#maybe that's the word I use for these kinds of posts

[seeliemansi]

Mr. Crawling hated Bath Time and Showers

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, hint of SMUT, ghost revenge. It's not that bad.

my first post was flagged. dunno if it was reported but seriously?

🧼

No thoughts but forcing Mr. Crawling to take a shower. He has been crawling around since you met him and you have noticed his dirty and tattered clothes. There wasn't a problem when you two were still in that old abandoned building. But in your apartment? Being unclean is a no go. Just like a dog who hates baths, Mr. Crawling hated the idea to the point that he refused to go out of your closet. He had been repeating the same words as you try to pry the doors open.

"You not love me?" "Why bath?" "Not love me that's why bath?" "I like you but you not like me."

You admit it was kind of adorable. It was the same when he panicked when asked if he wanted his hair to be cut short.

You are getting out of nowhere and so with a promise, you told him that he can ask you of anything if he takes a shower. Just like offering a dog a treat during training. It took a lot of reassurance, but in the end, he allowed himself to bathe. If it was that easy.

And just like a vengeful dog that shakes its fur, to spray the excess water on its owner - Mr Crawling did the same.

He flinches, and he jerks, splashing water all over your already small bathroom. And ultimately drenched you, when he strongly pulled you down with him after he freaked out when the hot water turned cold because he was taking too long. You have no choice but to take a shower as well or you'll get a cold.

You can't help the tick of annoyance when he sighs in content as you help dry his hair. His head is on your lap, and he seems refreshed and peaceful. If he wasn't so cute, you will probably get back at him. But he looks so clean, comfortable, and glowing with happiness.

Maybe next time.

Showers always make you feel drowsy. You blink slowly and feel relaxed as he looks up with a wide grin. You can't help but give him a peck on the lips and kiss on his forehead. Such a good boy.

You chuckle when you hear his infamous giggle. You were about to continue drying his hair when he quickly moved, grabbed your shoulders and forcefully pushed you down the couch.

"Done! Me treat!" He declared.

"What?"

He didn't even give you enough time to think when he suddenly held both of your legs and pulled you closer to him. You remind yourself to apologize to the neighbors if they complain about the noise.

He didn't even give you enough time to raise yourself using your elbow, when he raised both your legs up, put it on his shoulder, and giggled as he was face to face with your clothed core. You can feel his hot breath and you gasped when he sniffed you down there. His giggles reverberate as he teases you with an experimental lick.

"Shower here too. Wet."

Is all you remember him say as you felt a full blown shiver of want from your head to your toes. It will be a long night for sure.

He may be cute but Mr. Crawling can be extremely vengeful because you had a hard time walking the next day. He made sure that it wasn't only him who would crawl around. And weirdly enough, after that, he was the one who reminded you that he needed a shower.

[notlongtolove]

the garden is growing

"you live together, work together. doesn’t it all get a little boring?" there’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. the cups of tea, the folding of blankets. you could never call that boring.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff! maybe angst if you really really squint

content: after catching up with an old friend, bau!reader and bf!spencer have a contemplative talk about their relationship as they walk home. domestic... mentions of marriage... lurve in the air...

word count: 2.2k

note: a post finals treat to myself! leaned heavy into the garden imagery for this one lol, this was heavily inspired by the poem linked, i highly recommend it! o i also added some song recs below for this one :P (ps i did not mean to compare spencer's eyes to PEBBLES but it was either that or a random brown flower... sorry.)

a line: The perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. - wendy cope

When you were younger, you had a garden. A field just a stone's throw from your front door. Not the kind in a backyard, fenced in and manageable. No, it was wild and uncontained, the grass alive beneath your feet. They used to say love was like a garden. You'd think about that sometimes—how you were supposed to tend to it, rake and comb and pull out the weeds before they strangled your beautiful flowers. And when it rained, you just had to let it. Let the downpour come and see what survived.

You’re standing under the awning, shaking droplets off your jacket. You mumble a thanks to the doorman as he holds the door open, offering a silent nod in return. The door opens to a polished, marble lobby, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how out of place you look. You’d come straight from the office, having dwindled your stack of case files from a grand total of 26 to a modest 19. The grand mirror to your left does nothing to help. If anything, it’s magnifying the creased fabric of your trousers and the damp strands of hair stuck to your cheek. You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeves and smoothing your hair out in a futile attempt at order. It was urgent she’d said. A matter of utmost importance. You’re not sure why you’re here, but you know with certainty that you’d rather not be.

She sees you before you see her. She calls out for you, the nickname wrapping around you like a sweater one size too small—warm but suffocating. It might as well be. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year—maybe a year and a half? You shrug, suddenly missing Spencer’s precision, his ability to pin things down to the day, the hour.

"Hi," you manage, sliding into the seat opposite her. “I’m really sorry. Work was crazy—" you start, but your words dissolve the moment she thrusts her hand forward. A diamond—no, a boulder—catches the light, dazzling and deliberate. You nearly choke on the glass of water you’ve just picked up. 

"Let me tell you about crazy," she says, her grin sharpening. 

Oh, the yacht! And don’t even get me started on the violins, can you believe it! The sea was just gorgeous—Did I mention it was on a yacht? Her words tumble out as you try to follow along, but you can’t quite keep up, only noting it definitely involved an abhorrent amount of Dom Perignon.

“I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she says, her voice tinged with what you hope is nostalgia and not pity.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you murmur, and you mean it—sort of. You used to be close, but since starting at the BAU, everything else kind of took a backseat. It had to. “I wish I could’ve too. Work’s been—”

"Crazy, right," she cuts in, waving it off. "Big fancy BAU," She winks. "That job’s gonna be the death of you one day y’know, all those hours." You force a laugh, but her words hit a little too literally, heavier than she knows. You don’t think she quite grasps the reality of your work.

“So,” she says, leaning in now, her chin propped delicately on her hand, her diamond ring catching the light. You can’t help but think it’s mocking you. “How’s things going with Spencer?”

"Oh, they’re going fine."

"Fine?" She raises her brows. "Trouble in paradise?"

“No, not at all,” you insist, your voice instinctively rising in defence. “We’re—fine. You know, same old, same old. We just wrapped a big case actually. This guy—” You cut yourself off, realizing mid-sentence that the story of a guy meticulously collecting hair from women post-mortem doesn’t feel like the kind of story to share during dinner under a sparkling chandelier—Not that you’re doing much eating anyway. The menu was a labyrinth of fancy salads, obscure cheeses, and entrées described in French that you’re only half sure translate to lamb. You’d settled for pushing a few greens around your plate, making a mental note to stop by the bodega later.  

Her laugh pulls you back to the table, "I don’t know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You know… Live together, work together, day in, day out. Doesn’t it all get a little..." She trails off, letting her expression finish the sentence. 

"A little… what?" 

"Boring?"

You blink. "Boring?" 

The word tastes bitter. You don’t like it. The way the dog always chases the cat? Boring. The way the cat always seeks shelter in the same tree? Boring. But the way they both come running home every time you call? That’s never boring. Spencer in the quiet mornings—hair tousled, voice soft and sleepy as he murmurs a 'good morning.' The cups of tea, the folding of blankets. You could never call that boring. 

She laughs lightly, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Not in a bad way! I just mean... do you guys even go out? Like, for fun? You guys have been together for, what like, years now?” Three years and 4 months, you think to yourself. You’d never need Spencer’s eidetic memory to remember that. 

"Well, yeah, sure we do…" you say finally. "Um, we went to a museum recently." You don’t tell her it was to interview a suspect. Her smile tightens, like she’s not sure whether to believe you or feel sorry for you. You take a careful sip of water, resisting the urge to shift under her gaze. There’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. Outside, the rain keeps falling.

By the time you part with polite hugs and hollow smiles, the downpour has softened to a drizzle. Spencer is waiting by the curb, hair slightly damp. His eyes light up at the sight of you. Under the glow of the streetlight, they remind you of the pebbles you used to collect by the garden path. You’d carry them home, pocketful by pocketful, washing and scrubbing at them until they shone. Only your favourites made it to your shelf. Tiny, perfect trophies.

“Hi, honey.”

"Hiya." You lean into his chest, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you manage a strained, “I’m starving.” 

“Hi starving. Care for a burrito?” he asks, tilting a takeout bag toward you with a small smile.

Your eyes meet his, and there’s something in his smile—soft, understanding, familiar—that makes your chest ache. “How’d you know?” you ask, practically tearing into the bag.

