ellie left earlier, you can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—she’s right.

December 24, christmas eve

The Anderson house was stunning, wrapped in glowing lights and adorned with wreaths and garlands at every corner. It looked like something out of a holiday movie, with the laughter and chatter of nearly the entire town spilling out into the frosty air. You stepped inside, greeted by the warmth and the unmistakable aroma of mulled wine and fresh pine.

You spotted Jerry Anderson almost immediately, his booming laughter unmistakable as he entertained a group near the fireplace. His daughter, Abby, wasn’t far off, standing tall and commanding attention effortlessly. She waved you over when she saw you, her bright smile as inviting as her father’s hospitality.

"Hey! long time no see,” Abby greeted, her voice warm and confident. She towered over most people in the room, her broad shoulders and easy posture making her presence impossible to miss.

“Abby, hi,” you replied with a smile, grateful to find someone familiar in the crowd. “How’s it going?”

“Busy, as usual,” she said, gesturing for you to join her by the side table laden with appetizers. “But I’ve been home for a couple of weeks now. It’s nice to have some downtime.”

You nodded, picking up a glass of cider as she continued. “What about you? How’s life at the clinic? Still saving lives left and right?”

You chuckled. “Not quite as dramatic as that, but yeah, keeping busy.”

Abby leaned against the table, genuinely interested. “You must have some stories, though. Come on, give me the juiciest one.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “Patient confidentiality, remember? But let’s just say, small towns definitely keep you on your toes.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, diving into topics of medicine and health. As a soldier, Abby had seen her fair share of injuries and medical emergencies, and her insights made the discussion lively and engaging. You found yourself enjoying the back-and-forth, though oblivious to the way her smile lingered a little longer on you or the subtle warmth in her voice.

Across the room, Ellie spotted you. She froze mid-conversation with a group of her friends, her eyes narrowing as they landed on you and Abby. Her jaw clenched when she noticed how close Abby was standing, the way her hand casually rested on the back of your chair as you laughed at something she said.

Ellie’s friend nudged her. “You okay?”

“Hm?” Ellie snapped out of it, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah. Just… thirsty. I’ll be back.”

She excused herself, weaving through the crowd with a cider in hand but no intention of drinking it. Her steps slowed as she approached the area where you and Abby stood, unnoticed by either of you. She leaned against a nearby pillar, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched Abby lean in closer, her voice dropping slightly as she said something that made you smile.

Ellie’s grip tightened around her cup. She wasn’t sure what was worse—the way Abby looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky or the fact that you didn’t seem to notice.

Ellie lingered by the pillar, her knuckles whitening around the cup as Abby leaned closer, whispering something that made you laugh softly. The sound lit up the room for Ellie, but not in the way it usually did. Tonight, it felt like it was for someone else entirely—and that someone wasn’t her.

Her chest tightened as Abby straightened up, glancing toward an older woman waving her over from across the room. Abby’s face briefly soured before she plastered on a polite smile and turned back to you.

“Looks like my dad’s trying to set me up again,” Abby muttered, her voice low but just loud enough for you to hear.

You raised an eyebrow. “Set you up? With who?”

Abby tilted her head toward a tall, broad-shouldered man standing stiffly near her father. “That guy. He’s a doctor, apparently. Or at least that’s what my dad’s been bragging about all night. Like that’s supposed to impress me.”

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, the corners of your lips curling upward. “What, not your type?”

Abby smirked, leaning just a little closer. “Not even in the same galaxy as my type. But Dad’s already waving me over, so I guess I can’t avoid it.” She glanced at you, her eyes glinting with humor. “Wish me luck?”

You chuckled. “Good luck, Abby. Don’t be too mean to him.”

She winked before standing up straight and heading toward her father, muttering under her breath as she went.

Ellie saw her chance and took it. She pushed off the pillar and strode toward you, her steps deliberate and purposeful. By the time you noticed her, she was already sliding into the chair Abby had vacated.

“Hey,” Ellie said casually, though her eyes betrayed her tension.

You blinked in surprise. “Ellie? I didn’t even see you there.”

She shrugged, setting her cider down on the table. “You seemed pretty… busy.” The edge in her tone was subtle but enough to make you pause.

You tilted your head at her. “Is something wrong?”

Ellie shook her head quickly, her expression softening slightly. “No, just thought I’d say hi. It’s Christmas Eve, after all.” She leaned back in her chair, her usual confidence returning as she added, “Figured I’d rescue you from whatever overly charming nonsense Abby was throwing your way.”

Your lips quirked up, but you shook your head. “Ellie, we were just talking. It’s not like that.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Not like what?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Sure,” Ellie said with a small smirk, though her eyes lingered on you a moment longer than they should. “Anyway, Merry Christmas, Nurse Sunshine.”

She picked up her cider and raised it slightly in a mock toast. You couldn’t help but smile at her, despite the slight tension still hanging in the air.

The room buzzed with excitement as the countdown to Christmas neared its final moments. People gathered closer together, their faces lit by the warm glow of twinkling lights and the gentle flicker of the fireplace. You stood among the crowd, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched the joy radiating around you.

As the countdown hit ten, you glanced up at the ceiling, noticing the delicate greenery of a mistletoe hanging just above you. The realization made you chuckle softly. Of course, Jerry Anderson would have mistletoe.

“Didn’t think I’d find you standing here,” a familiar voice said behind you, warm and teasing.

You turned, already knowing who it was. Ellie stood there, her hands in her jacket pockets, her green eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and nervousness. Your gaze flickered upward again, realizing with a slight jolt that she was standing directly beneath the mistletoe with you.

Ellie followed your line of sight, and her smirk widened. “Well, would you look at that?” she said, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that made your heart skip. “Guess this is what they call fate, huh?”

You laughed softly, trying to deflect the weight of the moment. “I think it’s just poorly placed holiday decor.”

Ellie took a small step closer, her expression more serious now, though the smile still lingered on her lips. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.”

The countdown reached five, and the crowd’s cheers grew louder around you, but it all seemed to fade as Ellie’s gaze locked with yours.

“Four…”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but no words came.

“Three…”

Ellie tilted her head slightly, the playful confidence giving way to something more vulnerable.

“Two…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“One…”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

And then Ellie closed the distance, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and full of all the things she’d been holding back for a year.

The room erupted into cheers and laughter, but for a moment, it was just the two of you, standing beneath the mistletoe as the world blurred around you.

Ellie pulled away slowly, her breath mingling with yours in the quiet space that lingered between the two of you. Her eyes searched yours, soft and vulnerable, the playful spark now gone. The weight of the moment hung heavy, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, a steady beat that seemed to echo in the air around you.

The world outside the bubble you shared felt far away. The warm glow of the lights, the hum of voices and laughter, all faded into a distant memory. It was just the two of you, standing beneath the mistletoe, and the silence between you was as intimate as any words could be.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Ellie whispered, her voice barely audible above the sounds of the room, but to you, it was the only sound that mattered.

You swallowed, your mind spinning with emotions you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully feel. “Ellie…”

She smiled, her fingers brushing against yours, tentative yet familiar. “I know. I know it’s been complicated. But tonight… I couldn’t let it pass by without telling you. Without showing you.”

Your chest tightened, a mixture of emotions flooding your veins. It was like a slow-burning fire, growing warmer with every second that passed. The tension that had been building for so long finally cracked, and in its place was something softer, something fragile, yet full of promise.

"You've never stopped making me feel..." you began, the words coming unbidden. "Like maybe you were right all along."

Ellie’s eyes softened, as if hearing the truth she'd always known. She took a small step back, the tip of her nose grazing yours as she let out a breathless laugh. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The clock struck midnight, and the room burst into applause, but neither of you moved. The world outside was celebrating, but here, beneath the mistletoe, it felt like time had stopped. A single moment that would be etched into your memory, like the twinkling lights above, a reminder that sometimes, love finds its way through the smallest of things.

Ellie’s hand slipped into yours, the simple contact grounding you, pulling you back into reality as her smile softened. “I meant it, you know. I’ve been waiting for you. Just… let me wait a little longer.”

And in that quiet exchange, amidst the noise of the world, you realized that you were no longer standing alone. You were standing with Ellie, beneath the mistletoe, but more than that, you were standing together, and somehow, that made all the difference.

The crisp winter air bit at your skin as you walked side by side with Ellie, the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots the only sound filling the silence. The lights of the town slowly faded behind you, leaving just the glow of the moon and the stars above. Despite the cold, you found yourself warm beside Ellie, the weight of the kiss still lingering between you like a soft, unspoken promise.

Ellie kept her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, but every now and then, she'd glance at you, her eyes bright, as if she was trying to memorize the way you looked tonight—the way the snow caught in your hair, the way the streetlights cast shadows on your face.

When you reached your doorstep, she paused, her gaze falling to the ground. "I guess this is where I leave you," she said softly, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

You hesitated, the pull of her presence undeniable. The night had been full of quiet, unspoken moments, and you didn’t want it to end just yet. "Ellie..." you began, your voice tentative but sure. "Do you want to come inside for a bit?"

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, you could see the hesitation in her—like she wasn’t sure whether to take that step forward or hold back. But then the corner of her mouth quirked up in that familiar, confident smile, and she nodded.

"I’d like that," she said softly, her voice warm with something that felt both new and familiar.

You stepped aside, letting her in, and as she entered, the warmth of your house seemed to wrap around you both, pushing back the cold of the night. Ellie kicked off her boots by the door and shrugged off her jacket, hanging it on the hook with careful ease.

