#let's be civil when discussing!

[kumamooko]

Small rant about something! I kinda prefer the name 'geodeshipping' > 'lostshipping' for geo x cole. It just made sense considering their surroundings and stuff (I also love that they're just, two rocks, I don't know they're just cute).

I'm kinda sad that we can't really use it because it's an alternative name for bruise

[moonfables]

speaking with m*n legitimately takes years off my lifespan

[13eyond13]

.

[bipolbur]

i don tmake character analysis posts bc i cant talk in a way that makes sense but if aanyone ever tried to disagree with me about cwil i think i'd eat them alive which is not a proper reaction whatsoever but

[bixels]

I agree; we live in a wildly different public consciousness than the average person. I'll hear about my uncle generating an AI image of his family as the Avengers for Facebook and will say, "that's fun," because I know he's having fun with his family.

But (in response to folks in the notes, not OP) let's not pretend like artists are being unreasonable when we act frustrated or angry. AI memes, fine, whatever, but AI art is not harmless. It's not a topic that artists are removed from and are forcefully inserting ourselves into, we've been unwillingly involved since day one. We know that behind each piece of AI art is a real artist who didn't want this to happen. I have friends whose entire art styles and OCs––fucking OCs––were ripped into a image database, then sold as prompts on AI marketplaces. We have a reason to be mad. Our anger may be counterproductive, but is it apt.

Like it or not, AI art is intrinsically tied to labor politics. It isn't a online-only ideological mini culture war, it's a real problem that's happening in real life to real people.It's just slow enough and quiet enough to not make any big eye-catching waves. It only seems "online-only" because that's where the majority of people have the easiest, most direct contact with the artists who are affected and raising discourse. Just because discourse is happening online doesn't mean it's inconsequential in real life. It doesn't seem real to your average person because art is widely perceived as a "get a real job" hobby, not a viable career that's tied to labor politics or a passion that deserves respect or protection. Take it from an artist who has the great fortune (/s) of attending a tech school. Someone who doesn't know about this and ends up getting blasted will think you're insane. But let's not pretend like getting angry about people fueling an unfair situation that's affecting our livelihoods is insane too.

the thing about ai art is that to most normal, not-overly-online people, its just a little internet gimmick for them to play around with, akin to flash games or funny videos. if you see someone trying it and you come into their inbox telling them they are a horrible person who wants to starve artists, without first explaining the hundred tumblr soundbites and mini culture wars youve immersed yourself in to get to that conclusion, they are probably going to think you are fucking insane

[nix-that-rad-lass]

I gotta be real, and I know this is an unpopular opinion, but I think trans men are the most valid men.

Women just do it better 🤷‍♀️

Plus since female is default I guess you could consider that FTM is much more of a biological capability than MTF.

Not to say you can change sex, but rather, I think that trans men are much better able to transition and pass, and having been raised and treated as women, tend to be more capable of empathy.

This is not to excuse the rampant issues of gender ideology or the medical mistreatment and abuse of dysphoric women and girls.

[hugintheraven]

How Bethesda fixed Vampires without realizing it

So there's a LOT of takes on vampires across media, and most of them are radically different from each other. The Elder Scrolls series has an interesting version that I haven't seen anywhere else, that incidentally fixes a bunch of lore issues with vampires, and yet Bethesda hasn't ever really leaned into any of that.

So, the issue with vampires in large RPGs like Elder Scrolls games, D&D, etc, is that a world where various elements of character building are supposed to be balanced, vampires are heavy on the upside and light on meaningful drawbacks. So in Oblivion, Bethesda completely reworked their vampires, coming at it with a blank slate:

Vampirism is a 4-stage affliction, with each stage increasing the numerous benefits of being a vampire as well as the middling drawbacks. Stage 4 brings with it all humanoid NPCs recognizing you as a ravenous monster and attacking you, basically wrecking the game. And, this is the unique part, you reduce stages by drinking blood. Being a vampire is LESSENED by doing the most vampiric thing out there, it actively makes you weaker.

And this is great. From a gameplay perspective, you vanish below ground to kill zombies/robots/whatever, and you grow stronger as the dungeon goes on. But if you don't rush through it, or if it's large, you surface having ignored your hunger for several days and have to do a whole second quest to sneak into town at night and drink blood, where the only reward is to engage with the game again. It's a drawback in the gameplay sense rather than the stats sense. And it lets game designers throw the player against weak vampires in town early on, and face dungeons full of max-bloodlust monsters later once the player knows how things work.

Meanwhile, from a lore perspective this is also great. Suddenly, it's not that vampires have to be evil, it's that they have a choice. A good person who flees their family to hide in a cave is going to starve, turning into a ravenous, uncontrolled, extremely strong monster. Someone who's comfortable sneaking around town drinking blood, meanwhile? They never lose control. They walk in the sun. They're perfectly human. Or as human as anyone can be while the blood of their neighbors flows in their veins.

And Bethesda doesn't DO ANYTHING with this. People you talk to in-game just treat it as "all vampires are evil, why would you expect anything else", when they've created a world where vampire morality is so much more interesting. The few vampires who exist in civilization that you're not supposed to kill don't really discuss their condition at all. And there's plenty of evil vampires choosing to live in caves running societies of vampires, when that makes no sense compared to basically any other way of life they could set up.

Bethesda games are a masterful disaster, in this as in everything else.

[wakinguponsaturday]

caught between a rock (listening to someone insinuate that being gay is a result of existing in a left wing echo chamber) and a hard place (if i try to contribute to this conversation in any way my responses will immediately be crossexamined with tik tok grade pop psychology)

[ssahotchnerr]

omg could you maybe write something about reader going to one of jacks soccer games and all of the moms are jealous of her bc she’s with hotch

not so friendly competition

omg i absolutely can cw; fem!reader, jealous suburban moms, one tries to make a pass at aaron, established relationship, small angst?, pettiness, aaron being adorable <3 wc; 1.3k

from the moment you arrived - a hand clasped in aaron's, jack excitedly sprinting ahead the two of you - you could feel the target on your back.

the warm, refreshing morning suddenly felt quite stuffy. as if strangely enough, there wasn't enough air to go around. the feeling especially solidified when aaron gave you a sweet, parting kiss - him off to uphold his coaching duties, you off to find a spot on the grass to set up your chair.

you half expected it, the feeling out of place and self consciousness; this was jack's second season playing soccer, aaron's second season coaching, and most of the players had returned from last year. long story short, and entering a relationship with aaron only a few weeks after jack's season had concluded, you were the new face.

not only that, you were missing a common trait amongst the others. you weren't, by definition, jack's mom.

it was a silly, technical notion, and it was quite possible you weren't the only outlier, but you simply wanted to belong there just as much as the others. to feel as if you belonged.

and that's definitely not how you currently felt.

despite your perception - hoping you had falsely and quickly misjudged the atmosphere - you offered the moms a smile and a hello as you got settled. you got maybe one, two responses in return, before they resumed their ongoing conversation without you. any hopefulness that remained, deflated as you sat there silently.

and while you weren't exactly listening to them, you could still make out bits and pieces of their conversation. however, your ears fully perked up at the mention of aaron. which also brought you into the discussion.

"you're with the coach?"

her question wasn't based on genuine interest, a getting-to-know-type basis, a friendly conversation starter. but, it was rather accusatory, as if you'd done something detrimentally wrong.

you nodded, your eyebrows furrowing briefly in confusion. "yes?"

"like... with him?"

oh.

the standoffish environment wasn't due to you being unwelcome, or, at least not in the way you had previously anticipated. it was jealousy, plain jealousy. they must've spent all of last season ogling aaron, and here you were, getting in the way.

again, you nodded in confirmation. a few grimaces were produced amongst several faces, igniting something deep within you, suddenly feeling very protective of aaron and your relationship.

you casually shot back, relentlessly, "why, is that a problem?"

the mom shrugged, pulling her eyes from yours annoyingly, as if you'd done her an injustice.

she didn't stop there though, uttering something under her breath. while you didn't hear what it was exactly - the low tone definitely indicated she had just insulted you in one way or another.

and choosing to remain on the civil side, you held your tongue.

the whispers continued sparingly; as much as it stung, and as much as the red-hot feeling that had settled in your body was uncomfortable, why should you let it affect you? they weren't a threat, they were suburban moms - probably peaked in high school, probably relied off their husband's salary, probably thought they were better than each and every person they came across.

you could be annoyed, but you weren't worried. the bigger picture, you had what they wanted; you had aaron. you've already won, despite any fights they attempted to pick.