“Searched the menu after you left,” he says simply, falling into step beside you as you start walking. “Figured you wouldn't have liked much in there," he shrugs, casual. You feel your cheeks warm. Two hours away from Spencer Reid is two hours too long. 

The walk home is quiet at first, the two of you picking your way around puddles reflecting neon signs. The burrito’s long gone, leaving your hand free for Spencer to hold, fingers interlocked.

“She’s engaged,” you say eventually.

Spencer furrows his brows. “Already?”

“It’s only been like, what, eight? nine months?”

Spencer frowns, pauses then says, “256 days”, the precision drawing a faint smile from you.

“Crazy isn’t it?”

“I guess. Some people are like that,” he says, “Did you know statistically, couples who get engaged within the first year of dating are 20% more likely to divorce within the first five years?”

“With that prenup incoming she’d better hope they’re the exception then…” you murmur, not really listening. 

There’s something in your chest, persistent and heavy. You can feel its roots stirring, working its way beneath the surface, threatening to loosen the earth that keeps you grounded. 

A few more steps in silence. Then, quietly, “Do you think we’re boring?”

“Boring?” Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Do you think we’re boring?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t think we’re boring, but you know, we don’t do much.” 

“We’re in the FBI, honey. I’d argue we do a lot.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching playfully. You try to laugh, but it comes out forced, brittle—like a flower trying to push out a bloom that's not quite ready yet.

Spencer notices, as he always does. “Is there something you want to do?” It stirs in you again, something tender and uncertain. You don’t know if it will be a flower that blooms or a weed that chokes out everything else. 

“No,” You say a little too quickly, “Nothing really, just... Other than work and home—”

“What’d she say?”

“Hm?”

“You love work, you live for it—I practically have to drag you out of the office most days,” he reasons, tone calm and steady. “And, if this is something that was bothering you… I’d have known. So it must’ve been something she said.” You stop walking, the words catching in your throat. It bothers you—how her vines have crept into your garden, straight through to the soil beneath. Flowers rarely thrive in foreign soil, you think. 

“Not really,” you lie, biting your lip—a tell Spencer surely catches. “We just talked about the engagement. Well, she talked.”

He doesn’t press, though you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His gaze lingers, but he chooses to give you space. “How was it? The engagement.”

“Something about a yacht,” you reply with a shrug.

“I thought she was afraid of water.”

“Not when it’s on a million-dollar vessel, apparently.”

Spencer chuckles. You continue to walk. Your feet do their best to trace the familiar trail, trying to find the garden path that takes you home. Left. Right. Left. Right. But your thoughts snag, tripping on an unseen vine, and you stumble.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Like... if we ever get married and stuff.”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to stop mid-step, rooted to the spot, his body going still. You freeze too, breath trapped in your chest, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, the guilt sharp and immediate. “That was silly, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

You tug softly on his hand trying to pull him forward, but he doesn’t budge. His brows knit together as his gaze locks with yours. 

“When.” 

“When what?”

“You said if. I’m saying when. When we get married.”

“When we get married?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When. Not if. I don’t think really of it as a hypothetical possibility.”

Your chest tightens and you don’t know exactly what to say, but your fingers instinctively tighten around his. Spencer senses your silence and rushes to fill the space.

“Do you… not think that?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“I do! Of course, I do.” Your voice falters. “I just… I didn’t know you thought about it that way too.”

Spencer hums, soft smile on his face. “I know I tend to look at things in terms of statistics, probabilities—But us? There’s no ‘ifs’. Not with you, honey. Never with you.”

And just like that, the earth beneath you shifts, breaking apart to reveal a bud. Not a flower but a fruit-bearing tree. You try and fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him, but he’s already leaning in, his lips warm and familiar against yours. As you pull back, eyes locked, you think back to the pebbles you used to collect. Your tiny, perfect trophies—Spencer’s eyes are far better, you think. 

“You smell like burrito,” he teases. You laugh, the sound light and easy. “You love burritos.”

He brushes a stray curl from your forehead. “I love you.”

Through the clearing, you see it. The vines have receded, the rain has come and gone. Your feet step off the garden path with certainty. It’s safe now. It’s here. 

“So,” you say with renewed excitement, your steps light as you glance at him, “Beach wedding?”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Do you have any idea how much fecal bacteria there is in beach sand?”

“Blegh.” 

“No, seriously. Beach sand has 10 to 100 times more fecal bacteria than seawater.”

“How about we don’t throw around the word ‘fecal’ when my burrito is still working its way through me,” you reply, grimacing. “What’s your genius idea then?”

He grins. “Barn wedding?”

“Spence, I love you, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a cowboy, but I’m not walking down the aisle with hay in my hair.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you walk side by side, hands swaying between you. Spencer spots a perennial growing out of concrete cracks by the lamppost 2 steps ahead of you. 

“What about a garden wedding? In spring?” 

“A garden wedding,” you say, a soft smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, I’d really like that, spring’s nice.”

"Okay,” he says, hand warm in yours, “in spring then."

There’s no towering oak tree, ancient and steadfast, to mark this moment, no circle of wildflowers dancing wildly around with their colours. But still the perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

They used to say love was like a garden. When his drought comes, silent but devastating nonetheless, you quench it with your rain—soft, temperamental. And when your rain changes her tide, thrashing and wild, he shelters you beneath his leaves, vast and unyielding. Together you prune the dead parts, plant anew, and marvel at what thrives.

The next time someone asks you how things are going, there’s no pursed smile or hesitant pause, distant in thought. You just smile and say it's going. It's going alright. It's going great. It’s going fine. 

Because all that matters is that it's going. 

Your garden is growing. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

song recs if you feel like it: nothing by bruno major love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey

[cheqorb]

Sotto Voce.

Gaslighting everyone into believing you’re a really shit footballer because seeing people be impressed by your sheer lack of skill is more fun than being a genius.

FEAT. Bastard München ensemble

NOTES. uhhaua cross posted on ao3 (same user) but ajyway, thought this idea was funny and because of this lingering feeling of sadness i haha managed to Complete this?? Gosh im beside myself with worry!!

WORD COUNT. 2.2k

Isagi thinks he might be seeing things. Maybe all the relentless training in Blue Lock has finally caught up to him, leading him into a football-induced delirium, because he can’t quite comprehend what he’s looking at right now.

You’re moving across the field with a fluidity he’s only seen in pro-level players, doing tricks and turns he’s pretty sure aren’t even in his playbook. You glide past the defence, controlling the ball with a finesse that’s nearly supernatural — hell, he thinks even someone of Rin’s calibre would be breaking a sweat to try and keep up.

And you look bored while doing it. Eyes half-lidded, posture almost lazy, as if this is just another walk in the park and not you showing off world-class football technique.

Isagi’s mind races to make sense of this. You’d always been, well, normal to him.

Sometimes you’d play in a match, most other times you’d sit out on the sidelines. And he’s usually pretty sharp about these things, so it must’ve been because you just… didn’t stand out.

Yet here you are, pulling off flawless plays with little more than a mild yawn, as if winning against the top players here would barely register on your radar. Maybe it’s just luck, some freakish one-off, right?

… Nope. You just drilled another perfect goal into the top corner of the net.

He snaps out of his thoughts only when you suddenly stop mid-play, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, there’s a flicker of panic in your gaze and he opens his mouth, not even sure what he’s about to say.

“Y/N-”

You’re stomping towards him before he can even process the whole thing, your pace quicker and more full of menace than he’s used to seeing on you. You stop just short of him, tilt your head slightly, and in the calmest voice, say, “You saw nothing.”

He tries to stammer out something, but you leave soon afterwards.

────

Tripping over the ball is harder than it looks, but after enough practice, you’ve perfected the art of falling in a normal fashion. To most people, it’s convincing. Prior to a few days ago, you’d say all people but there’s a certain someone who entertains himself by boring holes into the back of your skull with an intense, unblinking stare.

You can feel it. Isagi waiting for you to slip up.

Actually slip up, instead of the falls you’ve gotten so good at imitating. It’s detestable, honestly. You’re trying to keep things as they’ve always been, and he just wants to come in and mess with the status quo!

Luckily for you, Igaguri’s too much of an idiot to harbour the same suspicions. Right now he’s too busy practically doubling over with laughter on the floor. The guy is probably thrilled to finally see someone playing the fool even more than he does. And as much as he’s a pain, he’s also the kind of person who makes perfect cover — play the role of an idiot, laugh it off with him, and everyone’s none the wiser.