The soft hum of your house felt soothing, and as you moved into the living room, you gestured toward the couch. "Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab something to drink."

Ellie settled into the couch with a deep sigh, her eyes glancing around the room. "It’s nice in here," she said, her voice soft, but her gaze was steady, like she was taking in every little detail.

You nodded, making your way to the kitchen. The silence was peaceful, not awkward, just comfortable in the way only a few people could ever manage to make it feel. You returned with two mugs of tea, the steam rising from them like the warmth of the moment you’d shared only an hour before.

You sat down beside her, the space between you smaller than it had ever been before. As you handed her a mug, your fingers brushed lightly against hers, and for a second, the world outside the room felt miles away.

"I’m glad you came inside," you said, your voice softer than you intended, but it felt right.

Ellie smiled, her gaze flickering toward you for a brief moment before it shifted to the mug in her hands. "I’m glad you asked me to." Her voice held something deeper this time—a quiet sincerity that made your chest tighten with a warmth you hadn’t expected.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The soft crackle of the fire in the corner was the only sound, filling the space between you with its comforting rhythm.

But then Ellie broke the silence, her voice just above a whisper. "I don’t know what happens next... but I’m okay with figuring it out, if you are."

You met her gaze then, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between you. You nodded, your heart beating faster now, in a way that felt right, in a way that made everything fall into place.

"Yeah," you said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I think I’m ready to figure it out."

The quiet between you and Ellie lingered, comfortable and filled with the soft glow of the moment. The warmth of the house, the scent of tea, the flickering light from the fireplace—all of it wrapped around you like a blanket, but nothing compared to the way Ellie’s presence filled the space. It was gentle, but undeniable, like she was the missing piece you didn’t even realize you’d been waiting for.

As you sat there, her eyes kept flicking to you, her lips pressed into a small smile, but there was a tension in her gaze, a quiet intensity. You could feel her wanting to say something, or maybe do something, but the words and actions were both suspended, hanging between the two of you like the very air you breathed.

Then, without warning, Ellie shifted closer. She leaned in, her breath warm against your skin. Her gaze dropped to your lips for a moment, and that subtle movement told you everything you needed to know. The hesitation, the uncertainty, it was all gone. The distance was gone, too. She was right there, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from her body, the softness of her touch that you had learned to crave.

Her lips brushed against yours softly at first, like a question, like an invitation. And this time, there was no hesitation from you. You melted into the kiss, your hands moving instinctively to her face. The moment her lips met yours again, something in you shifted—flooded with warmth, with a deep sense of longing that you hadn’t fully realized you were carrying.

Ellie’s hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, her body aligning with yours in perfect rhythm. You could feel the way her heartbeat quickened, the way the world outside seemed to fade away entirely. She was the only thing you could focus on, her warmth, the way she made you feel alive, the way she made everything feel right.

Your hands cupped her face, pulling her closer, as the kiss deepened. Every movement between you felt instinctual, raw, like the way the earth moves without thought. Her lips were soft and sure against yours, coaxing and gentle, as if she knew exactly how to make you feel everything without saying a word.

The world around you faded as you both melted into each other, the kiss a slow dance of longing, of closeness. Time lost meaning as the pull between you intensified, and all you could think about was how perfect it felt to be here, with her. Ellie, the girl who had quietly found a way into your heart without you even realizing it, was now pulling you into her world, and for the first time, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

In that moment, nothing mattered except the feeling of her touch, the warmth of her embrace, and the quiet promise in the way her lips met yours.

Ellie's eyes sparkled with mischief as she gently pushed you back onto the plush couch. Despite the chill outside, the room felt warm and cozy. She crawled on top of you, her body pressing against yours through layers of winter clothing."Mmm, you feel so good," Ellie purred, her lips brushing against your ear. Her hands slid under your sweater, fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

She shifted, straddling your thigh as she captured your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Her tongue teased yours as her hips began a slow, sensual grind against your leg. Even through your pants, you could feel the heat emanating from her core."God, I want you so badly," Ellie breathed, her voice husky with desire. She tugged at the button of your jeans."Can I touch you? Please?"

"Yeah… You can," you breathed, your body arching into Ellie's touch. 

Ellie's fingers deftly unbuttoned your jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. She leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as her hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties.

"You're so beautiful," Ellie murmured, her fingers gliding through your slick folds."Does this feel good, baby?"

Her thumb found your clit, circling it gently as her other hand pushed your sweater up, exposing your bra. Ellie's eyes darkened with lust as she gazed down at you.

"God, you're beautiful," she whispered, lowering her head to place open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "I want to taste every inch of you."

Ellie's fingers continued their sensual exploration, causing waves of pleasure to ripple through your body. Her touch was electric, igniting every nerve ending."You feel amazing," you gasped, your hips rocking against her hand. "Don't stop..."

Ellie's eyes locked with yours, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I'm just getting started," she purred. 

Her fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance before slowly sliding inside. You moaned at the delicious stretch, your inner walls clenching around her digits.

"That's it," Ellie encouraged, her voice husky with desire. "Does that feel okay?"

She began a steady rhythm, her thumb still circling your clit as her fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot. The couch creaked softly beneath you as your body writhed in pleasure.

"Ellie," you whimpered, your hands gripping her shoulders. "Oh god, Ellie..."

Ellie's fingers continued their passionate exploration, her movements becoming more intense as she felt your body responding. She curled her fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars."Fuck, you’re gorgeous" Ellie groaned, her breath hot against your ear."I love how wet you are for me."

Her thumb pressed harder against your clit, circling it with quick, precise movements. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pleasure building rapidly in your core.

"I want to taste you," Ellie whispered, her voice dripping with lust. "Can I use my mouth on you?"

Without waiting for an answer, she began kissing her way down your body. Her free hand pushed your sweater up further, exposing your breasts. Ellie's tongue flicked over your nipple through the fabric of your bra, making you gasp."Ellie, please," you whimpered, your hips bucking against her hand.

She grinned wickedly, slowly withdrawing her fingers from your pussy. You whined at the loss, but Ellie quickly shimmied down your body, positioning herself between your legs.

"I've got you," she purred, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and panties.

Ellie slowly tugged your jeans and panties down, her eyes darkening with desire as she revealed your glistening pussy. She licked her lips, her hot breath teasing your sensitive flesh."God, you’re beautiful," Ellie murmured, her fingers tracing light patterns on your inner thighs."You’re perfect."

Without further preamble, she leaned in, her tongue flattening against your slick folds. You gasped at the sensation, your hips instinctively arching up to meet her mouth. Ellie moaned appreciatively, the vibrations sending shivers through your body.

Her tongue explored every inch of you, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks against your clit. Your hands tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as pleasure built within you.

"Fuck, Ellie," you whimpered, your thighs trembling. "Feels so good..."

Ellie's response was to redouble her efforts, her lips wrapping around your clit as she sucked gently. Two fingers slid inside you once more, curling to hit that perfect spot as she pleasured you with her mouth.

The dual stimulation was overwhelming.

All the things that had consumed your thoughts—the age gap, the judgment you might face, the whispers in a small town where everyone knew everyone’s business—faded into nothingness. You, a nurse in your late twenties, admired and respected in the community, and Ellie Williams, a 21-year-old college student with ambition and fire in her eyes. For so long, the idea of being with her felt like a risk too great to take.

But now, as you sink into the couch, all of that worry dissolves. Her touch is a balm to your overthinking mind, her presence grounding you in the here and now. Every careful brush of her fingers, every dance of her tongue, reminds you of how alive she makes you feel. And as she continues to lavish you, the world outside ceases to matter. All you can think about is her—Ellie—and how effortlessly she makes all your fears disappear.

She continued her relentless exploration, her free hand gliding up your chest with purpose before squeezing gently, igniting a trail of warmth in its wake. Her tongue, soft yet commanding, danced against you, pulling you deeper into the moment, leaving no room for anything but her.

She doesn’t stop, her fingers pumping inside, her tongue making your pussy feel good, building you up until you finally come undone, breathless and trembling. 

Ellie catches you effortlessly, her hold firm yet gentle, pulling you close against her chest. The glow of the Christmas lights dances across her face as she looks down at you, her eyes soft with adoration.

"God," she murmurs, her fingers brushing through your hair. "You’re so beautiful. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this."

Her words are a balm, soothing every doubt and fear you’d held onto. “The whole year, you know? I’ve been waiting for you to give me an answer. And you were worth every second.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm and lingering.

Her arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you further into her embrace. "This... this is all I wanted for Christmas," she whispers, her voice full of raw honesty. "You’re my Christmas wish come true."

You let out a soft laugh, your chest still heaving as you lean into her warmth. She tilts your chin up, her eyes sparkling with something deeper than desire. "So," she says, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, "what do you say we make this official? A proper date. Just you and me. No hiding, no excuses. What do you think?"

[suraht]

I remember back when Honey started getting popular, and looked into what it advertised in exchange for getting to watch all your online shopping. And it was basically doing web searching to find coupons. That's it. For free. Okay, on the surface, that seems simple enough, and I could...and have...just used Google to find the same thing when I cared enough to(although these days, good luck with actually Googling anything and you should find yourself a new search engine, but I digress).

And then I saw just how many people were advertising Honey. dozens and dozens of popular(read: expensive) YouTube personalities, a lot of video ads, and I think even a TV ad was in the mix at one point, although I could be wrong. That's a lot of money going out, but considering that Honey charges nothing, where are they getting the funds to advertise like that?