"i need to stretch my legs." the same woman abruptly said, loudly to gain your interest.

she promptly rose, walking towards the team's bench. or more specifically, right up to aaron.

she was quick to strike up a conversation with him - overdramatizing her already-shrill laugh, displaying open body language, the sweetest smile she could muster up.

what did you in, a 'friendly' touch to his arm before she retreated, whenever she finished saying whatever the hell was so important she had felt the need to interrupt his coaching for.

and throughout such, aaron appeared as his typical friendly self as he engaged with her, as expected. although a look of confusion did flash across his face when she graced his arm.

your jaw clenched in anger, but you kept reminding yourself: her actions were just to spite you, just to piss you off, and you refused to give her the reaction she seemingly so desperately craved.

so when she returned, with an awfully smug look plastered on her face and dropping into her chair with a sense of pure satisfaction, you kept your focus forward. you came to watch jack's game, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

but during the mid-game break, once aaron had finished talking with the kids and they sprinted back onto the field to practice some goals, did you approach him.

"hi sweetheart," aaron mumbled into your skin as he kissed your temple, one of his hands comfortably finding your back. "enjoying the game?"

you nodded, offering him a timid smile.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing." you lied, tucking yourself into his chest. you took a deep breath and sighed, smelling the traces of light sweat and grass clinging to him.

"you don't think i buy that, do you?" he asked, a gentle, almost comical tone to his words - all to lighten up your present tension. "what is it?"

you shook your head, "i don't want to talk about it..." your eyes shot over to your new best friends, whose eyes were glued to the two of you. "here."

aaron glanced over at them, profiling immediately. "are they giving you a hard time?"

after a moment's hesitation, an annoyed huff escaped you. "let's just say they're not too happy that the coach is taken."

"what?" aaron laughed breathlessly, his face scrunching the smallest amount in confusion. "half of them are married."

"clearly that doesn't matter, they're still over there undressing you with their eyes." you arched an eyebrow, the scowl on your face only deepening.

"c'mon, you're too pretty to make that face." aaron lightly teased, kissing your pout gently. at the touch, your face did relax, the ends of your lips itching to turn upwards into a smile.

"oh they're gonna hate that you did that."

aaron shrugged, kissing you again. "let them."

you surrendered yourself to your smile, but you still frustratedly crossed your arms in front of your chest. "it's ridiculous."

aaron was quick to untangle your hands, holding onto them and applying a gentle squeeze. "you know you don't have competition. you have me."

"i know. that's why i feel so stupid i'm letting it bother me." you gritted through your teeth. "what did that one woman even say to you?"

"truthfully, i couldn't tell you. i wasn't paying attention." he answered honestly, his eyebrows drawing into a line as he even attempted to mentally recall it.

you couldn't help but laugh, pressing yourself more into him. "you're insufferable."

"i try." aaron joked, but his expression switched tactics, to genuine concern as he moved in front of you, "in all seriousness, are you going to be okay?"

"yeah." you brought your hands to his chest, running your thumbs against his pecs affectionately. you already were. "i have you, don't i?"

"and you could always stay here with me." aaron playfully, but earnestly offered. "and be my beautiful, thoughtful, astounding, beautiful assistant coach."

"you drive a hard bargain," your eyebrows rose, feeling his chuckle underneath your fingers. "but it's okay. i'm not gonna let them think they're running the show, or that they can step on me like that." you shook your head. "and as needed, i might have to flaunt you around."

aaron grinned, proudly. "that's my girl."

[katsumox]

something about jason todd with a touchy!reader s/o is literally so yummie.

You’ve got him on his stomach, regrettably, he thinks, as you watch the hills and divots of his muscles roll and flex as he gets comfortable. The scarred herculean expanse of his back is exposed to you as you sit on his butt.

“Dunno why I agreed to this,” he frowns, not bothering to move his head, unmuffling his musings.

He really doesn’t; ten minutes ago you two were having a very civil discussion (read: arguing) about something or other. Next thing he knew, he was in your bed, on his stomach, half naked and under you.

“Cause you like me,” you sing, breaking him from his thoughts, as you drag manicured fingers up his back, pressing into his taut muscle, deftly massaging each sore part of him.

“You like this. ‘S okay to admit it,” you add.

He gives a noncommittal noise that gets cut off by a strangled gasp when he feels your hands pressing into the upper muscles of his back.

There’s a deep discomfort that settles in his stomach; he’s never been touched so lovingly, not without hidden motives tainting said touch. He isn’t sure if he should push you off him or beg you to keep going.

You hum as you work his muscles, letting his inconsistent breathing and occasional gasps guide you.

You continue rubbing him down, occasionally pausing to apply more shea butter to your hands before resuming your work.

You reach up to his neck, as he sighs. You press just a hair harder, feeling a knot loosen at the pressure. Jason inhales, trying to steel himself from any possible reaction.

Regardless of his efforts, a low “Fuck,” reverberates through his chest. He internally frowns at the sound of his low whine, sounding like a wounded animal. He reddens as he hears himself, internally cringing at his neediness, at your willingness, and the intimacy of it all.

“That was pretty,” you murmur, teasing lilt in your voice. He’s fighting the urge to shut down this moment of vulnerability the two of you are sharing. You know he’s really pushing himself, so you try to keep the extra teases locked away for another day, another less intense moment.

You shut yourself up, instead focusing your attention to Jason’s expansive back. You press harder in the same spot, shameless in your attempt to illicit more noises from him as you whisper, “Give me another.”

He shudders, giving a shaky exhale as he composes himself.

“You’re evil,” he grumbles, despite almost leaning up into your touch.

“So evil,” You smile, “Totally evil.”

Not once does your touch on his back falter. He hums in agreement, softly smiling into a pillow.

“Incredibly evil,” Jason sighs. “Lucky I like your evil ass.”

“Aw,” you say, “Red’s finally going soft. I got you up under me and now you don’t know how to act. ”

Jason can hear the smile in your words. Choosing to ignore it, he closes his eyes and focuses solely on your touch.

“Yeah,” He mumbles, before pausing to consider his words, “Goin’ real soft, only for you.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can I request something spicy for YanBatman with his Ex-WifeReader? 🫨

TW: Semi-NSFW, implied breeding kink, mention/implied cockwarming

(I sincerely hope you like it! It feels like forever since I’ve written something like this, let alone something spicy.)

Entrapment

A talk. That’s all this meeting was suppose to be. Just a simple and civil discussion about the upcoming court proceedings regarding the divorce and what would be happening afterwards regarding your relationship with the family (especially Damian), nothing more. So, how did it end up like this? How could it have possibly strayed so far off track?

~~~~

You weren’t too surprised when you got a call from Bruce. He often went between nonstop blowing up your phone to not reaching out to you for days at a time, you were getting more and more used to it by now. You of course didn’t answer it, your lawyer had advised you not to after your telling them of how Bruce was throughout your entire relationship with him. His tendencies and the way he behaved when it came to you. Your lawyer wasn’t exactly completely believing of it, and that was pretty understandable given some of the things you had divulged to them (if you hadn’t lived and dealt with it yourself you would have had a hard time believing it too) but they decided it was better to be safe than sorry and advised you to not interact with Bruce outside of them. And so you hadn’t and you didn’t plan to either. That was until you listened to the voicemail that he had left behind.

He had an offer. He wanted to meet in person and discuss this whole situation, one on one. He wanted to come to an equal agreement outside of having to go to court. And as much as you hated it it sounded like it might be the better option. There was no pretending that this divorce would go in your favor, there were just too many things going against you. Bruce had the money, he had the means to get the best damn lawyer in Gotham and fight this to the very end. Not to mention that this divorce would be very public in general given just who it involved. And he could very easily get the media on his side, tarnishing your image as a whole. Not that you cared too much for that, you had planned to leave Gotham behind anyway after the divorce was final but the thing that got you the most was the rest of the family.

You adored Alfred. Not only was he simply one hell of a butler but he had been so good to you throughout your marriage to Bruce. Even though you two hadn’t been married that long, Alfred was still very much a support to you and what you went through. He didn’t completely agree with what Bruce did or how he went about things, you were your own person and he tried to remind Bruce of that on many occasions, but there was only so much he could do. And it wasn’t just Alfred you cared about, you also loved all of Bruce’s kids. Once you married Bruce they didn’t just become your family, they were your babies too. And you still wanted to have them in your life and you knew Bruce would hold them over your head no matter which way this divorce went.

Sure, the rest of the family had been involved to some extent with what Bruce was doing in your relationship, especially when it came to keeping you isolated and cooped up in the manor. But as far as you saw it that was all due to Bruce’s influence, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually believe that they would willingly go along with it of their own accord. Or that they even gave Bruce ideas to begin with to keep you by his side and with them as a result. You just couldn’t possibly think of them like that, you just couldn’t. So, it of course scared you at the thought of being completely cut off from the people you had opened your heart to. You still wanted to be there for them, still be a part of their life but just at a safe arm’s length away instead of how it was before.

The more you thought about it, mulling it over and over again in your head, this offer was sounding like the more beneficial thing to do. You did still have love for Bruce of course, you just didn’t want to be in that kind of situation again and you knew the only way to prevent that and keep yourself safe was to step away from him and any form of romantic relationship with him.