So, in spite of your (what most would call) vindictive description of him, you do believe that some sort of strange pleasure is to be gained from surrounding yourself with people like him. Though perhaps that also makes you a terrible person.

The feeling is nothing like the rationale that Noa preaches about so often. It’s an undeniable truth in your heart.

Which is why you avoid the people who actually know what they’re doing on the field like the plague.

Yukimiya, on the other hand, is way too polite to laugh outright. He at least has the common sense to stifle it, reaching out a hand to help you off the ground with a quiet charm that makes people swoon. No wonder he’s a model.

Now, the imaginary audience in your mind might be wondering why you’re talking with a guy like him? Your answer: he’s not as notable ever since he patched things up with Isagi. He’s now the kind of person you can talk to without raising any brows. Again, it sounds harsh but you see it in a positive light. He’s becoming just the kind of person you adore most!

“Try and keep a close eye for stuff on the ground, alright?”

You flash him a grin, nodding. “You know me, just a total klutz all the time,” you reply as your usual happy-go-lucky self, making sure to project just loud enough for Isagi to hear.

And out of the corner of your eye, you catch that familiar look of suspicion deepening.

────

The silence that follows is brutal. Hiori and Kurona exchange a look that’s way too long for Isagi’s comfort. After finishing whatever telepathic debate they have with each other, they both stare back at him like he’s just pitched the most psychotic theory imaginable (which isn’t entirely untrue).

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he mutters, deflating a bit.

Hiori’s quick to reply, but Isagi is aware of the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not that we don’t believe you. But, ya have to admit, it’s strange to hear Y/N… of all people, doing something like that.”

That’s code for what the fuck are you talking about, Isagi concludes with a grimace, his eyes shifting to Kurona hopefully.

“Crazy. Crazy.”

Kurona’s tone is deadpan, his gaze distant as if he’s trying not to laugh. Great.

Isagi sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he is the one who’s going crazy here. It shouldn’t even bother him this much. It’s not like you’re particularly close! If anything, he can barely remember a conversation between the two of you that went beyond asking if you’d seen so and so.

And, judging by the responses he’s getting from both of his teammates, neither of them can figure out why he’s fixated on this either.

────

Noa is going on and on about practice drills, how to follow his instructions precisely, something about rationality and technique, blah, blah, blah. You stifle a yawn. If this is what being in one of the top clubs means, you should’ve begged Ego to be in Barcha instead. At least Lavinho would’ve been fun.

You hear his coaching style isn’t by any means phenomenal if you’re trying to improve your skills, but good thing you’re not planning on doing anything of the sort!

And just when you think you might actually pass out from boredom, you see Isagi walking over. Again. He’s approaching with that same cautious look, but it’s not enough to make him think twice about bothering you apparently. That’s also something that bugs you, he’s never a quitter.

You flash him an oblivious smile. “Oh, Isagi! Whatcha up to? Need anything from little ol’ me?”

You lay it on thick, voice dripping with cheerful innocence. His jaw tightens, and for a second, you swear you can see a flicker of annoyance on his face. That’s new. Your words have the opposite effect than what you had originally intended.

“Listen, I know what I saw, alright? You’re not fooling anyone.”

He launches into a whole spiel about how he’s seen you pull off moves that only high-level players can pull off, how he doesn’t care if it’s part of some large game you’re playing, how you should be using your skill to distinguish yourself.

…You really don’t give a shit, and in regards to his comments, you personally disagree! What’s the fun in doing all of that?

You tilt your head, pretending to think it over with wide, guileless eyes. Sure, you’re a little flattered he’s this invested in uncovering your “secret,” but the other 99% of you is totally unhappy.

When he finally wraps up his little speech, you just give him a half-hearted shrug with a smugness that he doesn’t miss.

“And who’s going to believe you?”

────

Kaiser likes to think of Isagi as predictable, average — someone who might fancy himself a hero but is ultimately just another small-time player waiting to be crushed. It’s almost laughable how seriously he takes himself. In fact, the only thing remotely worth mentioning about him recently is this bizarre fixation he seems to have developed on you.

He’s overheard your exchanges, and in short, they’re pathetic.

Isagi rambles on about how you’re hiding something, clinging to that delusion like it’s going to benefit him somehow. The psychology-lover inside him finds it almost fascinating in how utterly absurd it sounds.

So, when Kaiser spots you chatting with the ever despairing Grim (laughing so hard you have to hold back tears), he figures it wouldn’t be wrong to call you at least a little insane. Part of him wonders what humour could be found in the man’s deplorable monologues.

He figures he might as well join in on the entertainment. You’re far from his usual company, but you’ll do. For now. Moseying on over, his signature smirk is already in place.

He’s rewarded by the way your eyes immediately narrow in irritation, a look he’s all too familiar with and thoroughly enjoys on anyone really. Grim, blissfully unaware of what he’s leaving you to, heads off, and now it’s just you and Kaiser.

Leaning in closer, he asks, “What little secret of yours has got under Yoichi’s skin so badly?”

Kaiser waits, watching for the faintest flicker of reaction but you stay silent. How boring.

But! Not one to give up easily, he continues with a more direct jab, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. The one where he acts like he knows everything there is to know about everyone. “That you’re really skilled, and this whole clueless act of yours is just a cheap facade?”

He raises a brow, as if daring you to admit it. To his delight, you lift your head, finally meeting his gaze albeit with an uncomfortably polite smile.

“I was just surprised you’re interested in something like that. But, Isagi’s a total liar. Isn’t he just so annoying? I can’t stand people who just don’t know when to give up, and I’m sure you agree.”

It’s not often someone catches him off-guard, and though he recovers quickly, the flicker of surprise is still there. Kaiser also sees opportunity however. He could work with this.

“Well, if you’re not a fan of Yoichi then feel free to join my side then,” he drawls, offering the position like it’s a dream come true. In his world, he’s already the star; what better way to elevate himself than to recruit someone.

“Ah, no. You’re both terrible.”

He can’t tell what’s worse; you lumping him together with Isagi, or the fact that you immediately walk off without giving him a chance to get the last word in.

────

“It’s like asking me if I prefer cat shit or dog shit. It’s still shit, and there’s no point in picking one over the other.”

You toss the comparison out to Kiyora, of all people — a bit of a waste since he just stares blankly at you, not saying a word. Pretty cute, actually, in a clueless sort of way.

The reality is that, at the moment, if you want a shot at the regulars, you’re supposed to cosy up to either Isagi or Kaiser. And as for everyone else? They’re can either fuck off or pray for a miracle.

Of course, you couldn’t care less about making the regulars. But every now and then, you forget there are people around you who do care, people with actual ambitions. Which is why you pause when you catch sight of Hiori and Kurona.

“Oh, Hiori and Kurona,” you point out the obvious.

They both glance your way, casual and relaxed, which gives you the impression that Isagi hasn’t roped them into his latest paranoid theories. Yet.

“Are ya heading back to training already?” Hiori asks, his soft voice and accent making it sound more like an invitation than a question. There’s a kindness to it that’s almost unsettling here in Blue Lock, but you return his smile with one of your own nevertheless.

Kiyora gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he says, brief and to the point.

You’re half-considering some excuse to slip away and do your own thing, but there’s something about the way Hiori is looking at you that draws your attention. Unlike Isagi, he’s way better at hiding it, but you can still feel his curiosity prickle under your skin.

You give him a lazy smile, leaning into the idea. “I’m already so tired from this morning’s training,” you lie, exaggerating just enough. “Honestly, going to bed early sounds great right about now.”

Morning training was barely enough to get you sweating, just a couple of warm-up drills for the afternoon matches. You doubt they have any clue what you’re talking about, which is exactly how you want it.

There’s a quiet pause, and then Hiori breaks it with a gentle but firm nudge. “Well, if yer looking to get on the regulars consistently, training more could be worth a shot.”

You force a smile that probably looks more akin to a grimace. This is exactly why you don’t like smart people. They poke and prod until your story frays at the edges. He definitely asked that on purpose! With a heavy sigh, you end up walking with them toward the pitch, despite every nerve in you screaming to veer off.

You can’t help but wonder if this is a test.