So I dug in a little bit, and yep, the answer was that they were selling all the data they collected about everyone using it. That was their only source of income that anyone could find back in 2019. So, long story short, there is nothing actually free on the internet anymore. If it's not taking money from you, it's using you to make money somehow.

if you have the Honey browser extension installed, uninstall it immediately. big big story broke on youtube today strongly indicating that Honey has been massively defrauding basically everyone who does any business with them at every level, including influencers, customers, and actual retailers.

the short version of ONE of the alleged crimes is that they've been hijacking referral links and codes. if you have honey installed on your browser at all, and you use any referral code from anyone, there is a high probability honey will swap out the referral link identifier for their own even if they don't provide a coupon at checkout.

they also are just lying to you, and hiding coupons that very much exist. they're completely fraudulent

paypal bought honey in 2019 for 4 billion, so paypal has been strip mining the influencer economy for 5 years now. the amount of money that's been essentially stolen is unfathomable

[woodle-isbae]

Ambessa treating reader like a prized pet please please please 😫🙏 and maybe also being very condescending and lowkey mean 🫣

Flaunted like a trophy

Ambessa.M x fem!reader

Warnings: Trophy reader, suggestive(very), Drabble.

There you were, in the bedchambers of the one and only Ambessa Medarda. You stood there, draped in the finest jewelry she could get, the softest fabrics and a personal stylist to meet your demanding fashion choice.

Spoiled rotten.

That's what you were, given everything you wanted on a golden platter- never settled for anything she deemed low quality. You had one job, very easy and simple considering that she made sure you did it every day- dress like a little trophy so she can flaunt you around.

Most people would've given up by now, having to constantly show out- even in private, making sure she liked your outfits. Being put on a strict care routine- all so she can brag about your beauty.

"Stunning."

Her voice rung through the large room, the glint of heavy golds and jewelry around the place partially blinding you at angles. You were posing infront of her, showing off the new outfits she had designed for you to last a month at most.

"Everyone's going to be set on you, my dear."

She stood up, placing her glass down to strut towards you, her rough hands tracing every stitch on the thing gold material. She only stopped when she made it to your breasts, examining you for a brief moment before snapping her fingers.

"It's not pushing them up enough, I want every aspect to be shown."

"I think there should be a deeper cut, they're out enough honestly."

You huffed out, shaking your head in annoyance with how it didn't fit the standard you had set, pouting from the simple mistake.

"We'll get it tailored, don't you worry y'little head off."

"Ugh, make sure it arrives back soon."

She turned to you, a brow raised at your sparky and demanding tone, running her larger hand on your cheek.

"Don't catch an attitude with me."

To anyone else, her voice was calm and hushed, but to you -she was giving you a clear warning, just do as you were required to and it won't be a problem.

"Hm."

Your eyes darted to the door, the guards standing there staring seemingly into the distance. Ambessa had lifted her other arm, waving them off so it could be just you two in the room.

"You know...I really like the gold on your skin, it really suits you."

She had led you over to the sofa, signaling for you to lay down besides her as she sat, leaning on the back rest.

"Strip, I..want to see how it would slip off your body."

Her dull attempt at a lie made you giggle, uncliping a few knots and buttons before sliding the dress off your body, Ambessa grabbing the clump of fabrics and tossing it aside.

You leaned back onto the sofa, spreading your legs in anticipation for her next moves, your arousal seeping through the thing lace pair of panties she picked for you.

"Ah...you are really inpatient huh?"

She chuckled, pulling you in my for a kiss by the back of the neck, her tongue slipping into your mouth. Pulling back for some air, she gave you a smug smirk before pulling back and standing at her full height.

"Get ready for tonight, mabye if your lucky...I could finish what we started."

She walked past you, her hand brushing past your shoulder before she left the room. Leaving you alone to cool down before getting redressed.

Oh, how you couldn't wait.!

[poisonmushdude]

Help Anas and Ahmed Evacuate

Anas (@anas-basilgaza) has reached out on the behalf of himself and his brother in the hopes that he could get help. Help to evacuate himself and his brother and rebuild their lives. Anas had hopes to peruse a degree in E-Business management. Being a high school graduate with a 93% average (An impressive feat), he had good prospects for the future. Except the occupation now stands between him and completing his education. Anas' little brother, Ahmed, was also in the middle of his education. Ahmed is 14 and showed natural talent in mathematics, so much so that Anas said "We've always called him "Doctor of the Future"". But now he's been able to get any education for 2 years. Below is a list of what Anas is hoping to raise funds for:

It is a fact that Anas and Ahmed will not be able to continue their education because of how the occupation has devastated Palestine. Anas and Ahmed both deserve a peaceful, prosperous life. That is just not something they can achieve right now. Right now they need to evacuate so they can continue their education, so they can move on to a brighter future. If they are able to do this, it would in no short measure be life changing. Anas has set a 29,000 Euro goal (as you've read), so far he has raised 13,209 Euros! That's nearly at the half way point of their goal. I know for a fact that more can be raised. It's only a matter of a few generous people and they will be moving on to look for schools to study at. That is why you must donate, if you have the means, you must donate. Anas' life can be permanently altered for the better, and so easily as well. Along with donating (or if you can't donate), share! Share Anas' story. Re-blogging, making your own post (I found this is a very good way), and cross platform posting all help spread Anas' story further. It helps keep a steady flow of income to Anas' GoFundMe and it makes sure that they aren't forgotten. We cannot let Anas and Ahmed fall through the cracks when it would be so simple to help them. Your efforts are not in vain if you do not let them be. Support Anas and Ahmed, we owe them that much. Vetted by gazavetters on line #83

Vetted by @90-ghost here

and by association here

[betsybookworm]

Materials for spinning/weaving/knitting/crochet/etc are also generally quite expensive in the quantity needed for garments, but if you keep an eye out for people's destash stuff it's better.

Spinning is the slowest part of making any garment from scratch. Look at any of the back to back / sheep to jumper/sweater competitions and see the ratio of spinners to knitters. That said, spinning is very accessible and simple (particularly if you're spinning the most common kinds of wool), and once you've got the muscle memory built up it's quite mindless.

If you buy second hand looms or spinning wheels at an op shop or estate sale or otherwise not from the person who used it, be aware that it may require fixing up before use. Again, your local Spinners and Weavers Guild is the place to go for help and advice. I go to the same guild that @madanimalscientist goes to in Brisbane, and I've been going there on and off since 2002. If you're in Australia and want help finding your local guild I'm happy to give it a go!

A note about the poor quality commercial clothing thing - it is so true. I've been doing a lot of wardrobe culling lately and pulling so many dead clothes out. But now that I weave (I've only been weaving the past few years, I was a spinner and knitter long before that), I've started turning all the cheap dead clothes I have into rag rugs! My house is cosier, my cats love them, and it's a lot longer until all that poor-quality fabric ends up in landfill. If you haven't already, I highly recommend watching the ABC's The War On Waste show for some great material (pun intended) on the fast fashion waste problem, which is very much tied to the fast fashion poor quality problem.

I'm so pissed right now. I know that fabric has been declining in quality for a while but I just bought new pajamas from kmart and they are literally see through. Not just through one layer of fabric either; I can see through the leg, that is, through 2 layers of fabric. These aren't clothes. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have strained soup through cheesecloth thicker than these pants. These are men's flannel pajamas, the kind people wear in winter, and they are made if shittier thinner fabric than even the most bargain bin bullshit halloween costumes. This "flannel" feels like plastic and is thinner than a chux wipe. Why is this even for sale.

[s-4pphics]

drenched in white. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: after all your time alone, you’re finally not, but you’re definitely not prepared for your new life. [jackson AU]

WORD COUNT: 7.1K

WARNINGS: readers mute and taller than ellie, death, murder, blood, mentions of alcohol/starvation/hypothermia, a bit of gore, near death experience, trauma and sadness, brief girls kissing, some fluff because kids :)

A/N: tbh idk where this came from but i missed ellie so yeah prob wont write anymore of this but yeah 

—

Apocalypses are fucking stupid.

Humans are born into nothing, forced to run all their lives from blood-lustful beasts that can rewire their entire brain chemistry into one that sadistically matches theirs, and if that doesn’t happen, you die anyway with nothing but the clothes on your back and a horse with no rider. That’s fucking stupid. 

You weren’t alive when the world was thriving… presumably so — whatever the old world considered thriving. Those history books you stole in adolescence would argue otherwise, but there were some happy moments. On occasion. Maybe? Whatever. But you weren’t there, and you can only imagine how you would’ve turned out if you were. Would you be married? Have children? Own property? Businesses? Whatever other luxury the old world prioritized although it all seemed exhausting? 

Would you be an addict, a trainwreck, someone who had it all then nothing in the blink of an eye? That seems to be reoccurring in some of those biographies you found about people called celebrities. They have everything then die too young or way too old and eventually fade into a nobody, just like everyone else. History is so heartbreaking. Such cruel fate. 

You’ve been by yourself for a long time. Some would still consider you young, but you feel like a zombie that’s risen from the grave most of the time. You steal and live selfishly and waste your life reading because you can. You’re lucky enough to no longer have anyone you care about. Your recklessness doesn’t hinder anyone but yourself, so you read read read. Sometimes, you hunt for books more than you do for food. You’re not a fighter — it surprises you every day how you haven’t died yet — but a decent amount of people would consider you book smart. This one group you crossed paths with some years ago called you a genius because you’re self-taught in practically everything: reading and writing, starting fires, planting food, sewing, mapping plains. Whenever you’re harmed, you can heal yourself kinda. When you were 14, you stepped on a rusty nail and, instead of living the short remainder of your life as an amputee, you heroed through a disgusting infection that left you ill for 2 weeks, then sewed your own wound up. You couldn’t walk for days. 