~~~~

The day was finally here for the two of you to meet and you couldn’t help the anxiety that washed over you. You never truly knew what Bruce would do, what he was really thinking in the moment. He was unpredictable like that. He could come off oh so charming and inviting, it was scary how easy he could lure you into his trap. And you knew better than anyone what it was like to be caught in that snare. That was what your whole marriage had been with him after all, just one big entrapment.

Even when you were briefly on the phone with him to set up this meeting you couldn’t contain the tremor of nerves you had just hearing his voice again. You really did miss it, you missed him. But this needed to be done. For the both of you. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Seeing him face to face again was something else. He looked good, he looked like he was taking care of himself again. That was a far cry from how he was the first few months after you left. He was a mess and it showed. That alone almost had you going back to him just so he’d be alright but you knew what came with him being back to himself and you couldn’t put yourself in that position again. You just had to remind yourself that this was it and it would soon be over for good.

Bruce greets you with open arms, you’re not quick enough to back out of his reach before he’s already enveloped you in his hold. He’s warm, he’s always been so warm. And his hold is tight, longing but not as suffocating as it used to be. And just as you’re beginning to feel yourself unconsciously fall into his warmth just like you used to so many times before, welcoming his touch again, he pulls away. For a split second you want to reach out to him and feel his touch all over again but you remind yourself that this isn’t what this is anymore. It can’t be.

Once the two of you are settled you start off talking small talk and everything seems good, everything seems okay. Bruce asks how you’ve been, if you’re doing alright with everything that’s been going on. He seems caring. He seems like he genuinely wants to know how this has affected you but you remind yourself yet again that this isn’t what you think it is. He then moves on to talking about the family and how they have been holding up through out this process, everyone’s taking it hard. Dealing with it in their own way but it seems Damian is the one who is taking it the hardest. That’s what you had feared. You worried about how Damian was taking all of this, how he was being effected by it. He was such a guarded kid, so closed off. You felt terrible having to put him through this, as well as the others but it’s what needed to be done. Right?

It isn’t until you try to bring up the original topic of discussion, the entire reason for this meeting in the first place, that you see how this wasn’t remotely the meaning of this meeting. You barely caught sight of Bruce’s jaw clenching when the words left your mouth, that was enough insight for you to know that this wasn’t at all what it was meant to be.

It’s obvious that it’s the last thing he wants to do, you can tell. He’d rather talk about anything else other than that. It’s one thing to ask how you’ve been regarding it or talking about how the rest of the family’s been taking it in but he doesn’t want to actually get into it. He’s avoiding it, of course he is. You can’t blame him but this needs to be over with.

“Bruce.” He tenses. It feels like it’s been forever since you said his name, he’s missed hearing it from you. He wants to hear it over and over again, like a mantra. God, the way it hit him when that’s all you could say as he thrusted so deep into you, just his name rolling off your tongue repeatedly. Fuck he missed it. He missed you.

“Remember, we’re meeting here for a reason. I don’t want to take up much more time than we need to. So, could we get to it?” Business. That’s all this was. Bruce hated it. Of all things, this is what brought you out of hiding? This is what opened you up to seeing him once more?

No.

He wouldn’t take that as an excuse.

He just wouldn’t.

“You’re right, (Name). Let’s get to business.”

~~~~

Without a doubt in your mind this was his intention all along. Of course it was. How could you see it any other way?

Bruce was calculating. He proved that more than once since you have known him.

It showed I n how he talked, the words he said dripping off his lips one after another, the sweet nothings he filled your head with.

In how he touched you; the placement of his hands, the way his fingers brushed you, the methodic way they curled deep inside your warmth.

But more importantly he was the most calculated when it came to fucking you. He knew you better than yourself, he spent your whole entire relationship learning and memorizing your body. What you wanted, what you needed. What exactly drove you to the deepest depths of pleasure. He knew it all. And he certainly knew how to use it to his advantage.

Each thrust, deeper than the last, was all so cunningly planned out. The way he grounded his hips into yours, the way he clutched you so close, melding himself into you, opening you up even more to take him completely. Every single move was so irrevocably mapped out.

~~~~

Your warmth. Oh, how much he’s missed it. How much he’s fucking craved feeling it wrapped around, enveloping him whole again, only for him to feel. You have no idea how many times he’s touched his throbbing cock to the thought of it, to the thought of having you sprawled out under him again. You have no fucking idea.

Once he has you right where he wants you, completely lost in the ecstasy of it all, he allows himself to finally give in to his own blinding pleasure.

No more calculating.

No more cunning.

No more being methodic.

No more.

Now it was all solely his mindless self indulgence. His once slow, deep thrusts turned into rapid, savage pounding. His kisses were more aggressive, sloppy. His touch was burning hotter than ever as he gripped and grabbed every piece of you he could.

At this point, Bruce let himself get lost in it. He let himself fall into the deepest, darkest pits of his desires. All he wanted now was to chase that feeling he’s been left without for so long, over and over again.

One after another, he released everything he had deep inside you. Again, and again, and again. All of this; all of his pent up anger, hurt, passion, everything he had bottled up inside throughout this whole shitshow of a situation, he was free to let it all go.

After the haze finally let up, Bruce was left basking in the aftermath. He couldn’t have felt better than ever before. He had you again, he had you here in his arms and it wasn’t a dream this time. You were the real deal and he couldn’t have been happier.

He couldn’t help but look at you,, watching you, taking all of you in again just like the many times he used to before. You were a fucking mess after everything and he absolutely loved it. He did that to you, he made you that way. And he took great pride and pleasure in it. He left you so full, both with himself still inside you (he just couldn’t bring himself to part with your warmth again) and all his cum. This was how he wanted to stay. This was how he wanted to be.

Placing his large hand on your stomach, he caressed it tenderly. There was no way you wouldn’t fall pregnant after this, he had made sure of it with all the times he filled you with his seed. He wanted you pregnant, he wanted you filled to the brim with his baby. He needed to have you tied for life and what better way to ensure that than by bringing a new life into the world together.

You wouldn’t be able to get away from him now. This had been yet another way to entrap you, to keep you in his grasp and Bruce wasn’t going to leave any room for you to wriggle out of his reach again.

“Let’s start anew, (Name). After all, we’re going to have even more of a reason to work things out now.”

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 2

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel’s shadows liked to spoil his mate rotten.

Not that Azriel could find anything wrong with that.

She deserved more for putting up with him. 

More than new tea from the Dawn Court and her favourite chocolate covered, wafer thin cookies from a small bakery near the Sidra…more than the occasional embroidery thread they snuck her…More than whatever animal he went to go hunt, to cover his bed in even more furs just for her. 

He nearly had enough Sable furs to have a blanket made for her for Winter Solstice…

Azriel also had half a mind to go sneak in her office later that day. 

Just as a treat for not killing either of his brothers. For being civil. 

Rhys had come over for sparring, unnannounced. 

Azriel had hoped to have some peace and quiet today, but it seemed like Rhys had other plans. 

Currently Cassian and Rhys were wrestling with less sense than they had had when they were just kids, and Azriel was cleaning his weapons, watching from the sidelines.

Azriel couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his brothers roughhousing. It was typical of them to turn a simple sparring session into some kind of ridiculous competition. He focused on sharpening his knives, trying to ignore their antics.

"You know, we could also actually train properly," he called out, his tone dry. "Instead of wrestling like a bunch of children."