[molabuddy]

(MAJOR GGG SPOILERS)

I had some thoughts that I was told were good.... about like. the godpoke as their own character. and about them & King's postcanon friendship.

and how. during & after the events of the game, everyone else probably just sees godpoke doing its godpoke things and are like yup! that's just good ol' godpoke! (only communicating using other people's words and the occasional nod or shake, drifting around following orders & helping people, generally being the most perfect little mail carrier the grove could ask for with barely a complaint despite being having the role of godpoke literally dropped from the sky onto them)

and King is the first to vocally be like. hey. isnt that kind of really weird? this little cowpoke saved the entire world, but none of us know anything about them personally? ... nobody even knows their name?? We just call them godpoke???

(the rest under here i don't wanna giant post blast y'all ↓)

I feel like King would think of it as the least she could do after all the godpoke has done for the grove, for all the listening and learning they've done about all the grove's gods' and people's lives and problems, to try and learn at least a little bit about Them. (and also i feel like King is just generally the type of person who desires to understand the people she meets as much as she possibly can.)

So King starts trying to help godpoke communicate for themself. probably a lot of giving them pointers on using megapon, and a lot of speaking very deliberately to give godpoke the chance to twist her words into what they really wanna say. its probably a long and slow effort... megapon wasn't exactly designed as a full communication device, just a mail cannon. and maybe the godpoke is stubborn, too. maybe they refuse to use anything else but megapon. maybe they're hesitent to share themself. and of course, the two of them are both busy helping the grove heal from the almost-apocolypse.

But King is the Eloquent God now. and among all her other new responsabilities, she's found someone who might need her words to help communicate for themself.. idk

[starmocha]

Part 2 of my third theory about Sylus' upcoming myth, and I'm speculating about their separation. But first, look at Sylus' beautiful smile, because this is gonna get sad real fast 😔

So we can infer from the trailer that Sylus and MC were in love with one another at some point, but then the Sylus we meet in the main story is very cold. His words sound cryptic when you first hear them, but after spending an afternoon lol reviewing some key Sylus memories and comparing them with the trailer, it kind of makes sense.

I made a theory months earlier before Sylus' official release about how I think Sylus and MC's story could bear some resemblance to the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche.

Quick paraphrase:

Cupid, the god of love and desire, was originally tasked by his mother, the goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite, to make a beautiful mortal princess, Psyche, fall in love with the most hideous being, simply because she was offended by Psyche's beauty. Instead, Cupid falls in love with Psyche upon sight. Through his own scheme, he arranges for Psyche to marry him, but his identity remains a secret for the duration of their marriage. Psyche was only told she was to wed a monster even the gods themselves feared. However, Cupid is kind and loving to her. She is only forbidden from viewing his face. One day, after noticing his wife is despondent, Cupid learns that Psyche misses her family. He allows her sisters to visit. The sisters are jealous of their youngest sister's seemingly perfect and luxurious life. Upon learning that Psyche is not allowed to view her husband's face, they plant a seed in her head that her husband could be hideous or a true monster. They persuaded her to kill him in his sleep with a dagger before he could kill her. Hesitant, Psyche starts to carry out the plan that night. However, when she holds a lamp to her husband's sleeping body in their bed, she sees the most beautiful man in her life. The lamp drips hot oil onto Cupid and he awakens, enraged by Psyche's violation of his trust and he leaves.

At the end of Long-Awaited Revelry, Sylus does ask if MC will give him a sincere apology if he admits that her cryptic visions did in fact happened.

If you recall, ever since Sylus triggered her "memories" in their first encounter in the main story, she starts hearing voices:

"Devour him." "He's yours for the taking." "Kill him."

Is it possible, similar to the myth of Cupid and Psyche, MC was coerced by "loved ones" to kill Sylus?

Sylus obviously knows the truth. He dances around this topic often, giving only terse responses. He admits that they do have a shared past together, but doesn't elaborate much on it. Whatever has happened, we the readers and MC herself, recognize that Sylus is deeply wounded by the events.

In one of MC's last visions in the main story, she sees a blurry scene full of destruction and confusion. She hears Sylus' voice.

There's no animosity in his voice. He encourages her on. There is a dream MC has in the Tender Moments, Continuous Symphony, where past her is sharing a tensed moment with Sylus:

Even though he says he won't die, the way he speaks seem to infer otherwise. However, it is possible he could still live and the current Sylus we know is still the very same one as in the myth.

In the trailer, there is an interesting scene with the claymore:

It appears to be pierced into the ground in a field of red poppies. Poppies have throughout history been used as a symbol of sleep, peace, and death. It has also been used in remembrance of fallen soldiers. A sword placed into the ground can also serve as a gravestone for its master.

Originally, I had speculated in another post that this could be Sylus' grave, but perhaps it makes more sense to view it as MC's since in her new combat outfit, she is the one wielding the claymore.

Perhaps, in the end, MC is executed. Maybe Sylus placed the claymore there in remembrance, since presumably, he wouldn't have her body to give her a more proper grave. Placing it in a field of poppies could be symbolic of wishing her a peaceful slumber in death.

I don't have any caps, but I have mentioned before how Sylus shows disdain for humans. You can trigger a comment from him in the café where he seems very disgusted by human behavior. Likewise, he also seems to prefer animals more since they do not have any evil in their hearts. Could it possibly have stemmed from this time? Perhaps in the end, he is angered that MC is slain by her own people.

OK, I'll end it here. Gonna check back Monday to see how off I am lol

[eunimaybe]

contemplating : love, friendships and theories of time

୨୧ ; fate is a strange concept, isn’t it? because park sunghoon was the last person you had expected to see in your philosophy lecture in uni

pairing! philosophymajor!sunghoon x philosophymajor!reader | wc. 0.8k | warnings: wrong philosophy info, prob cringe EN-

🖇️ : philosophy major sunghoon SKDKDKSK. also, to the girly who asked for a uni fic for the science and maths girls, i hope you’re looking forward to my sunoo uni fic ~

you and sunghoon go WAYYYY back

he was your neighbour in that little picturesque town you both lived in, your mum's friend's annoying son who always seemed to be loitering around at your house

you thought your mum adopted him or smth bc why was he at your house more than his own?? — more under cut!!

you used to tease him about being homeless back in the days

but yk you two were best friends

but you and sunghoon kind of just drifted apart in high school after he moved during his freshman year at high school

you see his instagram posts sometimes, pictures of him out with his friends, jawline still jawlining

you sometimes even scroll down to his older posts where you are present in his photos, smiling next to him with a wide braces smile

but you never thought you would cross paths with park sunghoon again

that is, until university.

you walk into your first philosophy lecture and oh look there he is

park sunghoon sitting in one of the corners with his notebook looking like the exact definition of brooding intellectual

what is that guy doing here WHY IS HE HERE?

you two recognise each other instantly but there's this moment of awkwardness

like "oh, do you remember when we used to steal each other's snacks in 5th grade?"

except now he's all grown up, wearing wireframe glasses and quoting descartes during class discussions

you just try to focus on your lecture but you can't really forget about sunghoon being in your philosophy lecture

oh yeah, and he looks x100 hotter than you remember WHAT'S GOING ON

puberty hit him hard

after the lecture, you're about to pack your stuff and leave as soon as you can but he just strides up to you with his obnoxiously long legs

you always hated his stupid long legs you always had to run to catch up

you're certain he walked faster on purpose to leave you behind

ANYWAYS sunghoon just says long time no see in that smooth voice of his.

he's polite, maybe a bit shy, but there's a hint of a smile on his face and it's almost like the years of not seeing each other disappears

you two start hanging out more- grabbing coffee together before 8AM morning lectures designed to kill university students, studying together in the library

your mum is also really happy to hear that you've met sunghoon

you always knew she liked him better than you.

but you guys only get closer on a fateful thursday morning as you’re making your way to your morning lecture

because sunghoon is standing in the courtyard with a baby kitten in his arms whilst panicking

“y/n this cat keeps following me and she doesn’t have a mum.”

ofc you need to take it in SHE’S SO CUTE

you end up skipping lectures and spending the entire day with sunghoon to bring the cat to the vet and buy food

sunghoon wants to name the cat descartes but you veto that immediately

by the day is over, you have a kitten named mochi with sunghoon as a co-parent

now you’re seeing him all the time bc guess who has joint custody over mochi??

ok but spending time with sunghoon isn't as hard as you thought it would be

like yes he moved without a word and practically ghosted you in highschool

but it all feels really natural WHO CHEERED??

but between kitten playdates and philosophy study sessions stuff start feeling kinda different HMMM

which you didn’t think was possible btw sunghoon’s hobby is literally talking about existentialism and calligraphy

yeah and you knew him since he was five

ok but he looks really hot whilst talking about sartre NDJDKDKSKS

who knew you would start feeling all warm inside from sunghoon

not the 14 years old you in the past

but now everytime you touch in any way, you feel yourself flush pink

and you can’t ignore how sunghoon tries to act all nonchalant about it but his ears are turning red

how cute.