That same group also called you mute. 

You don’t think you are, but rightfully so. There’s no one for you to talk to, so you don’t talk, simple as that. Everyone you knew died when you were a kid, maybe 7 or 8 — spending the majority of your life alone and in hiding doesn’t make for much conversation. Plus, the fucks that rule the Earth are nosy as hell. Being as quiet as possible is needed. 

Reading passes time. It’s the last phase of winter, but it’ll be Spring in no time, thanks to the bag you drag through snow: stuffed with one jacket, a rusted chef’s knife, and 46 different novels and counting. 

Your body’s gonna shut down on you. It’s so fucking cold and you’re barely layered but you haven’t finished The Cable Companies, One Hundred and One Best Songs. The pages filled with piano notes are almost enough to make you hear the songs… Or maybe the lack of nutrients is making you hallucinate. Guess you’ll find out when you finish. Just 22 more pages. 

No food, no water, no warmth, no antique piano. You’re fucked any direction you turn. 

There was a small cave somewhere around here. You used to sleep in it during the summer; the dark was always cooler. Maybe it’s buried underneath heaps of snow. You hope not. Fuck. 

The closer you get to the cavern, the grosser the air becomes. Death carries a certain mugginess. Why’d they have to die next to your one retreat? 

You drag and drag on like your legs weigh a ton all the way to the cave and… Great. 

Death and no entrance. Red coats the snow and it reminds you of the twisted tale of Snow White. The decaying carcass of a deer should alarm you, but you only sigh in defeat. Where the fuck are you supposed to read without disturbance? 

You only make it two more steps before you collapse face-first into ice. Your lungs wheeze in pain and you’re trying to get yourself up but you can’t. When you blink, you see colors. 

Is this death? Or karma? A squirrel runs past you just to rub it in. Furry little bitch. 

It’s only when your brain whispers for you to give up that you fully submerge into the snow. Small cries of pain are the only proof of your survival. 

Fuck everything. Fuck people, fuck people that turned into monsters, fuck all the stupid trivial shit that the other world loved so deeply. Call it jealousy. Everything’s for nothing nowadays. 

Your final thought before the world goes dark. 

—

Why is there annoying beeping in heaven? 

Maybe you’re naive in believing you made it there. Maybe this is hell. You thought it’d be more fucked up than this. The beeping is irritating though. Besides that, it’s peaceful. 

Is this an in between world? Half dead, half not. You remember being into paranormal shit in horror stories years ago. Ghostly entities and whatnot. Maybe you’re… that. There’s whispers in the background. Bleary and distant but you kinda hear them. Maybe someone’s conjuring you up. Why you of all people? 

“— ne… de…” 

Need? Your ears are failing. Why is everything suddenly hurting? Pain in your eyes and behind them and all the way down. It’s hurting everywhere. 

“—Jus… there… Not sure.” 

It’s hurts so bad everywhere make it stop make it stop —

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

White overtakes your vision. Too bright and too cold and you can’t stop heaving but you want to because it fucking hurts everywhere

“Hey! Hey! Calm—” 

The voices are clearer and so is the beeping and so is the pain. Gentle hands land on your shoulders and you thrash when faces, needles and medical equipment clear in your vision. There’s something sharp in your arm. Where the fuck when the fuck how —

“You needa calm down—“

You try to tell this blonde freak to go fuck herself but your voice is shot, coughing and spit flying everywhere. 

“The fuck is her probl—“

“Be quiet—“

A crackling scream ripples through you, tears streaming down your face because suddenly more hands are holding you down. Malicious intent or not it makes you fucking sick. The beeping only gets faster. 

“MY — my name’s Maria! Listen to me! My name’s Maria! Some of mine went out on patrol a few days ago and found you almost buried. We’re tryna help you!” 

You continue to sob but they’re a little less guttural. Her voice is nice. Very motherly. 

“You were halfway dead out there,” She huffs like it’s funny and you wanna throw a chair, “What’s your name? Gotta name?” 

All the hands are off you except Maria’s. Maybe because you’re not trying to kick her face in anymore. You’re trying to tell her you don’t fucking remember but nothing comes out. Just more coughing. 

“Take your time. Deep breaths, shhh, you’re alright.” 

You finally meet her eyes and they’re pretty. Pale blue like spring water. The beeping starts to slow bit by bit. It took you all this time to realize that’s your heart. You glimpse at the monitor and… those squiggly lines mean fuck all to you. Why couldn’t you just die?

Your eyes travel, albeit less frantically, but on high guard. Skeptical as ever. You couldn’t even defend yourself against these incredibly polite barbarians if you wanted to. Your bag’s gone. Everything that’s yours is gone. The beeps increase all over again. Maria must sense your anxiety. 

“Hey, hey, we have everything. We just had to make sure you were… alright to come in. No bites or nothing, ‘k?” 

… Fair. Whatever. Gimme my shit. 

“We were snoopin’,” Your vision follows the new voice. A man this time, average sized and bearded, “Ya like t’read?” 

You squint and nod. 

“‘S a good habit.” 

… Awkward. It’s quiet now. 

“How ya feelin’? Any pain?” Maria pries gently. You shrug. Not as bad as it was 2 minutes ago. You eye everyone in here, study as much of them as you can. Face, hands, guns latched around their thighs and shoved in their belts. They’re all threats while simultaneously being unthreatening. For now, at least. 

“Y’all can get on. I got it from here.” She waves the remaining people off and they leave with tense smiles. The door clicks behind them. The beeping is the slowest it’s been since you woke up. 

“Bout that name…” 

You only stare at her. 

“Don't remember?”

You scratch at your neck, and she sighs, “Not much of a talker, huh?” 

You mime writing in a notepad, and Maria quirks with interest. She searches the room before digging through a drawer on the farthest dresser. She returns with a small book and marker. 

The aches in your fingers don’t halt your scribbling. You turn the book towards her. 

ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME? 

The corner of her mouth lifts, “No point in fixin’ ya up if that was the case. No offense, but you’re not threatening.” 

You snort. 

“You been by yourself for a while?” 

You ponder before scribbling. 

I WATCHED MY FAMILY DIE. PRETTY FUCKED UP CHILDHOOD. I’M ALWAYS ALONE. 

She stares sympathetically and shakes her head in apologies. All you can do is shrug. You’d be more surprised if a kid grew up in this world without experiencing mass destruction. Trauma practically raised you. 

“There’s not many people that can do what you do, y’know? You gotta gift.” She jerks her chin at the booklet. “Somebody taught’cha?” 

You point to yourself. 

“Don’t let that head get big now.” She smirks and you smile sorta. 

“We got kids…” Maria blindly points towards the door. 

“A lot of ‘em, and we’ve been tryna get them to read more but… I don’t know, some of these old bastards think it’s pointless and that discourages them.”

Oh. 

“I don’t know what you got goin’ on out there, but… If you choose to go back out there, I won’t fault you, but if you don’t…” 

Uh oh. 

“How do you feel ‘bout teaching toddlers their ABCs?” 

… Shit. 

You scowl. 

“I know it’s not the best… position to be in but, I don’t know, I just want something they can look forward to everyday. A new story, some new conversations… anything to get their little brains crankin’.” 

“They’re so sweet and I feel like they’d gain so much from someone who cares just as much as they do.” 

You don’t write anything. Her pupils shroud with dejection. 

“Think about it?” She’s quick to turn away, but not without one last look over her shoulder, “Rest up.” 

And the door closes. Your eyes shut in no time, and a comforting darkness overtakes you once more. 

—

Leave with nothing but your annotated novels or stay where you’re well fed and warm but surrounded by snotty nosed orphans. Something to think about. 

You’ve been in Jackson — you learned the town is called — for less than 48 hours, most of which you were recovering from a severe case of hypothermia. You don’t remember the last time you had a meal that hot. Maria had to reassure you that no one would take your plate. 

You still haven’t given Maria a clear answer for her teaching proposal, but she doesn’t bug you about it. She is very eager to show you the daycare though. She’s subtle. You respect it. 

Your books are still couped up in the infirmary because, frankly, you hate dragging them everywhere. Maria offered for you to keep them in the library, but you refused. They’re not up for grabs; You nearly died for every single one of those pages and you’ll be damned if someone touches them under your nose. They’re yours. It’s all you got right now. 

You might even leave with a horse if Maria still likes you after telling her no to teaching. Tomorrow morning will wrap up your little dead-then-alive journey. Couldn’t hurt to ask. 

It’s your first time back outside since your near-death experience. The sun is barely peeking from behind the clouds and your face is so cold it’s almost retraumatizing, but it’s pretty out. Maria was nice enough to give you new boots that weren’t hanging on by their laces. 

Jackson bustles like a real, non-apocalyptic town. Lights shine and pick-ups honk and people are fucking smiling? Maybe this is heaven. 

Those walls… They’re still high and barricaded. Scouts babysit those gates like clockwork. To think you were on the other side of their scrutiny just a day ago. The twinkling sound of joy confuses the fuck outta you. Laughter. Not only that, but from children. Not starving, nearly dead children, but well-fed, genuinely happy kids. Why does your stomach twist with jealousy? They deserve peace, of course, but so did you. So does every child. 