Cassian looked up from his grappling with Rhys, grinning. "Oh, come on Az. Don't be such a stick in the mud. Loosen up, have a little fun for once."

Azriel's expression remained impassive. "I'm perfectly capable of having fun, Cassian. But I prefer to do so without rolling around in the dirt like a wild animal."

Rhysand chuckled, standing up and clapping Cassian on the back. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Az. You should try it sometime. It might make your brooding sessions a little less depressing."

Azriel just grunted in response, not willing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Rhys. He continued to clean his weapons, hoping that the training session would end soon so he could escape his brothers' teasing.

“When did you even come home yesterday?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel looked up from his work, his expression neutral. "Around 11," he said simply.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Rhys pointed out. “You were missed.”

He highly doubted that.

And maybe he had made that mission in Dawn just a little while longer, so that he knew that dinner would be over and when he came home, he wouldn’t need to be alone.

Azriel just shrugged. "I was busy," he said, offering no further explanation. He knew his brothers were just trying to rile him up, and he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

*Are you still pissed of at me?* Rhys asked him mentally with a sigh. *I get it. But you don’t need to avoid everybody else, just because…*

*I’m not avoiding anyone,* Azriel replied, his mental voice tight. *I’m simply choosing to spend my time how I see fit.*

“I was busy,” he repeated aloud.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You're always busy, Az. You know, there's such thing as taking a break once in a while. Spending time with your family."

Or he could spent time with his mate. He could spent time with his mate, who let him brush her hair and even braid it …who pressed kisses to his horrible scarred hands and smiled at him. 

If it was a choice between Irena or a family dinner where he didn’t want to stay longer than an hour or two, because he was still too fucking pissed off at Rhys…the choice was easy. 

“Or is there a special somebody?” Cassian teased him.

Azriel glowered at him. "It’s none of your business." He went back to working on his weapons, his expression tense.

*You can’t keep panting after Elain for the rest of your life,* Rhys said mentally. *Look, I know I didn’t…I am sorry. But she’s happy with Lucien and…*

*Don’t worry, I’ll go to a pleasure hall and pay for it if I want to fuck somebody,* Azriel shot back viciously.

Or his own hand would suffice. More than suffice, especially if…especially if Irena had let him kiss her the evening before…sometimes he waited until she disappeared into her room, and he buried his face in the pillows that smelled like her, fisted his cock and rutted like an untried boy for seconds before he came all over himself. 

It was still better than any other sex he ever had had before.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at him. "It sounds like you need to get laid," he said, chuckling. "Maybe that'll help with your bad mood."

Azriel shot him a glare. "Mind your own business, Cassian. My love life is none of your concern."

Rhysand gave him a sympathetic look. *We just want you to be happy, Az. You deserve happiness.*

“Ohhh, touchy,” Cassian said with a snort.

Azriel just gritted his teeth, his temper rising. "Cassian, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, I swear to the Mother, I’ll shut it for you."

Cassian just grinned at him. "Come on, Az. I’m just teasing you. Lighten up."

Azriel's grip on his weapons tightened. "I don't like your teasing, Cassian. And I certainly don't appreciate you making assumptions about my personal life.”

Mostly he just wanted his brothers to leave him the hell alone.

And then...then before he could say another thing...he felt the shaking.

And then the sound came. An eardrum shattering explosion, the very foundation of the House of Wind shaking. It was terrifying him.

Irena was down there in her office. Nesta was in there. 

He was moving before he was even thinking. 

*Merrill's office, Master!* the shadows screeched.

Azriel was already running.

Cassian hot on his heels, so was Rhys.

Azriel was faster, heaving shadows around his limbs as he rocketed down the spiral stairs of the House of Wind.

Level Two, Straight to the right. Clearly...Clearly the epicenter of the blast. Of the explosion…of whatever had happened.

He pushed as hard as he could, legs burning as he hurtled down the hallway to Merrill's office.

He wasn't the only one. "Merrill!" He could hear Gwyn's shrill voice screaming, coming to a stop in a hallway of what had once been Merrill's office but now was just...

It was a mass of wood and rubble.

He barely slowed down, scrambling into action. Gwyn was already digging through it, so where Nesta and Emerie. Cassian landed behind him, immediately moving some of the debris.

His shadows swarmed as he and the others quickly dug at the rubble. Looking, desperately looking.

He moved another piece of rubble out of the way...a piece of blue cloths. The same blue cloth that he knew covered Irena's body, the scent of poppies clinging to her...Without a thought, he grasped and then dragged, a hoarse shout that was her, that was her...

He felt as if he were choking, as if he were drowning as he dragged out her body. Bloody, bruised, broken but still...still there was a faint flicker, a faint, thready heartbeat.

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, he tried to pick up on her heart. There was barely a flicker. Too fast, too faint, she was barely holding on. Barely hanging by a thread.

There was blood pooling on her abdomen, dying the blue dress she wore bright scarlet red, He put pressure on that wound immediately, leaning on her with nearly all his weight, his fingers slick with blood. "Damn it, stay with me, love," he demanded sharply.

Azriel felt like he could barely breath. Like he was falling, tumbling down as he tried to will her to stay with him. Stay. Stay. Stay. Please stay. Stay...

Rhys was there suddenly, checking her pulse. "Breathing is erratic. She's in shock," he told Azriel with a grimace. "Mor is getting Madja..."

"Az..." her voice was so weak, but he turned to see dark brown eyes watching him, brows furrowing.

"Just keep breathing, Love," he told her, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

He could barely hear what was going on around him. It was as if he were in a bubble, a world of just himself and her and the desperate beat of her heart under his fingers.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"There is nothing you need to apologise for her, Irena," he promised her sharply. "Absolutely nothing."

Irena's eyes drifted shut. Azriel felt like something was dying inside him as her heartbeat fluttered against his fingertips. His world was collapsing, shattering into pieces as her breath stuttered.

"Stay. Just stay..." he was barely aware of what he was saying, his eyes frantically searching hers. She had to stay. He would do anything to keep her here. Anything.

"I am still owing you that flight," he told her. She hadn't let him take her flying yet. They had snuck away in the library...in the rooftop garden...in her office. But he had never gotten to take her flying. He had never gotten to take her out into Velaris. They had never had a date at a fancy restaurant, had never gone to see the symphony. There were thousands of things that he hadn't yet gotten to do with his mate, because they had all the time in the world.

Irena just stared at him, her eyes pleading, as her heartbeat slowed, fluttering weaker and weaker. Azriel felt a sharp pain in his chest as fear clawed at his spine. "Just hold on a little longer, love," he whispered. "Please."

And then there Madja. Thank the cauldron. There she was.

Azriel could barely manage to let go of her, his mind consumed with the singular thought of Irena's laboured, erratic heartbeat as he moved back. Madja immediately set to work.

He lunged for her head, lunged to pull it on his lap, to touch her with blood slick fingertips, her normally rosy red lips pale, her skin even whiter than usual.

"Hurts," she whispered, as Madja set to work, barking orders.

"I know, I know, love," he whispered, touching her cheek with his fingertips as Madja got to work.

His eyes searched hers as he murmured those words over and over, as if he could somehow hold her in this world through sheer force of will alone.

"We haven't had enough time," he whispered desperately, leaning his forehead against hers.

She was slipping away. He could feel it. Feel her slipping, feel her heartbeat slow. Feel the thread that tethered her to this world fray, fray, fray...

No. He couldn't lose her. Would not let her leave him. He had waited far too long for her. Far, far too long to let her slip through his fingers.

"Stay with me," he pleaded. "Please stay with me."

But her eyes were slipping shut, her head lolling to the side. He gently patted her cheek, trying to urge her back to consciousness, but he didn't think he was even really aware of what he was doing, where he was. The world had boiled down to a desperate litany, in his head. Stay...stay...please...don't you dare...

“I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight,” he told her fiercely.

He needed her to know that he would be there to be furious with her if she dared to die, that she couldn't die. Couldn't. That she had to stay. Had to keep fighting. There were too many things ahead of them...a wedding to plan, children to have, years and years of life to live.

“Az,” she breathed his name, her eyes not even open anymore.

“Open your eyes, Irena,” he demanded. “Look at me, love,”

Her eyes finally fluttered open at his command. It was barely more than a slither of brown, but he latched onto it, taking it for what it was. A chance. A moment to get through to her.

He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the words spilled forth from him, a litany, a desperate prayer. "Please," he breathed, "don't go...don't you dare..."