“you ever heard about hegel’s theory of love?”

“if you’re about to lecture me, i’m leaving.”

“no- listen, it’s about how love is this push and pull that makes you grow and stuff, and i don’t think i’m just studying it anymore. i think i’m feeling it, with you.”

ok that sounded a lot better in my head please don’t come for me

but yeah

aristotle believed everyone has a purpose they’re meant to fulfill. perhaps you didn’t know it back than, but losing touch with sunghoon and finding him again… it feels like you two were meant to meet again

heeseung jay jake sunoo jungwon ni-ki

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I DIDN'T KNOW LEONA KNEW ABOUR RAVEN'S CRUSH ON J WORD QUNFKANSKD does he tease her about her? does he takes advantage of this knowledge in some way?

also the “angsts about not being "the one"” made me kind of sad tho ngl jqnfkwnakdns DON'T DO THIS TO ME. (cries in a corner)

[Referencing this post!]

I MEAN... I feel like Raven's crush is obvious and easy to tell 😭 Girl is so bad at hiding it. Various other students in the cast (even ones she's not particularly friends with) such as Vil, Ace, Floyd, and Rook are aware of it. There's no way that someone as perceptive and as smart as Leona would let that one go over his head!

I think of this knowledge as being a constant source of angst for Leona (y'know, because it plays into his whole inferiority complex about being "second best, never first place"). He can't have his skills acknowledged, the crown, the interdorm magift tournament win, love... Life's not fair. If he's in a really bad mood, he might make a bitter jab about it. Maybe something like, "Why don't you go crying to that slimy eel bastard, since you clearly enjoy being lied to so long as it comes with a generous side of cooing?" If he's feeling more confident, he definitely finds ways to use the relationship for personal gain. For example, in the hostage situation my friend wrote, Leona is pressuring Octavinelle to hand over the money owed to Savanaclaw by using Raven as a bargaining chip. I guess she's just another pawn in his 5D chess games sometimes.

Speaking of Savanaclaw, I like to imagine that (because they admire their dorm leader so much) they're all super supportive of Leona and act as his wingmen + hype him up when he's clearly brooding. You can see the beginnings of this dynamic in the EBG posts, particularly when the mobs make Raven follow Leona around and how Ruggie often asks her to be more patient with him. In a lot of my Leona and Raven interactions, Ruggie tends to be the main wingman. He thinks it's funny seeing his dorm leader act all grumpy over prey and teases him about it, especially when Leona fucks up and acts overly aggressive/scares her. Really, Ruggie ends up being the guy helping Leona out the most by mediating arguments, running related errands, and gathering info on Raven's likes/dislikes (for a price, of course).

Jack is the underclassman that’s a little slow on the uptake. He sees how Leona stares at Raven and assumes they got beef. Ruggie shakes his head at Jack and tells him he doesn’t understand at all, he’s still an immature puppy! Jack wants to know what’s up, but he also doesn’t want to intrude on his dorm leader’s personal life.

As for the general Savanaclaw mobs 😂 I guess I just like the idea of a group of really buff guys being super invested in their aniki finding happiness. Real bro’s bros! ^^

[isak-dot-gov]

Accidental Reveal - Part Two: Under Pressure

Pairing: Inȇs Bettencourt

Word count: 1393

My Masterlist :)

..............................................................................

It had been a few days since the accidental slip-up on KK Arnold’s livestream, and the buzz around Inȇs’ relationship had only intensified. What had started as a handful of curious comments had snowballed into a full-on internet frenzy. Social media was ablaze with speculation about who Ines's mysterious "girlfriend" could be. While Ines had been hoping the storm would pass, it seemed that every new post or video only fueled the fire.

Worse, many fans had started connecting dots that led straight to you. You, the rising singer whose tour was lighting up stages across the country. Your fans were rabid, and every move you made was closely monitored by the media and dedicated stans. The coincidence of your performance that same night, paired with Inȇs’ comment about watching her "girlfriend’s tour," had everyone buzzing. Your names were suddenly being thrown around together in forums, TikTok breakdowns, and Twitter threads. There were fan theories, edits, and endless speculation—all centred on the idea that you and Ines were secretly dating.

At first, Inȇs tried to stay calm. She told herself it would blow over. After all, no one had definitive proof, and neither of you had made a public statement. But the pressure was mounting. Every time she opened her phone, there were hundreds of notifications—DMs from strangers, comments on her photos, even private messages from people she barely knew, asking if the rumours were true. 

And it was wearing her down.

She was barely sleeping, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios. What if the media hounded you? What if the extra attention hurts your career? What if all of this stress started affecting her performance on the court? Ines felt like she was spiralling, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest every second of the day.

It didn’t take long for her teammates to notice.

“Yo, you good?” Paige asked, nudging Inȇs gently with her elbow as they walked to practise one morning. Paige had a way of reading people, and Ines had been off for days now.

Inȇs forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

But Paige wasn’t buying it. Neither was Azz, who was walking alongside them, watching Inȇs with a concerned frown.

“You haven’t been yourself lately,” Azzi said softly. “Is it all the stuff online?”

Inȇs’ stomach twisted, her hands tightening around her phone. She had been trying so hard to act like it wasn’t getting to her, but the truth was, she felt like she was drowning. Every time she scrolled through social media, there was another wave of speculation, another surge of people guessing that it was you.

“It’s just…” she swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a lot.”

“You need to stop looking at your phone,” Nika chimed in, joining the conversation as they reached the locker room. “That stuff will drive you crazy.”

“I know,” Inȇs muttered, but she couldn’t help it. It was like a car crash—she couldn’t look away. She was so anxious about what people were saying, about how it was all spiralling out of control.

KK, who had been silent for most of the walk, finally spoke up as they sat down to change into their practice gear. “This is my fault,” she said, her voice full of guilt. “If I hadn’t gone live…”

Inȇs shook her head quickly. “No, KK, this isn’t your fault. I’m the one who slipped up. I just… I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Paige, ever the leader, exchanged a look with Azzi, Nika, and KK. “Maybe it’s time we step in,” Paige said, her voice firm. She turned to Ines, her expression serious but kind. “Give us your phone.”

“What?” Inȇs blinked, startled.

“Give us your phone,” Azzi repeated, holding out her hand. “You’re obsessing over it, and it’s making things worse. Let us handle it for a bit.”

Inȇs hesitated. Her phone was her lifeline to you, and part of her felt like if she could just keep checking, she could somehow control the situation. But the other part of her—the part that was tired, stressed, and overwhelmed—knew her friends were right.

Reluctantly, she handed her phone over.

Nika immediately took it and began scrolling through the messages and comments. “This is nuts,” she muttered. “These people have way too much time on their hands.”

Paige sighed. “Welcome to the internet.”

KK, feeling guilty and responsible for the whole thing, took a deep breath. “We should call her.”

Inȇs blinked. “Call who?”

“You know who,” KK said, raising her eyebrows. “Her. You’re not dealing with this alone anymore. We’re going to figure this out together. Maybe it’s time for her to come out here and be with you for a bit. You need her.”

Inȇs felt her heart race at the thought. You hadn’t seen each other in weeks, and she desperately missed you. But with everything going on, would it really help? Or would it make things worse?

“Just trust us, okay?” Azzi said gently, as KK hit the call button on your contact.

---

You had just wrapped up a meeting with your team when your phone buzzed. Seeing KK’s name pop up was a surprise, especially since you hadn’t expected her to call you directly. You quickly excused yourself and answered the call.

“Hey, KK? What’s up?” you asked, wondering if something had happened.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” KK said, her voice a little hesitant. “We’ve got a situation here with Inȇs, and, well… we think you should come visit.”

There was a shuffle on the other end, and suddenly Paige’s voice came through. “She’s not doing great. The whole internet thing—it’s getting to her, and she’s stressed out of her mind. It’s affecting her, and we don’t know what else to do, so we thought maybe you could help.”