Your eyes search for them — curiosity overtakes your limbs and you step with determination, guided by your ears. The twinkles grow in volume — there must be at least 10 kids playing in the snow. 

“HEY! GET OFF, YOU FU—“

“Language!”

“HOW’S THIS FOR LANGU—“

“BOYS! ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF YOUR SHI—!”

“LANGUAGE, MS. DINA!”

“I CAN SAY THAT! YOU CAN’T!”

What a sight this is. Happy kids. Your heart swells. Slightly; you’re glad Maria isn’t here to catch your fondness. 

“Alright, vermins, get up, I’ll miss the party.” 

“5 more minutes, pleeease!”

“I’m not freezing for you. C’mon!” 

The kids seem to love Ms. Dina. They dangle off every single one of her limbs, begging her to throw at least 10 more snowballs. Maybe your ice-cold heart isn’t as frosty as you thought. The sight is disgustingly endearing. 

“Ms. Dina… Who’s that?” 

And the laughter stops. A bunch of eyes attached to tiny bodies all gawk at you, some with intrigue, others with fear as they cower behind their teacher… babysitter? Whoever she is. 

“Not sure, dove. You all have 10 minutes!” 

“20!”

“10 or freeze to death! Go!”

Excited screams filter through the wind when said vermins squabble in snow like puppies, pushing and shoving and chucking icy bullets at each other. You never had to worry about being the oddball out, but you sure do look like one now. 

“Hey. Maria told us about a scrounger.” 

Creases bunch in your forehead, and Dina raises her hands defensively, “Joking, relax. So, are you staying, or…?” You shrug unknowing, and Dina chuckles. 

“I think you should. If I had the option to stay here 24/7, I’d take it in a heartbeat. We could use an extra hand with the kids. Maria said you read?” 

You nod. “Cool. We have a decent amount of readers — more than most, but, uh… yeah. Our kids need help.”

Your lip twitches alongside your pondering. So many questions rest on your tongue but none can leave. Dina’s eyes are consoling. It shouldn’t spark irritation in your stomach but it does. 

“Do you sign?” 

You stare in confusion, and she elaborates, “Like… Sign language?” Her hands make a bunch of gestures you don’t understand and your head shakes. 

“Darn. No worries. If you’re ever interested in learning, just holler. We got some people that are hard of hearing so we all kinda use it occasionally. But, umm… yeah. I’m Dina.” She extends a polite hand but you don’t accept it. Your head jerks in greeting, and she smiles. 

She drops it back to her side, “What should we call you?” 

You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re not staying long. Your shoulders rise and fall nonchalantly. 

“Should I have them pick?” 

Before you can oppose, she’s hollering for— 

“DYLAN! COME HERE!”

A rascal with a beanie and bright red boots sprints towards the two of you. His cheeks are so plush and scarred. Dina fixes the color of his sweater, “Dylan, what’s a good name for a teacher?” 

“Ms. Dina, obviously—“

“Another name.” 

Chipmunk Boy ponders for a moment before snickering, “Mr. Octopus.” 

“Fucking hell—“

“Language, Ms. Dina! SWEAR JAR—“

“We don’t even do that here!”

“Okay, okay… just call them Dove or something! Don’t think we don’t notice you calling us that when you forget our names!” 

Dina’s eyes widen, “That’s not true! What the… freak!” 

Red-Boot-Ranger smirks when Dina catches herself before getting pelted at the back of the head with a snowball. 

“Little BITCH—“

Dina shouts, “HEY!—“

“MS. DINA, FRANKIE CURSED!”

“NO, I DIDN’T—“

Arguments break out between all 13 children, loud and boisterous and your head pounds. Too much for one day. 

“STOP— sorry, I gotta handle this, but it was nice meeting you! BOYS—“ 

Dina throws you one last wave before rushing off to scold Dylan and his… bully? You think that’s what they were called in some books you read. A kid messing with another kid or something like that. 

You take this last bit of alone time before you depart to explore. 

Despite your eagerness to disappear, Jackson is nice. You don’t know what Christmas entails, but it’s often described as festive: a day for togetherness and family and whatever the hell else ‘can’t be bought’ yet everyone buys. Jackson is visually festive. Celebratory scenery. What exactly they’re celebrating goes over your head. There’s nothing to be joyous over. Death traps Jackson at every corner. 

Loud music pulls you from your thoughtful stroll. One look through a very large window is enough to scare you shitless. A seemingly cozy space is filled to the brim with strangers who dance and drink and laugh their heads off; Their familiarity with one another makes you physically ill. The scene is like a bullet to the chest. Reminds you of what was once home.

Your nausea doesn’t overtake your curiosity, though. 

The moment you step into the bar, warmth suffocates you, heat sizzling through your legs as your face defrosts. The entire bar screams out lyrics to a song you never heard while cups get refilled with burning liquid and it’s overwhelming. There’s so much movement. Too much. 

Blonde hair swings out the corner of your eye and you’re instantly relieved. You hustle to where Maria chats with partygoers from across the bar. She’s shocked to see you. 

“Hey! You’re up’n moving!” 

You wave awkwardly. Gawk back at the people that gawk at you before Maria hands you a glass. 

“You drink?” You deny with a raised hand, and she smiles. 

“Probably not the best time to ask,” She hollers over the jukebox, “I’m hoping this is your initiation?” Her eyes are hopeful, and your throat dries a bit. Why are you hesitating to answer?

Maria’s nice enough… probably the nicest stranger you’ve ever met in your entire life, and it seems more comfortable in Jackson than anywhere you’ve been. It doesn’t seem so bad… but you don’t like children. You barely liked yourself at age 10; short and clumsy and vulnerable. Children are too exposed and trusting, even in this life. They get people killed because they’re not careful. It shocks you that a fortress like Jackson carries so many. 

A pen and paper get slid on wood and placed in front of you. You eye Maria, and she nods encouragingly. You waste no time. 

I DON’T THINK I’LL BE A GOOD TEACHER. DINA HAS MORE PATIENCE IN HER PINKY THAN I DO IN MY ENTIRE BODY. I’M SORRY. 

You meekly hold the note up for Maria, and you know she’s disappointed. You patiently wait for her to tell you to get your shit so she can kick you out herself. 

It never comes. 

“I hope that girl didn’t scare you,” In reference to Dina, and you deny, “I had a feeling you’d say no. It’s alright. Kids are… a lot.” 

You set the paper down in relief that she’s not angry. About that horse… 

“Doesn’t hurt to ask… You still wanna leave?” 

That stuns you. Oftentimes, large groups aren’t so welcoming to… scroungers, or whatever Dina made you out to be. The less mouths to feed, the better. If a newbie holds no purpose, they’re left out to die on their own. It’s happened to you countless times. Why does she care about a stranger so much?

Maria chuckles at your stunned expression, “It’s, um… it’s hard out there. We’ve all seen it, and we’re lucky to have found somewhere… stable. It doesn’t come often.” 

“The choice is still yours, stayin’ or goin’, but if you’re scared I’ll kick you out… don’t be. We got nothin’ but space.” 

Your mind races yet not one cohesive response comes through. Maria laughs at your slack jaw. “Here. Sleep on it tonight, and let me know in the mornin’. It’s a party! Let loose a little. Go mingle.“

You scribble on the last bit of remaining space. 

I’M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON. 

Maria huffs, “Neither’s my niece. She’s like a niece to me, that one, over there.” She points at the end of the bar to a woman, girl — looks around your age, babysitting a drink: tatted, hair pulled back, and sulking. She talks with a guy with a mullet that’s too movie-star ready. “You two’d get along, I think. Her name’s Ellie. Jesse’s the one next to her, he’s a sweetheart. Very helpful. If Dina was here, they’d be the Three Musketeers. She still with the kids?”

You nod, but your eyes are locked onto Ellie’s tattoo. You’ve never seen one in person. In romance books, people with tattoos are always trouble: good in bed with murderous tendencies. Maybe it’s wrong to assume, but Ellie doesn’t seem like that. No one that pouty would kill a fly. You wonder if her friend has tattoos. He’d fit the stereotype more.

“Wanna meet ‘em?” 

Fire bursts underneath your cheeks. You vehemently shake your head at Maria, and mischief glints in her eyes. 

“HEY, ELLIE, JES—“

You gawk at Maria, tugging at her wrist for her to stop, but she laughs, “Hey, you two!”

Your face falls into your palm. “Need somethin’, Maria?” A deep voice blares. Jesse, apparently. Fucking great.  

“No, hun. Just introducing a new friend,” Maria whispers loud enough for you to hear before tending to other patrons, “Convince her to stay?” 

Your eyes roll and your heart pulses. 

“… Hey.” 

You wave weakly. Annoyed, and Jesse laughs. “Yeah, she’s a lot sometimes. I’m Jesse.” You send him a thumbs up. 

“… Gotta name yourself?”

You shrug with agitation. If someone else asks you that, you’ll scream. 

“… Hm. Okay, then. I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” You decline as politely as your attitude allows. 

“You, El?” 

“M’good.” 

“Alright,” He hums too uppity, “Enjoy the quiet.” He goofs before following Maria to the other end of the bar. Silence ensues between you and Ellie, and it’s fucking awkward. It wouldn’t be if you were by yourself. You pick at the piece of paper in front of you. 

Ellie adjusts her stance, attention on the dance that dominates the floor, her tatted arm propping her up against the bar. You can see the fine lines out the corner of your eye: leaves of a fern resting underneath a moth. A Polyphemus. Compulsive. A symbol of death, you once read somewhere. Regardless, it’s beautifully done. 