He was dimly aware that the others had gathered, but he didn't dare look away. Didn't dare look away from her as he cradled her head, trying to pour all of his prayers into those words. All of his hope and desperation.

"You can't go." A statement. An order. An absolute certainty in his voice. "I will not let you go."

He wouldn't. Would never, ever let her go. Would drag her back from the Cauldron's grasp with bloodied and broken hands if thats what had to be.

She didn't speak. Didn't need to. He could read her answer in her eyes, the determination in those brown eyes as she tried so, so hard to stay.

It was as if she were holding on for him, because he had asked her to. Because it was him there with her. Like she would fight until her last breath because he told her too. He didn't deserve this beautiful creature, who was willing to fight for him, willing to live for him.

It was something primal, something desperate, something fierce as he whispered those words over and over, like a prayer. "Fight. Fight. Fight."

And she listened. She did. He could feel her hold on, just barely grasp hold of that tether that kept her in this world. Just barely keep her eyes open.

Just look at him.

And she did, those dark eyes unfocused but open, staring up at him, watching him. Trying so, so hard. It nearly made his heart stop in the most terrible way that she was struggling for him.

And he was so proud of her. Of the way she was fighting like she was. Of the way she was grasping, hanging on to life like she was.

The seconds stretched too thin, feeling like eternities and only the slightest of moments. But her eyes were open, if only barely. She hadn't given up. Hadn't let go.

He was dimly aware of the others, Gwyn hovering with a worried expression, Madja murmuring quiet instructions to the others, Rhys kneeling not far away. But he barely glanced at them, barely dared to take his eyes off Irena.

He was certain that if he looked away, if he let this tenuous thread sever, that she would die. That as long as he kept her here, she wouldn't slip, wouldn't let go.

He had one hand on her cheek, her skin still clammy and pale, as her eyes slipped open and shut. But everytime, they would find his face. His eyes, like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her barely holding on, only that last sliver of determination keeping her here.

"Please," he pleaded, whispering those words like a prayer, like he would be praying to a vengeful god. Those moments felt like eternities, stretching on and on with only his desperate whispers. "Please..."

The world felt so still, so silent as if the world was holding its breath. Azriel's eyes locked on Irena, silently begging her, asking her to please, please...

Live, live live... he whispered those words over and over, a desperate plea to the Mother, the Cauldron, to anyone who would listen. To Irena, the only person in the entire world who truly mattered in that moment.

Her eyes were growing glassy, slipping closed only to jerk open again. Stay he demanded. Keep looking at me. Please.

She tried. Mother, she tried. Her eyes drifted to him, the smallest hint of life, of a spark there in those dark brown eyes.

He hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to move. Afraid that any wrong move could tip her over the edge, could pull her into that chasm of non-existence that she was desperately clinging too.

He felt something pricking at his eyes, felt something in his chest cracking, breaking at the sheer intensity of emotions thrumming through him. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her like this, so pale, barely holding on, barely conscious...

“Alright,” Madja said quietly. “Good girl. You were so very brave.”

"Will...will she be alright?" He asked, voice hoarse.

He didn't let his eyes drift from Irena's face, her half lidded eyes staring at him. It filled him with such an intense pang of relief and fear at the same time. Relief, because she was alive...and fear, because they had been so close to losing her.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Madja warned. "But she'll make it. She lost a lot of blood. It will take some time to get her vitals stable again."

He felt like he could breathe for the first time. It was almost dizzying, the sheer, intense relief that flooded through him. Irena was here. Irena would live. It filled his veins with an almost drug like euphoria, that made him light headed, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He barely managed to keep that feeling in, the pure euphoria from showing as he smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes finally dragging away from Irena's face to look at Madja. "Just...thank you."

He looked back at Irena, taking in her face. Alive. Still alive. Still here with him, not gone. The tension seeped from his shoulders, a strange sort of exhaustion taking over. As if all the adrenaline that had fueled him, the fear, was slowly draining out of him like water.

“Merrill,” Irena whispered, her voice near silent.

Azriel felt his fingers brush her cheek, just the gentlest touch as he tried to keep it together. It had been too close. Too, too close. He couldn't stop the overwhelming feelings flowing through him of elation and fear as he looked down at her as he looked down at her, alive. Alive and breathing and whispering soft words. "Shhh," he whispered softly. "Save your strength. Don't strain yourself."

He looked up finding Cassians gaze who just shook his head. Merrill was dead.

Azriel couldn't quite process that information, not in that moment. His eyes were still drawn to Irena, still unable to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. His fingers brushed her cheek again, just the faintest touch as he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "Rest," he instructed softly. "I'll be right there.” He promised.

“Being here to her room,” Madja said quietly.

“My room,” he corrected.

The priestesses dormitory was locked from males. If he even tried to get in there it would’ve end well for him. And he wouldn’t leave her side.

“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply.

“Gwyn,” Rhys said quietly.Azriel didn't even acknowledge Gwyn's words, didn't have the energy. All he could focus on was the way Irena's eyes had drifted shut, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She would be alright. She was going to be alright. She was alive. Right now, in that moment, thats all that mattered.

“Az, how long have the two of you…” Cassian asked hesitantly.

Azriel just shrugged, his hand resting on Irena's hair, smoothing back from her face. “Two years. She’s my mate,” he said flatly as he gathered her up. 

“Mate,” she rasped. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he agreed softly.

[nicname]

”Oh if we didn’t have xenogenders/GNC trans people/neopronouns/MOGAI/etc etc etc then transphobes would respect us.” Untrue. Most transphobes are so insanely vitriolic that you could be the most standard, decent, agreeable trans person, and they would still hate you.

I’m a fairly basic trans man, online and off. I tone my gender down even more for work. I have short hair, facial hair, I wear pretty standard non-fitted pants and t shirts with some manner of compressive undergarment underneath, and I go by my fairly basic, common masc name. The only difference between me and my cis coworkers is that I openly engage in good-faith discussions about my being transgender when brought up, and I have a “he/him” pronoun pin I like to wear.

I have one coworker who I’m well aware has never gendered me correctly. I have assumed it was an intentional, bad-faith decision (because of other, unrelated-to-me conversations he has had with coworkers), but I’ve never really cared enough to bring it up to him. I figured, “if this is intentional, that’s his issue. I’m not interested in trying to change his mind.” I’ve reached a point in my transition to where I don’t really care that much if some random person doesn’t respect me or my gender, because I don’t need every stranger’s approval to be happy with myself.

With all that being said, I’ve treated him the same as I have every other coworker. I’ve been civil, I’ve been agreeable, I’ve still been friendly to him and haven’t gone around the workplace intending to smear his name. (Yes, I have discussed his behavior to those close to me who have asked, but I’ve kept it very private and said that as long as he doesn’t say anything outwardly malicious, I don’t really care about his behavior.) He has been outwardly friendly to me, too, telling me about his past careers, showing me pictures of his family, we’ve talked about our hobbies and other things we enjoy.

Still, after all of this, he has given up the ghost and decided to gossip about me negatively to coworkers. I won’t go into detail about what I’ve been told he said, but it was all explicitly transphobic and pretty aggressive. I’ve never gone out of my way to make him mad, relating to my gender or not, so it’s a little out of nowhere. I’m not particularly surprised by this, but I’m more surprised that he would be bold enough to say everything out loud when working for a company that has explicit protections for trans people in place. He was reported fairly quickly, without me ever knowing what occurred. The only reason I found out about everything is because I overheard a manager discussing it with a concerned coworker from my department.

So, if you take anything away from this, let it be that no amount of friendliness, gender-conformity, or civilness with stop a transphobe from taking their transphobia out on you, and it’s not your fault or any other trans person’s fault. Don’t victim blame trans people who become the subject of someone’s transphobic hate, because a transphobe is dedicated to harming trans people regardless of whether they blend in with cis people or not. Don’t use a transphobe’s needlessly malicious behavior as a reason to harass other trans, GNC, nonbinary, or otherwise gender diverse people.

[amethystwrytes]

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum. 

“Can you stop please?” 

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands. 

“...Sorry…” 

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade. 

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber. 

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign. 

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse. 

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you. 

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes. 

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room. 

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again. 

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again. 

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?” 

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.” 

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.” 

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks. 

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.” 

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation. 

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something. 

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk. 

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.” 

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.” 

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not. 

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.” 

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?” 