Your heart sank. You had sensed something was off in Ines’s recent texts and calls, but you didn’t realise how bad it had gotten. “She didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“She didn’t want to worry you,” Nika chimed in. “But it’s affecting her—big time.”

Azzi’s voice was calm but insistent. “She misses you. And honestly, I think having you here, even for a day, would make a huge difference. You don’t have to do anything—just be here.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I’ll make it work. I can fly to Connecticut during her next off day.”

KK sighed in relief. “Perfect. We’ll figure out the details and surprise her. I think she really needs this.”

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you. “Thank you, guys. I’ll text you my schedule, and we can plan it out.”

The call ended, and you quickly started rearranging your plans. Inȇs needed you, and that was all that mattered.

---

A few days later, it was a rare off day for the team. Inȇs had spent most of the morning in her dorm room, trying to relax, but her mind was still buzzing with anxiety. She had barely touched her phone, following her teammates' advice to disconnect, but it wasn’t helping as much as she’d hoped.

She didn’t expect the knock on her door.

When she opened it, there you were—standing in front of her with a soft smile, your eyes filled with love and concern. For a moment, Ines just stared, frozen in shock.

“Surprise,” you said gently, stepping forward to wrap your arms around her.

The second your arms were around her, the dam broke. Ines buried her face in your shoulder, the weight of everything finally crashing down on her. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she clung to you as though you were her lifeline.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” you soothed, rubbing her back. “You don’t have to apologise. I’m here now. We’ll get through this together.”

Inȇs nodded, her tears slowly subsiding as she leaned into your warmth. For the first time in days, she felt a sense of calm wash over her.

From down the hall, Paige, Azzi, KK, and Nika watched with satisfied smiles.

“I knew this would help,” KK whispered.

Paige grinned. “She’s going to be okay now.”

With you by her side, Inȇs knew that no matter what the internet threw at her, she’d be okay too. Together, you’d face the world—one step at a time.

..................................................

[fyeahnix]

Hiiiiii I love your blog and your writing so much.

I know you have a hc that Sevika is bilingual, can you elaborate on that? Who taught her Spanish? Did she grow up speaking it? Does she do that thing where she forgets the English word for something and has to make up something to describe it? Does she say things in Spanish when people ask her to tell them something knowing they don’t speak Spanish so she can go “what, I told you already?”

Also I would die if she referred to me as “mi mujer” 😭😭😭

Thank you, have a great day!

Hello, anon! Thank you for the kind words 😄

So, yeah I think I mentioned this in a random throwaway Sevika headcanon post and haven't ever elaborated on this. But yes...

One of my headcanons for Sevika is that she is trilingual, and that stems from her family. First and foremost, I don't play League and I don't know shit about League lore outside of the bits of research I did to write for some Sevika stuff. I do see that League lore is incredibly detailed and expansive (which is fascinating to me) but there's still a lot that hasn't been explained from what I can tell? It looks like there are multiple languages that exist in Runeterra, which makes sense considering how many sentient races and ethnic groups there are. So let's talk about that for a second so you can understand my thought process on this. Walk with me here.

First off, this is, of course, a fantasy universe so the concept of languages and the countries they come from don't exist in that universe in the same way they do here. For example, there is no country called Spain, and therefore, there is no language called Spanish. So how does that work in my head? Easy. Use an existing language as a proxy for a fantasy one ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I mean...are the characters speaking English in Arcane? Clearly no, because Germanic languages and the countries they derive from don't exist. They're speaking whatever local language exists in that universe. I figured why not add some other IRL languages for flavor? So with that being said, this is where we get to another headcanon.

If we're going by ethnic background, I like to imagine Sevika as Afro-Latino from her father's side and South Asian through her mother. Why? Her VA, Amirah Vann, is Afro-Latina (African American father and Puerto Rican mother) and speaks fluent Spanish. Sevika's name appears to be Indian in origin and I mean...like look at her lol. She is clearly meant to be, in our world, South Asian, most likely Indian. I obviously do not know what region of Runeterra this ethnic background would translate to. Maybe Shurima???

Given that background (and the bit of trivia about her VA), that's how I came up with her being trilingual. Learned all three languages growing up in the home. "Spanish" from her father, and a third language I haven't decided yet (Hindi? Urdu? Sanskrit? Punjabi? Don't know yet, need to research) from her mother.

Why? Well...why not lol. Truthfully, I thought it'd be interesting to make up some additional reasons why she's so fit to be Silco's right hand. Piltover and Zaun are port cities, and being port cities, you're going to come across a lot of people from a lot of different cultures who speak a lot of different languages. Basically the idea here is that Silco chose her as his second because of a variety of factors:

Multilingual, helps with gaining trust and securing deals

Trusted patron at The Last Drop

Same end goal of liberating Zaun

Loyalty

Can hold her own if shit goes south

Intimidating (she's fucking huge and can beat your ass)

Good at reading people

Surprisingly good at negotiation when she does bother speaking

And now that we know that Sevika herself was the one handling the majority of the deals (she said so herself in Season 2), I like this headcanon even more lmfao. Like here's an excerpt from an unreleased piece of writing I did that mentioned it:

The downside here ofc is that I, personally, only speak one language lol. I took Japanese in high school for 4 years and can't remember much except how to read hiragana and katakana (should have studied more!). I am absolutely going to have a lot of blindspots when it comes to things that only bilingual folks or folks who speak more than one language experience, and that is something that would be worth doing a bit more research on. Quirks like the ones you mentioned are things I forget that people experience 😅

That is a bit long so sorry for that, but I hope this answers your questions well.

Keep in mind: these are just headcanons. That's it. This is for fun. If you think something different, then do you!

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @sexysapphicshopowner @iamaboringrattat

@ash-fall7 @the-anonmaton @peanutbutterprincess @thesevi0lentdelights @kylorey25

[ivystoryweaver]

A Date, Then? - Steven Grant

Steven + Cup of tea + Holding hands + Reading

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Steven Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Notes: GN!reader celebrates Thanksgiving, tw food (but it's not a Thanksgiving day fic). Reader is SMITTEN

Word Count: 1k || for @vintagegirl01's request Steven Grant x reader enjoying a cup of tea and holding hands as they read together (Kinda like how Carl and Ellie from Up did in the Married Life Montage where they are in their designated seat reading their own book and holding hands). (I'm not posting your actual ask message yet bc I want to keep the Marc part in my inbox bc I love it & want to revisit it)

"Knock, knock," Steven sing-songs after you've clearly already opened the door. "Hiya."

"Steven, come in," you warmly greet your neighbor, noticing the stack of books tucked haphazardly under his arm. "You can set those anywhere."

"Right, thanks." He nods to your apron. "Cooking something?"

"Mm-hmm, turkey and all the trimmings for Thanksgiving."

"Right, sorry. Thanksgiving Day is tomorrow, innit? Sorry to disturb you." His cheeks flush as he grants you an apologetic wave.

"No, you're fine. I wanted to host a Friendsgiving or maybe a Neighbors-giving? But I only know you so far," you explain, leading him toward the kitchen. "Maybe next year, after I've met more people. I thought maybe you would like some leftovers, if nothing else."

You go on to explain that, aside from turkey, you're making yams with vegan marshmallows on top and using non-dairy items and vegan butter in the stuffing. You're also working on some green beans, cranberries, and of course, rolls.

"You have to work tomorrow, right?"

"Off at 5:30."

"Would you..." you bounce on your toes apprehensively, your tummy flip-flopping. "Would you like to come over for dinner? I understand if the turkey's a dealbreaker, no worries."

"Could I?" He breathlessly returns. "That would be so lovely, actually."

"Perfect," you beam at him, realizing you should have just asked him in the first place.

"So I guess I'll let you carry on," Steven says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shifting from foot to foot. He nods toward the stack of books he's returning to you. "Loved those. Thanks for the recommendations."

"You already finished them?" You gasp disbelievingly.

"Had some time on my hands."

"Do you have to go? You seem kind of in a hurry."

Steven pauses, confused. "I thought you were cooking."

"No, I was just doing some prep work. We're supposed to read tonight, right?"

"Right." His shoulders relax. "Unless you need help cooking?"

You assure Steven it's all right, putting on the kettle in the process. "Which tea? Blueberry black, white tropical or cinnamon plum?"

"Blueberry black," he decides, reaching with familiarity into the cupboard to retrieve his favorite cup and yours, along with saucers. You gather the spoons, sugar, non-dairy milk and honey.