“Want a picture?” 

You stiffen and your gaze drops to the paper. Your eyelids squeeze shut in embarrassment. 

Ellie releases a hefty breath before sighing, “You read?” She asks, and you shrug. 

“You don’t talk?” You do nothing. 

She already sounds annoyed by you. You hope she notices you’re in the same boat. “It’s better if you don’t.” She mumbles to herself. You throw a glare in her direction, but she pays you no mind. She’s focused elsewhere, eyes much more delicate. You discreetly follow her line of vision. 

… Dina. Hilarious. Is she a god here? Good with children and the annoying and aloof? Everyone here claps and hoots at her being dipped by her partner like they’ve never seen dancing before. When did she even get here? Where are the kids? Maybe they’re all snowballed out and went to bed—

… What. What the fuck? You don’t care, what the hell. 

You turn back to Ellie when Dina waves at her, wide-eyed and princess-y, before waltzing towards Jesse to throw her arms around his neck, which he eagerly returns around her waist. Ellie’s expression goes from lovestruck to tense in an instant, jaw clenched and eyes burning through the floor. You try to hide a snicker. 

Ellie’s jealous. Adorable. 

“The fuck are you smiling for?” She grumbles at you, but her cheeks burn under the yellow light. Your laughter finally bubbles over. 

“Nothing’s funny. Shut the fuck—“

“Well, what’d I tell you! Two wallflowers hittin’ it off! Look at that smile!” 

Maria graciously interrupts Ellie’s angered mantra. Your hand hides your grin before a light hand brushes your back. You flinch away on instinct. No one notices except Ellie. 

Dina greets you first and you almost holler with joy, “Hey, Dove! Sorry I didn’t come over earlier! Had to get this circus goin’ since no one else did,” She casually takes Ellie’s glass and downs its contents with no problem, “Thank you.” 

“Such a dick.” Ellie says slowly, and Dina smiles. “You love me.” 

You pinch your smile away. 

“Dove?” Maria inquiries. 

Dina shrugs, “Better than Doe. Makes her sound like a corpse. Dove’s cute.”

“Cute for a bitch,” Ellie slips under her breath, and Dina slaps her arm in scolding. Tames her until she quiets like an actual bitch. This shit is hilarious. 

“I like that. Dove.” Maria approves. “It’s… fitting. Joel found her buried in white, so.” 

“Okay, Mrs. Poet—“

Maria’s married? Huh. 

She hushes Dina playfully. The dark-haired girl interlaces Ellie’s fingers with hers before yanking her off the bar and onto the dance floor. The music slows as if cued just for them. Dina pulls Ellie into her, and Ellie’s hands rest on her waist. 

Dina leads, surprisingly. 

Ellie’s expression doesn’t scream delight. She’s nerve wracked and her eyes flit over every body that surrounds her with anxiety. Even yours. 

Dina’s a good distraction. She's quite seductive when she brushes loose hair behind Ellie’s ear, caresses her cheek, touches her with tenderness that you’ve only seen described on paper. Only in your imagination was it real. 

Kisses her.

Oh. 

You turn away. Your skin’s hot. Maria’s distracted. Thank God. You’ve had enough mingling for tonight. You leave the bar without a trace, the pen and paper left on the stand the only evidence of your appearance. 

“Hey! HEY! Ms. Dina’s friend!”

“They’re not friends, she just got here—“

“Shut up! Ms. Dina always said respect your olders—“

“Elders, dumbfuck. And she doesn’t look old—“

Ah, the potty-mouthed bully. Although, he doesn’t seem so threatening in the darkness. Children are the bane of your existence. You’re nowhere near the infirmary. Why are they out in the cold by themselves? 

“Hey, Ms. Dina’s friend, how was the party! Ms. M said we aren’t allowed to go in because people are… drunk, whatever that means!” 

The same voice from earlier. Red-boot-Ranger. Dylan. 

“It means they’re alcoholics—“ A girl this time. Shorter than Dylan but just as expressive. 

“I thought alcohol made people happy?“

“Could be, but my aunt drank herself to death so I guess it’s different for everyone!” 

Goddamn. 

“What’s your name, miss! … Ma’am?” Dylan corrects shyly. 

“Ma'am means grandma—“

“Ruth, shut the hell up, Jesus!” 

“NO, YOU SHUT UP—“

Dylan waits expectantly while the other two kids attempt to rip each other’s heads off. You flap your hands like wings. 

“… Fly? Your name’s fly?” 

You shake your head and point upward. 

“OH! Sky!—“

You wave your hands in denial and flap your arms while squawking. 

“… Bird? Bald Eagle? Um…” 

You yank at your hair in exasperation before pointing down at untouched, white snow beneath your feet. 

“Snow? Snow bird? Uhh… Swan… Lake?”

Decent guess. This fucking sucks. 

“I don’t know what your name is, miss, I’m sorry.” Fucking Christ, the poor thing looks so upset. You’re suddenly the worst human being on the planet. “Are you mad at me?” Dylan asks, voice laced with insecurity, and something cracks in your chest. What the fuck. Your hands wave in denial apprehensively, and he exhales a held breath before smiling. 

“I like you! Why don’t you talk?” 

You sigh before scribbling on your palm like you did with Maria, and all three kids excitedly demand writing utensils from each other. 

“I DON’T HAVE A MARKER!” Frankie hisses when Ruth slaps him on the shoulder. 

“DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASS? FREAKO!”

“Freako! ARE YOU FIVE—“

“What are you kiddos still doin’ up?” 

“MR. JOEL!”

Ruth and Dylan practically jump onto this old man and he groans mockingly. Joel. Hm. 

“You’re all supposed to be sleep. Did Dina not tuck you in?”

“She did, but we snuck out. We’re bored! Please throw snowballs at us!” Frankie whines. 

Joel calmingly caters to the children and their hyperactivity; his voice is very soothing. Gentle enough for the kids to accept that he’s not chucking snowballs at them this late at night. 

Joel addresses you. “Maria decided to keep you ‘round?” 

It was him. His eyes are calm and welcoming, but there’s a hollowness behind them. It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s bothered by something. He masks it well enough for the kids. He must be a dad. Maybe one of them is his. You just shrug, and he chuckles; crackles like fire. Breaks a bit. His eyes grow sadder the longer he stares at you. Is this man about to cry? 

“I’ll, uh… I’ll walk ‘em back,” He nods at Dylan who’s already half asleep on his shoulder, and you nod. He gives you one last look before turning. You clutch onto his hand before he can go any further. He seems shocked by the gesture, but you squeeze it with all your might. You hope every clench reads as a thank you thank you thank you. 

He swallows before nodding down at you, returning your gentle squeezes. The last breath he takes before leading the kids home is unsteady. Who broke that poor man’s heart? 

You watch his back all the way down the trail until the door to the bar slams shut. It’s Ellie all bundled up and seemingly about to strangle somebody. You can see Dina and Jesse scrambling to follow her through the window, but Ellie’s determined to get the fuck outta range. 

You don’t know why, but you whistle loud enough to get her attention. Her cheeks are blazing and her eyes are pained and angry. 

“The fuck do you want?” Her breath frosts with each spit she throws. You’re not really sure, so you throw her a thumbs up. Two just in case she read it as good work instead of are you good? 

She scoffs a laugh that sounds like a sob, “Fuck off.” And she’s off again. The opposite direction from Joel. 

Alright. Fuck her too. 

—

The past 5 days have been a blur. 

The morning after the party, your brain wracked to put every single interaction together but came up short. So much happened that you can barely grasp it. You died, came back, met at least 100 people, experienced acute peer pressure, and got cussed out by some short, tattooed psychopath with an equivalent amount of people skills as you. 

You’ve met teachers, medical professionals, rambunctious kids with a hunger similar to rhinos, a potential dad with an insane amount of patience, but all you can think about is Ellie and her fucking tattoo. 

You think that same moth appeared in your dream last night, flapping around and pissing you off. 

Maria’s been in a good mood, at least. Maybe because you’re staying in Jackson until further notice. You’re glad she didn't make a big deal about it: the inquiry was short and over breakfast the morning after the party. You slid her note that read CAN I STAY?, she said yes, and now you have a two story home all to yourself, floor stacked to the ceiling with your books and some she lent you. 

The first thing you did after she left was scream bloody murder for no reason other than relief. After years of instability, you finally have something consistent. You don’t know how to react to that besides weeping. 

There’s only one downside. Ellie’s your neighbor. Life will always humble you. 

She’s the first person you see every morning and the last every night and you hate it. The only time you experience true peace is when she’s out on patrol. To think you assumed Ellie wasn’t violent. She returned one morning on her horse covered knee-high in blood as she wiped her switchblade on her dirtied jeans. Even Jesse seemed intimidated. 

Meanwhile, you’ve been everywhere: tending the garden, handing beers out to men twice your age, fixing lights. Joel even asked for assistance on a car repair even though you’ve never seen one in your life. You both finished, though. Drives good as new. 

You think Dylan’s grown attached. He’s very clingy and you hate it but he also has the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen so you have no choice but to forgive him for his sins. Whenever he jumps on your back while you’re squatted in front of the garden, you just deal with it. He rambles enough for the both of you. 

Now you’re serving dinner with a homophobe. Yippee. 