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter. 

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump. 

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.” 

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’ 

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing. 

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?” 

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk. 

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?” 

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.” 

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes. 

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic. 

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.” 

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates. 

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff. 

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.” 

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down. 

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.” 

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.” 

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.” 

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers. 

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.” 

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains. 

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief. 

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?” 

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.” 

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses. 

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer. 

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles. 

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks. 

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him. 

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.” 

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it. 

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh. 

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him. 

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on. 

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile. 

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out. 

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg. 

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?” 

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.” 

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself. 

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable. 

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again. 

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades. 

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee. 

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up. 

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack. 

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing. 

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?” 

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment. 

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle. 

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease. 

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.” 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head. 

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit. 

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side. 

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment. 

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed. 

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?” 

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself. 

“Never something you what?” he presses. 

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.” 

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.” 

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him. 

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares. 

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves. 

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.” 

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.” 

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs. 

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego. 

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins. 

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder. 

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle. 

“Is this your building?” he points. 

“Yes, it is.” 

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers. 

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder. 

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard. 

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today. 

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag. 

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?” 

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished. 

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.” 

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.” 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes. 

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.” 

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks. 

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.” 

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.” 

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.” 

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!” 

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door. 

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying. 

“Already?” he looks at you. 

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?” 

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.” 

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him. 

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon. 

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?” 

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly. 

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.” 

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?” 

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone. 

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask. 

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares. 

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.” 

“Good, shall we?” 

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?” 

“No.” 

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back. 

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?” 

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down. 

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles. 

“I’ll get those right out.” 

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.” 

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.” 

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.” 

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?” 

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.” 

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?” 

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly. 

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table. 

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?” 

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon. 

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.” 

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu. 

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.” 

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug. 

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse. 

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door. 

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away. 

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again. 

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues. 

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing. 

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth. 

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?” 

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips. 

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car. 

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.” 

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in. 

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition. 

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up. 

“Uh…mine… mine I think.” 

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him. 

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness. 

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric. 

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?” 

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist. 

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel. 

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans. 

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably. 

“God…” 

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking. 

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily. 

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.” 

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth. 

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road. 

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours. 

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely. 

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth. 

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?” 

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs. 

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease. 

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.” 

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!” 

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room. 

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer. 

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs. 

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt. 

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.  

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you. 

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…” 

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly. 

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again. 

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs. 

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again. 

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind. 

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it. 

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster. 

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts. 

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest. 

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands. 

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.” 

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?” 

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.” 

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you. 

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.” 

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully. 

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

[wanologic]

college au prequel: what happened to danny during junior year - 2940 words

Viscous green liquid sludges through a dry river bed, whetting the cracked ground and seeping deep into the void. Soil softens, becoming fat with nutrient. In the most basic definition, still itself, but filled with new matter, ready and accepting of more. This is what it was made for, its purpose. It has been sitting, dry and untended for too long. In this symbiosis it is more than it dreamed to be. Complete in the sense that it has been starved.

--

Danny wakes up, the dream lingering.

He’s been feeling odd lately, despite the fact that he is more comfortable in his skin than ever. He has a goal, he has support. 

A bridge, he called himself.

Even if he’s only sixteen and his influence is contextually small, he has time. People are listening. Ghosts are listening. Small steps over a long period will get you where you need to go, and he’s still just a kid. 

A kid who has to get ready for school.

He goes through the familiar motions, snags a quick breakfast and lets his parents know he’s headed out, that he’ll see them later. He’s out the door and on his way before he knows it.

Danny’s grades have improved since his freshman year. The pressure to keep things secret has all but alleviated and his family is sticking close. The world might not know that Fenton and Phantom are the same, but the people who matter do.

He’s managing. Thriving, even.

His extracurriculars are atypical of a high school junior, but he plays his role well. The Ghost Investigation Ward meets Phantom and the Fentons on neutral ground that evening, working their way methodically through a tangle of red tape. Teaching, learning. There’s always danger in compromise, but both parties are being two faced. It’s civil for now.

He’ll do this from the opposite angle on another day, playing border guard for the dimensional tear nestled into the fabric of his basement. Walker would be proud of him. He’s enforcing the Rules.

And it’s all going well as far as he can tell. Things are so much less chaotic than they were, his brawls feel like bonding, his head is no longer on a swivel.

For now, it’s off to his room. A space for himself to decompress after a long day's work.

He spends a lot of time thinking about a prehistoric past. What the future might look like once his job is over. This solid physical reality fed that swirling and infinite realm of emotion directly, once. It didn’t last, but time has passed. 

Danny is more aware of this fractured nature than most. He’s sure it’s why he’s had so much success. Why the responsibility falls on him. He feels it every time he calls upon his second self. 

And that’s what it is, isn’t it? Human first, ghost second. Humanity is the frame of reference he was born with. Everything new he experiences in this strange half-life is compared against it. Spectra once asked him what he was. But humanity is in his nature. He is a creepy boy with creepy powers. He’s sure of it. 

Going ghost.

Returning to humanity.

Not that he prefers one over the other. He’s made the choice. More than once. When his memories were erased or his powers short-circuited he always took them back. Felt the thrumming and euphoric energy pulsing through his being once again. His shape projected and unreal. Weightless. It feels incredible.

At some point, some late night discussion about feelings, whether it was with family or with friends, he realized his dual nature was more of a privilege than he could ever hope to fully comprehend. His human half feeds his ghost half everything. His ghost half is complete. No wonder he’s so determined, so strong. He has never once craved emotion the way the others have. He has intrinsic access to everything. Every failed test, every frustration, every joy, every thrill. He is comfortable and whole. Has no need to lash out. Two separate identities working together as two polar magnets, inseparable through the strength of their attraction, moving through the world as one.

He slips the familiar glowing rings across his body, the cool wash of ectoplasm coursing through his veins. Back again, blood pumps oxygen to his cells. Human. Ghost. Human. Ghost.

--

This time the dream is stranger.

The river craves the ocean. 

Danny feels the sand cake beneath his nails as he digs a trench, a violation of the river’s established bed. There’s a trickle as a thin and frothy stream flows out of sync with the current along the path he lays. It longs for the larger disconnected body ahead. A curious tendril seeking an easier path. He digs deeper, automatic, compelled by a force he doesn’t quite understand. 

Is this a bridge too?

He’s both excited and afraid to find out.

The liquid pools at his fingertips as fast as he can dig. Nudging. The sand is saturated and wet in front of him. He’s not sure how much further he has to go. But if he can claw his way through this dense barrier he’s sure it will pick up momentum even without him. The fluid mass can carve its own trench. Wider. Faster. Wider again.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. He somehow feels incorporeal. This isn’t right. He looks at his hands. His fingers in the dark. Clean. Spotless. He feels the sheets beneath his body, the press of the blanket above. So he’s still human then, wrong as it may seem. He clutches at his chest as he tries to calm his racing heart, quell the strength of an intense emotion that he cannot describe. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

He stops digging and fashions a dam, not yet ready for what the final connection could mean.

His head hurts.

Nausea tucks itself against his gut.

He takes a shower.

--

It’s Saturday and he has business in the Ghost Zone.

He shifts, expecting the weird feeling to subside. Instead it’s more of the same. Something is off. He ignores it. A thing to worry about later when he has less to do.

His work that day goes smoothly, another step in what he can only hope is the right direction. And it feels nice, giving in to the compulsion and focusing on what is in front of him, what is currently begging his attention, rather than the problems lurking beneath the surface. It is a learned behavior, one he falls back into easily.

Upon his return he feels like he is dragging a piece of the Infinite Realms back with him. The air seems to thicken, the cold steel walls of the portal are closing in on him. The exit is a pinpoint.  He’s being called back. He wants to move forward. He can feel silky fingers worm their way over his skin, hundreds of tendrils trying to pull him into their embrace. He stays strong. Moves with intent. The invisible hands can’t find enough purchase and he is finally welcomed back into the Physical World like the denizen he is. 

The caress stays with him much longer than he’s willing to admit.

--

Weeks go by and he only feels stranger and stranger. High. His attention slides off of everything so easily, his eyes blurring mid-conversation, a stuffy feeling, like a balloon that’s expanding well past the boundaries of his head. He loses time. Cancels appointments. He doesn’t feel well, sorry, he’s going to stay home today.