"You're sure I'm not keeping you?" He politely asks one more time.

You stop in front of him, setting your tray aside. "Steven, it's Wednesday. Eight o'clock. Book time." You smile at him sweetly. "Highlight of my week."

Steven's dark eyes shine with hope and intrigue. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I love our reading dates."

Inching closer, his hands fidget, gaze flickering away from yours before he clears his throat. "So...a date, then?"

"I don't know." You ease toward him, wishing one of you knew how to make an actual move. "Is it?"

The kettle's whistle grants you the reprieve neither of you were actually seeking.

Finally, you settle into to cozy chairs in your living area. Sometimes you read together at Steven's Library - your affectionate nickname for his flat. But typically, your place is more organized and calm. That, and Steven loves your oversized twin chairs.

Since he picked the tea, you would pick the music. Then you grab your current books and settle in. You cozy up with your dark purple cable knit blanket, draped over the back of your chair. Steven tucks his "reading pillow" close to his chest - a mushroom shaped pillow he finds particularly amusing and very you.

Then comes the best part - the most distracting, delicious part of reading date night: when Steven reaches for his glasses. It's a procedure you have memorized. First, he tosses his curls away from where they fall over his eyes. Then he puts them on, biting his bottom lip, before stealing a glance at you.

Busted. Every time.

Your cheeks heat as your eyes dart back to the book you haven't really started reading. Steven opens his book, clears his throat, shifts in his seat and you glance over every time his finger reaches to turn the page. You notice every twitch of his jaw, every time his corded neck bobs when he swallows, every curl that tumbles across his forehead.

It suddenly occurs to you that not only do you have a crush on your neighbor, you're actually quite smitten.

"You alright, love?" His eyes meet yours before he nods down to your book. "Don't think you've read a thing."

"Oh...could you read out loud?" You quickly recover, closing your book and shrugging helplessly. "Must be going cross-eyed from reading those recipes."

"'Course I can." He beams. Steven likes to read to you, and you find the sound of his voice equally thrilling and calming.

Scooting his chair closer to you, he sets aside the mushroom pillow and moves his book into a good position for you both to see. Then he proceeds to make his non-fiction historical perspective sound like a Grimm's fairy tale.

You reach for your tea, realizing you should have brewed something herbal and calming because your heart flutters every time his arm brushes yours when he turns the page. The cadence of his voice lulls you under a spell somehow.

Placing your tea back down, you resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder or something equally embarrassing, but you want to somehow be closer to him, so you reach for the page next time he needs to turn it.

"I'll help," you whisper as your hands clumsily brush.

Steven almost drops the book, but quickly recovers, covering your hand with his own. "This alright?" Warm brown eyes lock onto yours.

You quickly nod, fighting your nervousness and squeezing his hand to let him know how badly you want this.

Eyes still fixed on yours, he pulls your joined hands to his chest, smiling at you adoringly. He raises the book to continue reading as you bring your opposite hand up to help him hold it in place.

Eventually your head does make its way down onto his shoulder.

You don't know what to say and maybe he doesn't either. But he's holding your hand and you're thankful for that.

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Steven Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[planetpedri]

Compromise — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pedri knew your relationship was over, but he still had hope. Even with that hope, he couldn’t let you try to compromise, he knew you deserved better.

Word count: 445+

Disclaimer/s: angst , sad ending, no part two!!!!

A/N: Role Model upsets me sm i love him dearly tho!

Pedri stood in front of you, the bouquet in his hands was losing petals the longer he stood there. The flowers were bending and so were you.

He knew he looked pathetic—showing up at your house to remind you he still loved you. He saw the way your eyes softened out of pity.

“Pedri..” You drawl quietly, removing the flowers from his grasp and setting them on the counter beside you. “It’s been two months, you should let this – this idea of us, you should let it go.”

You were too kind, even when Pedri didn’t deserve it. He lifts a hand, rubbing the side of his jaw. “No, I know. I just.. I don’t want you thinking that I didn’t, or don’t, care. I do. I did, I do.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek.

You scan his face, your resolve crumbling at how weak and sad he looked. “Listen, maybe we can try this again, if that’s what you want? You just have to figure out how to make time for me with your schedule and—“ Your words die on your tongue when you see Pedri start to shake his head.

“No. No, don’t compromise with me, cariño. You don’t deserve this, I want you to be happy. You aren’t happy with me.” He sighs, almost not believing the words leaving his lips. He hadn’t planned on saying this, he just wanted to fix things.

Scratching the back of your neck, you let out a laugh of disbelief. “You’re throwing me through a loop here, Pedri. Do you want this or not?”

Pedri sighs. “I just want to say goodbye, to let you know I still and always will, care. But, I want you to move on and find someone who will give you the time and patience you deserve. I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.” He takes a long breath, letting it out slowly. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, softer this time.

You chew on the inside of your cheek and nod. “Right. Well, I’m sorry too. You have a game tomorrow, no?”

Confused by the question, Pedri nods slowly. “Uh, yeah..?”

“Good luck. I’ll be rooting for you.. in a friendly manor.” Your lips form a tight smile, “I have to go get ready, though.. family dinner. Thanks for.. whatever this is!”

The mans heart aches at your awkward shuffling, your eagerness to get away from him, but mostly your kindness. “Thanks.” He clears his throat, “and goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” You smile slightly, not reaching your eyes but still with a hint of warmth. Turning on his heels, Pedri makes his way to the front door, forcing himself not to look back.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  7 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: things have just heated up, but the weather is getting colder. the early winter breeze brings in someone you really would prefer not to see.

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5| chapter 6 | chapter 7

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

Corinthians 13:4-7: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."

The act had cracked open his heart or perhaps created more tender spots. 

Father Sylus generally perceived his life rationally, involving humility over pride. 

She had finally let him lay his hands on her, and maybe that was the most selfish thought he had ever had - thinking that she was made for him. After everything played out, her nervous glances and the embarrassment she showed. And yet, with the first real touch they could have, she dove into it with less hesitation, allowing for the most physical of interactions. The way the desire ignited in her gaze, like her body knew exactly what she wanted. It had consumed him, and he had given in right there, held at her mercy. This was something real that had taken place. 

Something almost sacred. 

It took the word ‘faith’ and made it physical and tangible. What was faith, really, but trusting in something greater than yourself and so much deeper than just being optimistic? 

For the first time, he realized there may be more meaning for him in the world, something beyond faith and what he had set in motion for himself. There was a shift in his path, and it would end in…well, he wasn’t entirely sure. The promise he had made to God was what brought him to this town in the first place. The first pangs of lust rose unintentionally and unwantedly. It was the feelings he didn’t expect. When she came to him - so nervous, so desperate, and the offer was laid bare, the absolute rawest version of her standing before him… 

Whether it was part of the Lord's plan or not, the outcome truly mattered. The details and circumstances were insignificant in comparison, and that was perhaps the most perplexing aspect of the entire experience.

“Father, are you listening?” Talia’s words interrupted his thoughts. 

Father Sylus blinked and raised his gaze, locking eyes with the woman sitting across from him in the small diner. Her intense blue eyes were firm and kind as she tightly held a cup of coffee. "I apologize, Talia. Could you repeat the question?"

“Something’s got you distracted.” She said, studying him. Her eyes squinted, leaving him to wonder exactly how perceptive she was.

To say she was perceptive would be an understatement; she was downright nosy.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the quiet, but usually you pay better attention. Everything okay? Are you getting another migraine? Need more Tylenol? Here, I have some right in here.” Her hand searched for the bottle in her bag resting on the seat beside her. 

Father Sylus coughed out a sharp, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “No, no, that’s fine. I’m alright, honestly. Just a bit tired today, I guess.” 

It wasn’t completely a lie. It had been two days since he’d seen Y/N, and she’d been filling every moment of unoccupied thought with the memory of her scent, the sight of her. She hadn’t appeared after that evening, which was fine. Perhaps she was making time for her feelings, and it wouldn’t have been right for him to question her on it.

“Rafayel. I was talking about Rafayel.” 

At that, he straightened, pressing his palms to the cool laminate table top. “Yes, absolutely. Go ahead.” 

Of course. When was the woman not talking about her nephew, who had been giving her hell by simply existing in a world that wasn’t made for him?