Seth sucks gorilla balls. When Maria first introduced you both, he thought you were deaf and asked if you had to be put with him. When you glared at him, he went red in the face. You understand why Ellie hates him. Apparently he called her and Dina dykes at the party and she and Joel almost strangled him. The canteen’s already filled with people, but the patrol group hasn’t returned. They usually make it back before sunset, but it’s dark now. Seth’s set on closing the kitchen down, but you decline everytime. They’re probably starving wherever they are. 

It’s not until an hour, then 2 passes when you wrap all 12 of their individual plates. 

You’re scared shitless, but it’s time for Dylan’s bedtime story. 

—

You always have to remind Dylan to keep his volume down during story time so he doesn’t wake the other kids. 

“Why would anyone give up anything magical for a cow? Okay, sure, you’re betting that they actually are magic, but why on Earth? I’d never give away my magic! Am I wrong, Ms. Dove?” 

You smile and deny. 

“SEE! Exactly! Anyway,” He refocuses on the page. “You numbskull! I can’t eat! You ruined my appetite!” 

Dylan’s a great reader, but he loses his place very often. You showed him the follow-your-finger trick and it’s helped, but the poor thing always has to comment on everything. At least he’s entertained. 

You don’t realize you dozed off on the floor until you’re frantically awoken by a teary-eyed Dylan. The big and small babies cry while they barricade the door with blankets and dressers. Your heart sinks. 

“Ms. Dove…” Dylan whispers. 

Screams echo from outside and the windows have orange hues. Something’s burning. 

“Someone bad is outside.” 

The patrol group is back. 

—

You don't meet Clickers often. 

They come and go and kill as they please and you don’t bother them, simply take your plans in the opposite direction as stealthy as possible. Even with your avoidance, they somehow always find their way back to you. Back to everyone. 

You hear everything from the daycare; hollering, gunshots, Clickers wailing, but you can’t fucking see. Protocol for a daycare lockdown is fairly simple: turn off the lights and take all the brats up to the nursery. It’s the most child-safe section of the building while simultaneously having a locked drawer filled with glocks. Great. 

Now you’re locked up with whimpering toddlers with a weapon you barely know how to use. If Joel hadn’t done that runthrough with you yesterday, you’d be fucked and so would the kids. You rock Dylan who sits on your lap while hushing the toddlers. You’re doing whatever you can to keep them quiet, but they’re babies who cry a lot. You hum to them, braid their hair, roll scratched-up dice but nothings fucking working. You never thought you’d regret staying in Jackson this early on. 

The younger ones start wailing when pounding on wood echoes from downstairs. Dylan holds you closer. 

Protocol is simple. 

Don’t open the door. Maria told you that. Keep it locked and don’t open it. 

The thuds get louder and so do the children and panic bombards you. It’s starting to feel too familiar. Those bangs are so fucking loud. Toddlers to 13 year olds are looking to you for guidance while you’re crumbling. How do you make them stop crying why won’t they stop fucking crying— 

Someone’s trying to beat the door down. Dylan’s practically choking you with his little arms as he sobs quietly into your neck. You don’t realize you’re crying until a small hand wipes your face and tiny bodies snuggle closer to you. 

Are you going to die surrounded by children all over again? One time wasn’t enough, God? The best moment of your life turns to the worst in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to run away like you did the first time. You should’ve never slid the note asking for more time with the kids under Maria’s door, fuck fuck fuck—

3 deafening pops bang from outside, and then there’s silence. It sounds like wood is breaking and there’s footsteps rushing upstairs and the babies are screaming so loud. When the nursery door lock gets shot off, Dylan screams right in your ear. 

“EVERYBODY OUT, LET’S GO!” 

“Mr. Tommy!” Relief washes over your kids before they start hustling. 

“OUT, OUT, LET’S GO!” 

All the kids scramble to grab their coats and socks and boots before rushing out of the nursery. Your hands won’t stop shaking. You barely get onto your feet before Tommy shoves you against the wall with fire for pupils. 

“You never fuckin’ wait to die when there’s kids around, you understand me!” 

You’re nodding but you can’t hear because you’re still sobbing. “Whatever bullshit you learned outside is over with now. It don’t matter what happens, always give them a chance to live even if it means you’re done!”

Tommy doesn’t waste another second on you. He leaves with a tense back and a rifle and you allow yourself to break. You heave and sob because that’s all you could do when you were a child and your brothers and sister were all killed in front of you. 

—

You vacate the daycare hours later. The doors need fixing. 

Your head and eyes hurt terribly but nothing compares to the emptiness in your chest. Maria told you that the kids would be separated into different houses until the daycare is safe for them again. Even she stares at you with disapproval despite her indifferent tone.

You feel like a ghost on the walk back home. Your hands are clenched in fists and your breathings slow. Why didn’t you stay downstairs and check the windows to make sure there were no intruders? Why weren’t you holding the gun in preparation for battle? Why’d you allow the kids to believe you couldn’t protect them? 

Because you couldn’t. In that moment, you were a child all over again, just as lost and confused and scared as they were. It was all too familiar. 

Jackson’s asleep, minus the painful groaning coming from behind Ellie’s home. 

You’re immediately in defense. So many patrol members had to go to the infirmary after their arrival. Maria never mentioned anything about Ellie. 

Your concern carries your feet until you round the corner, and her gun’s already drawn and pointed at you. That barely shakes you; it’s what around her that confuses you. 

She’s leant back against the foundation of her home surrounded by towels, a large bottle of clear liquid, and her profusely bleeding, non-tattooed arm that wraps around her stomach. 

When you take a cautious step toward her, her gun clicks. Her eyes are vicious and untrustworthy, and you know she’d kill you in a second. She watches every move you make down to the ragged rise and fall of your chest. You’re unsure how long you stand there before she winces in pain. It’s slight but you catch it. You slowly point to the open wound on her forearm. 

“What.” She rasps. You mime wrapping a bandage on yourself. Her snicker is pained. 

“Get the fuck outta here. You done enough for tonight.” 

You swallow thickly, unmoving. 

“Fuck off before I blow your brains out.” 

You take 2 more steps. 

“GET THE FU—“

When your knees hit the snow in front of her, she’s stunned silent. You’re already reaching for the bandage and bottle of disinfectant. You can’t see her injury that well, but she might need stitches if it’s still that bloody. When you reach for her injured arm, she pushes you into the snow. You groan in frustration before getting up and trying again. 

Ellie swallows a pained noise and maneuvers her injury away the closer you get. You’re trying to help her! Why’s she being so difficult! You crack open the disinfectant and your nose instantly burns. You gasp before moving the bottle away from your face. 

“Just go the fuck home, goddamnit—“

That’s not disinfectant. It’s acid. 

Ellie’s gun is still on you, but she’s not as steady. There’s a tremor in her weapon and her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth. Any movement she makes seems to hurt her. 

You move closer, and Ellie wheezes like an injured gazelle. It’s not until you see the small indentation when you realize her bleeding isn’t from a knife or a gun. 

Those are teeth marks. 

Ellie got bit. Your heart thrashes and your legs beg you to run. 

You know, and she knows you know. It’s a misunderstanding, it has to be. A human or a dog or a bear bit her, not a Clicker, not one of them. 

She smirks but it’s sinister. 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll tear out your windpipe and feed it to one of those fuckers.” Her head jerks towards the gate, and as if on command, the lot of them squeal into the night like hyenas. 

[ivesambrose]

Pick a pile : 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 ❄️

A little gift as the year comes to a close. I intend that this winter brings you what you're looking for 🤍

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Picture 1

• You'll be confronting your shadows (habits and doubts) that hold you back and emerge stronger. It's a blessing to master your impulses rather than be consumed by them.

• You'll be able to outsmart people trying to sabotage or trick you.

• Moments of joy and celebration with people you know and trust rather than having to be around people you don't out of obligation.

• Some of you might even be able to be sober or cut out an unhealthy addiction or attachment around this time. Please be kind towards yourself and celebrate your wins.

• You'll have the necessary tools and resources to bring what you want in your life. This means, if you think that you're falling short of something, it's not true. Think again, you'll always be provided for, stealth opportunities will always arrive, solutions will always be presented, you also likely have the skill required for XYZ etc.

• Very niche blessing, but if some of you were struggling with hair issues, this will get better. Expect healthier hair regardless of whatever length you're going for.

• Some of you will also be blessed with better colleagues or social circles/network.

• Look out for messages in your dreams or any 'hunches' that you get.

• There's also a message I'm getting to expand your horizons, don't confine yourself because you're used to it.

Picture 2

• The comfort you've been seeking? It's here. Some of you may have also be seeking a new home or a place that feels like one, it's all coming.

• An absolute boost in your finances and resources. Some of you might also get a high paying work from home job or something involving houses etc or your own business that will be successful wherever you decide to run it from.

• Wisdom and clarity in your intuition will guide you the most. You'll be blessed in making decisions quickly and effectively. You'll also feel a lot more authoritative in your life. You'll also be able to switch off external noise, retreat and be content with yourself and your inner knowing.

• Blessings of steady progress and tangible results. Whatever efforts you've put in and continue to put in this season will lead to substantial accomplishment in the coming 8-9 months. It will be a very visible progress.

• You'll be blessed with something that makes you rather excited even if it seems like a lot of work is required in it you'll be more than happy to do it. Some of you may also be preparing to travel. I'm also seeing peace, prosperity and a sense of balance coming out of said travelling.

• It seems like during Autumn season some of you diligently 'locked in' be it in your mindset or anything that you believed in and this winter is bringing you the results.

Picture 3

• You'll be blessed with moments of pure joy and happiness. Maybe in the beginning it might even feel difficult to process an emotion this lovely but it will start becoming your new normal. Promise yourself to strive for the same.