There is something Danny knows he needs to do. He can’t keep existing in limbo like this, his job only half-finished, pulled in two directions but choosing neither. His powers will wane once again in his indecision. His purpose sits unfulfilled.

He lays back and stares at the softly luminescent stars pasted to the ceiling of his room. Takes deep and even breaths as he struggles to remain present. His sister is worried for him, he’s sure. The best he can do for her is secretly practice what she has preached.

Danny eventually thinks back to that trickling stream. The slimy offshoot of the coursing river. He thinks of the dam he dreamed up all those weeks ago, sure it’s bigger now. His denial adds weight and height to the metaphor. Every day it feels less like a figment of his fucked up imagination and more like the worlds are trying to tell him something. What’s on the other side now, he wonders? Is the river still flowing? Are the fruits of his labor still there or has that little hand-clawed pathway dried up? How large is the reservoir pressing up against that sandy hill if it hasn’t?

He’s scared. 

He doesn’t want to know. 

But this isn’t what he promised himself.

A peek can’t hurt.

--

The dream comes easily, now that he lets it.

The funny thing about water is that it always finds a way. No matter what people do, how they try to tame it, erosion is inevitable. It starts as a dark wet splotch, the faint idea of a tiny breach in the all-but-permeable barrier between worlds—the river and the ocean. As the spot expands a dip forms on the horizon. The water moves. Under, through, over. Destructive. Alive. Danny shouldn’t have looked but he can’t stop what has already started. Equilibrium will be achieved one way or another. It was only ever a matter of time. He stands in the shallows, cowed as the wall comes down. Slowly first, then all at once.

The edges of panic are sharp and he realizes what is happening only a beat too late. 

The dam breaks.

He screams.

He was the dam, he is the trench, the rapid connection of energy flowing out of bounds and rushing along a new path. Lightning striking the rod to avoid burning down the house. The portal below him is a wound, a tear. He is something asked for, something natural. His mind can’t keep up as he struggles to regain ground and prevent being swept away by the violent current.

Dim awareness of his physical body comes back to him slowly as he writhes against the foreign dimension assaulting his senses. A second death. His double life was a conceptual marvel, a switch flipping from on to off, and back on again. He is the embodiment of two worlds, split, distinct. His quest to join them together requires this of him, doesn’t it? Whatever autonomy he has against the will of the universe cannot remain if he truly wants to serve his purpose. It’s a choice he has to make. One that he has been making. One that has been made.

He takes a deep and shuddering breath.

He tries to let go, and finds that he can’t. It’s like being electrocuted all over again, his nerves fried and his joints stuck rigid. It’s a feeling that is impossible to control, tense as he is.

His breath still comes ragged as colors around him saturate and the world warps. He can feel his fear, his desperation, feeding the momentum of whatever is happening. The exchange of emotion, osmosis through a rapidly deteriorating membrane. Thousands of overlapping inputs assault his mind as he feels the energy sliding around in the folds of his brain. He breathes through it. It’s not at all painful, but it is intense. His human points of reference aren’t working to help him conceptualize what is happening. His atoms are buzzing with newfound energy and the world is no longer solid. He tries once again to attempt the mindfulness ritual Jazz has been shoving down his throat, tries to name five things around him. The exercise fails him as he feels his brain liquefy in his skull. He gasps at the sloshing sensation, back arching. He’s going to be unmade.

Instead of loosening his grip, he tightens it. Remembering what it is to be human with all the force he can muster. His knuckles are white. Sweat slips down his brow. If he can’t let go, he has to hold on. He is gasping, thrashing. He’s hyperventilating, he’s sure, but no oxygen floods his system. He wants release, wants off this ride. The world outside of his perception ceases to exist. Flesh slips from his bones and it feels so, so good.

Then he sees it.

His eyes are blind, but he perceives it, somehow. The yawning void of the infinite realms is so much bigger, so much hungrier than he had ever thought. Reading that tablet, all that time ago, he thought his purpose was something simple. Easy in a way that a fourteen year old imagination could rationalize. The earth and the zone were two physical spaces that only needed to understand each other and hold hands to achieve that elusive harmony. 

He’d been wrong.

It’s not the earth that feeds the realms. Dimensions aren’t something that can be explained by an elementary understanding of mass and matter. They aren’t some static three dimensional points in time and space. They are universes of their own, expanding, interstitched in a nasty and sticky web of inexplicable physics folding over and back on themselves, forever too complicated to pry apart.

The realms are fed by the conscious universe perceiving itself, the soul, the spirit, whatever you want to call it. Emotions aren’t some grid of faces on a paper, they are infinite, they are cause and effect, the chicken and the egg, projecting forever in a möbius loop human understanding can never truly describe.

He’s going to go insane, he concludes. Here on his bed, on some random weekday, alone in his room. The magnetic pull of his two halves are phasing into each other, becoming imperceivable as the two separate forms he once knew. He’s not even sure that he really exists at this point. 

There is another choice to make.

He thinks back to what he knows about this buried history, Pariah Dark, The Ancients, wonders if they considered this connection, what they knew about how this should happen. Is there a way to do this that is objectively correct? If he knew more would it be easier? Or would it go down just the same? He has no desire to conquer. Only to be a bridge. A tether. An example. To show that this merging from two to one can be peaceful, a shift in perception rather than a violent overhaul. It is unavoidable now. His only wish is to remain recognizable as himself. 

He focuses not on his mind but on his body. He has to rebuild from the ground up or risk losing himself forever. Start small, a beating heart. Vascular systems. Skeletal. Muscular. Take a breath and pump blood into the empty cavern of his skull. Human is what he knows, though he’s never had to think about it quite this way before. His nerves lace through the structures he’s struggling to create, half intuition, half memory. It feels like being a ghost, all projection and thought, a deep and innate understanding. He knows this. He’s existed this way every moment of his short life and he can do it again. He’s alive, his blood is red, his flesh is tangible.

His brain slams back into his body and he promptly throws up.

--

The worlds are connected once again.

Danny’s hands shake as he tries to get a grip on himself. He’s been changed. He can feel it. The Infinite Realms has marked him as he has marked it. The world is flowing through and from him. Energy hums under his skin, and in it there is access to a well so deep he’s not sure it could ever run dry. 

He finally gets it. This is what being a bridge between worlds means for him.

He gets off his bed slowly. Half floating, half stumbling for balance. His instincts are scattered and his breath no longer sits in his body the same.

This change gives him the authority and the power, the perception and understanding to mend the bleeding fracture between dimensions. He will be listened to. He cannot be hurt. His appearance no longer matters, he is what he is, wholly and entirely. He exists as a linchpin. He is the keystone in the arch where one side is living and the other is dead.

Gravity feels so odd. Like someone changed the coefficient.

He sobs and grabs his dresser for support, woozy and unbalanced, a newborn deer walking on unfamiliar legs. He intends to make his way downstairs. Wants to fall into the embrace of his parents. Needs someone to hold him and tell him that everything will still be okay. He looks to the door.

And without moving, he is there.

Breath comes hard and fast as he steadies himself. His perception catching up to the new perspective. His hand is on the handle, he radiates a trail of semi-physical matter with every motion. It will take practice to appear normal again. He’s reminded of his freshman year.

When he finally opens the door, a swirling green wall is all that meets him. He stares at it, the cold vapor of the Realms slipping around and through him.

He knows the observants exist on the other side. He is sure of it as he is sure of anything. They are there to acknowledge the crown above his head. To observe what he has finally made of himself. 

He will tell him that he didn’t want this, didn’t ask for it.

They will tell him that he is lying.

He steps through the threshold.

[wileys-russo]

https://www.tumblr.com/wileys-russo/753695268809162752/its-giving-alba-and-fresa?source=share

could we pleaseeee get a litle fic about this 😭

the void masterlist

the roadtrip (before the void blurb) II a.putellas

if there was anything your mami was a sucker for, it was family traditions, especially after your papi passed away, believing they would make the four of you closer together.

so every boxing day when you were all exhausted and still bloated full of copious amounts of food you'd pile into the car together and drive six hours to your tio's house to spend a couple of days before you'd return to barcelona for new years.

the drive had always been, interesting, to say the least with the four of you cooped up in a car together for so many hours and as little breaks or stops as eli could manage.

alexia and alba had both begged to take a plane, offering to even pay for the tickets which would shorten the trip to only fifty five minutes and give the luxury of being able to stretch your legs and use the bathroom at will.

but though they'd asked for years, they'd been shot down each time with a firm shake of the head and a warning look from eli when they tried to argue their point further, giving up with defeated groans and going back to packing.

you however loved the journey, you loved the view, the snacks, the talking, story telling. but as your sisters grew up they became less interested in these things and more in their headphones, naps or books which left you normally bored and restless since eli had to focus on the road.

you always sat in the back, on the right behind eli while alexia always rode up front, alba sat behind her begrudgingly as every year she'd lose the battle for the coveted front seat.

"maybe next year hermana." alexia would smirk after easily yanking alba out of the seat she'd just camped out in for a half hour before you were due to leave in hopes this might clench it for her, eli dismissing the argument with a wave of her hand.

the first few hours were normally civil, with everyone in a halfway decent mood still riding out the high of the holidays there was lots to discuss, mostly whatever scraps of family drama and gossip alba managed to find out as she moved from seat to seat around the table during christmas dinner.

then you'd all stop briefly, just to use the bathroom and be bribed with snacks at a rest stop.

"aquí pequeña." alexia mumbled with a mouthful of food, tossing you whatever candy or snack you'd requested, often a couple of extra than you'd normally be allowed which you knew well enough to hide before eli got back to the car as your eldest sister gave you a wink and motioned to zip her lips before she did her seat belt back up.

though after the rest stop was usually when the cracks started to show.

"oh for me? gracias fres!" alba gasped sarcastically, swiping the packet of sweets from your hand as you frowned and reached for them back, held off easily with her hand against your forehead.

"give it!" you huffed, only seven years old so regrettably with arms not long enough to snatch back whatever snack the seventeen year old had snaked from you.

"what? you don't know how to share with your hermana?" your sister teased, tipping half the packet into her mouth as you gasped and pushed harder against her hand much to her amusement. "you didn't ask!" you fiddled around with your own seat belt before it finally clicked undone.

letting out a cry you lunged at her, scratching and clawing, alexia having tuned you both out cluelessly with her earphones shoved in and sunglasses dropped over her eyes.

"give it!" you grunted, stood up on the seats and trying your best to get the much taller girl into a choke hold. "just take it then." alba grinned, still easily holding them out of your reach as you jumped on top of her right as eli slid inside.

"oye! basta ya!" the older woman warned, reaching over to smack both of you on the leg right as you sunk your teeth into alba's hand and she yelled, shoving you back into your seat as your back thumped into the door.

"don't push her!" alexia finally decided to pull one of her earphones out as alba kicked her seat, her own head whipping around as she leaned over to punch your other older sister in the thigh.

"all of you! stop!" eli yelled right as alba leaned forward to retaliate and your leg shot out to kick into her ribs, causing her to drop your candy which you scrambled to snatch back, groaning when most of it had now been eaten or dropped on the floor.

"mami she bit me!" "mami she took my candy!" "then she punched me!" "mami she pushed the baby!" "i am not a baby!" "you are too!"

after a stern warning and another disagreement between your sisters about taking turns in the front seat, alexia winning out with the 'i'm older, taller and i need the leg room' argument, you were back on the road and all in a significantly worse mood.

"fresa if a single part of you crosses this line, i will snap it in half." alba warned drawing an invisible line through the middle of the seat in between you as both you and alexia rolled your eyes in sync.

"alba." eli sighed tiredly with a shake of her head, your sister ignoring the warning and crossing her arms, looking out the window as your mami just turned up the radio to try and drown you all out.

of course though with nothing to do but think, it didn't take you long to come up with a loop hole.

for christmas you'd been gifted a clever hand made wooden puzzle from your albuelo, it was linked together with elastics and could be manipulated into almost any shape without breaking or coming apart.

to everyones surprise it was your favourite thing you'd gotten all day, spending the entire afternoon messing about with it, so naturally eli had packed it for you to amuse yourself with on the journey.

grabbing the puzzle out of your bag with a few moves you'd managed to make it into a straight line, around thirty or so centimeters long with all of the pieces locked together like that.

you glanced to the side and smiled noticing alba's eyes had closed as she rested her head on her hand, leaning against the window clearly dozing off. so with the puzzle in hand you crossed the line, poking her a few times with it and quickly pulling it back as her hand tried to snatch it.

"fresa if you touch me again, you die." alba mumbled, eyes still closed as her nostrils flared and your smile widened, waiting a few minutes until she settled again.

*poke, poke, poke*

"what did i say!" your sister shot upright, eyes snapping open as again you yanked the puzzle just out of her grip. "not to cross the line with any part of me or you'll snap it." you parroted.

"sí. so give me your hand i'm gonna break it!" alba growled as you shook your head. "no. my hand didn't cross the line, this did!" you grinned wiggling your puzzle happily.

"well if that crosses the line one more time...its going out the window." your sister warned quietly with a glare before settling herself again.

but of course, growing bored again after a few minutes you didn't listen.

*poke poke poke*

this time you were quick to pull the puzzle away and drop it to the floor where your sister couldn't reach, and without it to follow through on her threat alba hit you instead.

"no no no i'm sorry i'm sorry!" she whispered frantically seeing the tears well up in your eyes and your bottom lip start to wobble. "no no pequeña don't cry!" alba practically begged but by then it was too late as you audibly sobbed first capturing alexia's attention and then eli's.

"fres? nena what's wrong?" alexia turned around right away with a frown, reaching her hand out toward you as you linked your fingers with hers. "alba hit me! it really hurt." you sniffled wiping your nose with your free hand as alexia's eyes flickered to alba whose were wide in fear.

"ale i-" "i am going to kill you."

"alexia!" eli sighed as your eldest sister dropped your hand and lunged, alba curling up into a ball as best she could to avoid the hands lashing out at her as your mami did her best to tug alexia back into her seat.

"stop it! all three of you sit still, no talking, no touching, no moving. dios mío you are giving me a headache and we are barely halfway there!" eli raised her voice silencing all of you as alexia reluctantly settled but not before sending alba another deathly glare of warning and sneaking you a chocolate bar as your eyes lit up.

though as alba caught your gaze to apologize again her own eyes widened as you smiled smugly, tear tracks dried on your face as you happily munched away on your snack and your sisters features hardened and she shook her head.

"diablillo."

around the four hour mark you'd grown bored again, and so had alexia whose music was failing to entertain her anymore as her arm snuck back and tapped your knee.

catching your gaze in the reflection she made a gesture and your face lit up knowing exactly what it meant, another favorite way to pass the time during these trips.

"alba." you kicked her lightly as she hummed and rubbed her eyes, awoken from a nap as she raised an eyebrow in your direction. you began to make gagging noises as she suddenly woke right up and clutched her stomach.

"stop, right now." your sister warned through gritted teeth, alexia catching your eye with a grin and an encouraging nod as you fake retched louder and began to gag.

"stop or i swear-" alba started to warn but as you made a particularly realistic retching noise her face paled and she covered her mouth and blocked her nose, shaking her head.

"fresa." eli warned seriously catching onto what was happening but it was too late as you gagged again and alba cracked. "mami por favor pull over. pull over!" the girl could barely get the words out as eli swore under her breath and quickly pulled to the side, stopping the car.

right as the car stopped moving your sisters door was open and she was rushing to the nature strip, emptying the contents of her stomach as both you and alexia tried to hide your laughter behind your hands.

"they do this every time! voy a mataros a los dos." alba grunted out before alexia gagged this time and she was doubled over again as the pair of you made no move to hide your laughter.

"why are such a bad influence on your hermana? grow up ale!" your eldest sister whined as eli's hand slapped against the back of her head with a loud smack.

"get in the back ya mismo, alba gets the front." eli pointed as alexia sighed but didn't argue, wincing again as eli's hand collected with her back as she did, mumbling under her breath about making it there in time for lunch.

"one more argument and the three of you can sleep in the backyard in a tent, together."

much paler than normal but seemingly steady again alba dragged herself into the front seat as alexia clipped in and patted the middle seat right beside her, both of you ignoring the death threats muttered under the breath of your middle sister.

"vamos fresita, nap time." alexia wrapped an arm around you as you settled into the middle seat and leaned into her, shaking your head.

"i'm not tired." you mumbled, but your sisters fingers threading through your hair and scratching at your scalp had the words sounding much less sure than you'd intended, eyes already starting to close, and within a couple of minutes you were out like a light.