• You'll have recognition and acknowledgement even for the small wins. It will flow in easier for you. Whether it's a compliment or a thank you or a simple celebration. You'll feel appreciated. And you deserve it!

• Your smaller wins will accumulate into bigger ones. You may also get a lumpsum of money or something tangible out of the blue.

• Balance will come to you naturally. Be it your personal and professional life or your own physical health etc. you won't feel like you're always on the edge of tipping over.

• You'll be blessed with a better sense of self and well being which will come through sooner once you acknowledge your own ways of self sabotage and decide to not let this be something you hold onto any longer. It's not worth it. That your self worth isn't tied to others or anything outside of you. That you are capable.

• Some of you, if you've been struggling with authority, leadership or a father figure in your life. Expect things to get better.

• Some of you who are athletes or in any kind of sports or entertainment, look forward to much awaited recognition as well as allocades.

[oblivious-aro]

This was pretty much my exact same thought process a week before I made this post. I do get where you're coming from, but here's a question: when does the episode explicitly condemn Danny for cheating? Does TUE actually say “cheaters deserve to watch their family die”?

Furthermore, consider this line from the end of the episode:

Remembering this line was my turning point. Clockwork is a very wise character (he was literally just established to be omniscient right before saying this), and he’s the one teaching Danny the lesson TUE wants him to learn. If the lesson is supposed to be ‘cheating is bad’, wouldn't that be completely undone by having Clockwork immediately turn around and, by his own admission, and in those exact words, “cheat”? It’s a very prominent line with a lot of attention called to it, too.

“Cheating is bad” is the kind of moral you’d expect this kind of kids cartoon to make, so I think a lot of us preemptively filled in that blank without truly listening to what the episode was actually saying. I get it, I watched my sister struggle through the public education system while getting practically no help or sympathy from it, and I'm sure a lot of viewers were in the same boat as her. Academic pressure can be a sensitive subject, especially if it looks like a character is being chastised for struggling, but that's not what’s happening here. We jumped the gun. The text doesn’t look down on Danny for wanting to cheat. He’s in a difficult position, and being forced further and further into a corner is a feature of the story, not a bug. Danny's situation feels unfair so that the audience understands why he wants to cheat:

"OK! I get it! You're brilliant, I'm stupid, and I'll never be able to get as high a score as you."

"Guys, come on. I'd love to have spent the last month studying, but I was fighting ghosts! Besides, if you two think this test is so meaningless, why do you even care if I cheat? Why shouldn't I open this up and study the answers, huh?"

TUE’s stance isn’t that “cheating is evil”, it’s “cheating isn’t worth the risk”. Despite what Danny’s been led to (erroneously) believe, he’ll have other chances and opportunities if he does badly on a test, even one this big. There are people in his corner looking out for him (Mr. Lancer gives him to come forward even when he knows Danny stole the answers, and literally offers him a make-up test. Clockwork messes with the timeline just to tell Danny that he’s a good kid who deserves more than one chance), but getting caught cheating really could screw up his future. You could still say that’s an anti-cheating message, but the writers do show more sympathy for Danny than people give them credit for.

I don't think the concepts are that abstract. Everything that happens in the present is presented directly, and the main idea you need to get out of the future stuff (bad stuff happened because Danny got caught cheating) is pretty simple and clear. Everyone I've heard talk about the episode seems to get the basic idea.

As for all these events caused by Clockwork… yeah that's 100% true. But given that Clockwork is all-knowing, the master of time, and clearly sympathetic to Danny, it can only be assumed he’s doing what he can to help Danny. Omniscient/psychic characters are kind of weird like that. They make the stories they’re in a bit messy, and you can't really judge their actions by typical standards (ie. Garnet from Steven Universe). Same with time travel, but I won't go into much into detail, because this post is long enough and discussing rules around time travel can get overly technical, but the gist of it is Clockwork is on Danny’s side, but he’s working under some very specific restraints, either from The Observants or from the natural laws of the timestream.

Danny isn’t being taught that cheating makes him bad, he’s being taught not to place such unhealthy (and unrealistic) importance on his academic performance. Sure, this lesson isn’t explicitly stated in exact words, much like the themes in Teacher of the Year, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that the writers were just trying to condemn Danny in either intent or execution.

And as was the original point of this post, the episode really speaks for itself:

"Maybe that's all anybody needs…a second chance."

"I guess the future isn't as set in stone as you think it is."

"And here we are with you, a fourteen-year-old child, risking everything to save the people you care about. You've given everyone else a second chance. Why not you?"

Me for years: I can't believe The Ultimate Enemy is telling kids they deserve something as horrible as watching your entire family die for cheating on a test!

the Ultimate Enemy:

[woso-story]

The Weight Of Love And Loss - Part Six

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three Four Five

It had been a week since Alexia’s long-awaited return to the pitch. The roar of the crowd, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the sheer joy of being back in her element—it all reminded her of who she was before the injury, before the pain, before everything fell apart. But after the final whistle, when the applause faded and the stadium lights dimmed, she was reminded of what she no longer had: you.

For months, Alexia had been staying with Mapi and Ingrid, their guest room a refuge from the memories that haunted her own apartment. But now, with her comeback complete, it was time to return to her space, to face the life she had to rebuild.

Moving back wasn’t easy. The first night alone was eerily quiet, the absence of your laughter, your presence, deafening. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the framed photos she had taken down but couldn’t bring herself to pack away completely. They were tucked in a drawer now, out of sight but never out of mind.

To reclaim the apartment, Alexia started rearranging things. She moved furniture, swapped out old décor, and even painted an accent wall in the living room. She told herself the changes would help her move on, that creating something new in the space you had once shared would lessen the sting of your absence.

But some things stayed the same. The coffee mugs you both loved were still in the cupboard, and she couldn’t bring herself to replace the couch where you had spent countless nights together, curled up under a shared blanket.

---

On the surface, Alexia was thriving. She was back on the field, her knee stronger than ever. Training sessions with her teammates brought back a sense of camaraderie and purpose. Her therapy sessions continued, though now they focused less on processing her injury and more on navigating her emotions.

Her psychologist encouraged her to reflect on the changes she had made—not just in her physical recovery but in how she approached life. She admitted that losing you had been a wake-up call, a painful but necessary reminder to take care of herself and the people she loved.

Alexia still attended small rehab sessions, maintaining her knee’s strength and stability, but she no longer approached them with the all-consuming intensity she once had. Balance was her new mantra—on the field, in her relationships, and in her heart.

Her teammates noticed the difference. She was more grounded, more present, and while she still pushed herself, it was clear she wasn’t running from anything anymore.

But Mapi, her closest confidant, knew better.

---

“You’re doing amazing, Ale,” Mapi said one evening after training, her tone warm but probing.

Alexia smiled, brushing her hair back. “Thanks. It feels good to be back.”

Mapi studied her, the way Alexia’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re better, yeah. Stronger, happier. But there’s still something missing,” Mapi said, crossing her arms. “You don’t have to say it, but I know it’s her.”

Alexia looked away, her chest tightening. “It’s not that simple, Mapi.”

“No, it’s not,” Mapi agreed. “But avoiding it doesn’t make it go away.”

Alexia didn’t respond, instead staring at the floor. She knew Mapi was right. She thought about you constantly—how things ended, the conversations you had in the café, the quiet hope she still carried in her heart. But you wanted space, and Alexia was determined to respect that.

---

Meanwhile, you had found your footing in a life without Alexia.

Your apartment was small but cozy, a space that felt entirely your own. Mylo, your Maltese puppy, brought light and joy to your days, his boundless energy pulling you out of bed even on the mornings when your heart felt heavy.

Work had become a source of fulfillment. The promotion you earned brought new challenges, and you threw yourself into projects that excited you. You were finally living for yourself again, no longer consumed by the emotional weight of your relationship’s downfall.

But despite your best efforts, Alexia was never far from your thoughts.

Sometimes, late at night, you found yourself scrolling through her Instagram. She looked radiant in her photos—her strength and confidence seemingly restored. You noticed the changes in her apartment, the little details in the background of her posts that hinted at her efforts to move forward.

You didn’t like or comment again, not since the “Proud of you” message weeks ago. But every time you saw her smiling face, a mixture of pride and longing filled your chest.

---

Luisa wasn’t convinced by your insistence that everything was fine.

“You’re doing amazing, but don’t think I don’t see it,” Luisa said during one of your park walks with Mylo.

“See what?” you asked, pretending not to know.

“You miss her,” Luisa said plainly.

You sighed, looking down at Mylo, who was tugging at his leash. “Of course I miss her. But that doesn’t mean going back is the answer.”

Luisa didn’t push further, but her knowing look stayed with you.

---

For weeks, you and Alexia lived separate lives, each trying to move forward while carrying the quiet ache of what had been.

Alexia focused on her career, her therapy, and her friendships. She was stronger than she had been in months, her confidence slowly returning. But every now and then, she’d catch herself glancing at her phone, wondering if you were thinking of her too.

You continued to build a life that felt fulfilling and free, Mylo at your side and work keeping you busy. But in the quiet moments—those rare evenings when the noise of the day faded—you wondered if Alexia had truly moved on, or if she missed you as much as you missed her.

The people around you saw it—the lingering shadows in your smiles, the way neither of you seemed quite whole.

Neither of you were ready to reach out. Neither of you were ready to let go.

And so, for now, you lived separate lives, carrying the hope that maybe, one day, your paths would cross again.