Despite listening to her for months, he held back from saying what he really wanted to tell her: "What if the path you're urging him to take isn't actually what's best for him?" He couldn't help but think that someone as devoted as Talia should know not to force their religion onto others. The words were sitting on his tongue, but the need to come out and say it wasn’t there. He had no intention of being unkind or causing any unnecessary pain, especially to an older woman who was only doing her best.

Father Sylus parted his lips, “He’ll figure it out eventually. Just give him some room.” 

But the woman shook her head, sighing deeply. “Well, the last time we gave him “room, “he ran off to Europe and—” her mouth pressed into a thin line, deep in thought and deliberation. She obviously held some amount of disappointment or perhaps empathy about her nephew's situation. Somehow, at that moment, Father Sylus imagined the poor woman feared the worst.

“At least Y/N knows what she wants out of life, right?” Talia asked. “Still young, but a good head on her shoulders. Rafayel should be more like her, dontcha think?” 

The corners of his mouth curved up, unable to help it. Y/N was rather amazing , wasn’t she? He took a sip of coffee and said nothing. 

“Something funny?” Talia leaned forward.

He made a non-committal motion with his hand. “Just…how aware you seem to be of my parishioners' lives.” 

“Yeah,” the woman chuckled, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Well, you know as well as anyone, or perhaps better, that nothing is a secret around this town. Besides, Y/N is one of the sweetest girls around; everyone’s always going on about her.” 

“Why do you say that?” He needed more input. As much information as he could get, his pulse spiked in anticipation. It was like being thirteen and asking a neighbor about the girl down the street. 

Talia frowned. “Aren’t you familiar with her?” His expression must’ve given him away as her eyes brightened, and she laughed. “You really aren’t much on the gossip.” 

Again, he had no retort. She wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“She’s just a lovely person,” Talia concluded. “Always generous, though stubborn as an ox sometimes. Headstrong. But a good, gentle girl. Devout? Well, not really. But generous and kind.” 

Just another affirmation.

“Anyway,” she shook her head, smiling as she checked her watch. “I actually should run, I forgot I’m having company over.” She adjusted in the plastic chair, putting the bottle of Tylenol back in the bag and hoisting it over her shoulder. 

“You know, Father, you should really see about getting the boiler in the church fixed before it gets colder out. Something is wrong with that thing, It never gets fully warm .” 

Father Sylus gave her a gentle smile as he stood, waving her off. “Bless you, Talia.” 

“Do you think a blessing makes my prediction not true? Just because I was cursed with a smart mouth doesn’t mean your holy presence can stop it.” 

He laughed again, a sound that felt too loud. Talia crossed her arms in return, gesturing with her chin out of the window they had been sitting next to. “You know,” she told him, “Xavier is pretty good at that. Fixing things.”

With furrowed brows, the priest looked out the window at the hardware across the street - the one Y/N now stepped out of. He squinted, feeling lightheaded at the sudden jolt of his heart. Immediately, images of her beneath him resurfaced. The feeling of her skin on his, the overwhelming surge of bliss, as vivid as a splash of sunlight. 

She was removing one of the signs from the door, replacing it with a new one, most likely advertising a sale. 

“That is a good idea,” Father Sylus murmured, words tumbling from his mouth on their own. Eyes remained fixated on her as if she might disappear if he looked away. 

“Thanks. I have them sometimes.” Talia’s voice said somewhere in the background. 

“Well,” he nearly sighed. “Have a great day, then.” His brain became fuzzy, and some odd internal pull brought him away from the table. Had him paying and grabbing his jacket on autopilot. He pushed back the door and stepped out into the afternoon, stepping off the curb and right in front of a car. Brakes squealing, it stopped only a few feet from him. The driver shot him a glare as he stepped back onto the sidewalk, both hands held up in apology. 

“Hey! You alright, Father?” Y/N called, watching with wide eyes from the entrance of the store. 

“Just fine!” He returned a bright, albeit shaky smile, and hurried across the street before he could cause any road-related casualties. 

Something bright rose in Y/Ns expression, like something from a terrible romance movie. All the anxiety and tension fled as she motioned him towards her, resting her weight against the brick wall near the door. The corners of her lips curled up, “It’s good to see you.” 

Father Sylus opened his mouth, but his brain was short-circuiting. The way she looked at him made him weak. Why now, of all times, did he notice his internal struggle? 

“Yeah,” his voice cracked. Clearing his throat and straightening his jacket, he tried again. “Good to see you too, Y/N.” He took a step closer and let his focus brush over her cheeks, down her neck, resting for a moment on those lips. The ones that had been flush against his own a few days before. Searing and consuming kisses and a passionate embrace that had left him a little mindless for a good half hour afterward. 

“Listen,” he started, still a little dumstruck and distracted. 

She looked up at him expectantly, then tilted her head slightly, raising a brow. It was quite possibly the cutest thing he’d ever witnessed and all he could focus on as he tried to find the strength to continue. 

“Y/N, uh…” 

The door to the shop opened, and Xavier stepped out, causing them to take a noticeable step back.  

“The boiler.” Father Sylus blurted like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He winced internally. “The boiler at the church needs to be looked at.” 

The young man looked over, crossing his arms. “Does it make a banging sound when it heats up?” 

“Uh...” the priest glanced at the girl briefly, eyes pleading and lips twisting into a sheepish smile. “Yes? I don’t know much about it, though. How would we go about fixing it?” 

“Depends on what’s causing the problem.” Xavier shrugged. He wasn’t purposefully being unhelpful; he was just probably not looking to explain any unnecessary details. 

A gust of wind caught Y/N’s attention, and she shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Xavier can do it; he’s a genius at anything like that. Aren’t you, Xavier?” 

Xavier didn’t look that impressed at the praise. “Sure.” 

“It wouldn’t be hard, no more than a few hours,” she continued. “Right?” 

Xavier gave her a nod, “Maybe less. I can take a look before this weekend. Tell your dad I went home when he gets back, okay?” The young man nodded to each of them before disappearing down the sidewalk.

Y/N turned to face Father Sylus directly. She gazed up with a mixture of happiness and wariness. It seemed to him that she was nervous about something, maybe struggling to find the right words. 

“Thank you,” Father Sylus found the gratitude he had been searching for earlier. “Thank you for the other day. I wasn’t sure if I said it before…” 

At that, Y/N smiled the softest of grins. “My pleasure, Father.” Her hand reached out, palm brushing against the back of his hand, thumb stroking lightly. His breath hitched at the simple touch. Gravity was pulling them closer together, and he followed that urge by wrapping a hand around hers, squeezing. A quick and surreptitious move. Even the most casual touches were intoxicating, thickening his blood with longing. 

“So,” she breathed softly, voice low, “other than the boiler, you’re good? Feeling okay? No more ‘migraines’?” There was no hesitancy, though she did smirk when asking. It was as if she was seeking the feelings and sensations, not hiding from them as she once might’ve. Or maybe he was too transparent. Either way, the words managed to settle some of the deep-rooted tension he’d been building. 

He returned her question with an exhale. “No, everything’s okay.” His hand slipped free, and a funny thought ran through his brain that now wasn’t the best place to try and talk. Out here, in the open. He nodded, straightening. “And you?” 

“Me?” She blinked, taking a step closer. “I’m great.” 

“That’s - that’s great.” 

“That’s great.” Y/N agreed, sounding a bit breathless. Her hand reached up, hovering over his bicep, then pulling back as if she caught herself before doing something she ought not to out in the open. “Well,” she said, her gaze trailing down his chest, then quickly back to his eyes. “Hope you’ll let me pay you back someday.” 

There was an unspoken question as if somehow she wanted to test whether he would cross that line again or if she would, and what they were expected to do if that was their direction. How something like this could work long term, or at all, without the world getting involved.  

More than anything, he wished to know how to avoid her getting hurt, as she had to deal with that recently. For her, he’d do his best. He had never seen someone so delicate and yet had the innate ability to break him in the same instant. 

Father Sylus took a step back, his heart pounding. Words alone were not going to resolve this situation. At least, not yet. “I’ve got to get going.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” 

She looked at him, contemplating before tearing herself away. “Then, I’ll see you later.” She raised a hand, reaching for the door handle, then looked back at him while chewing her lip. After the longest minute, Father Sylus gave her a nod and moved, finally turning his back, glancing over his shoulder once. That heavy pull tugged in his chest, heat twisting in his gut, begging to be acknowledged. 

One minute at a time, that was the only way to do this. There would be no future as a priest with her, yet - they were bound by a strange connection now. By unexplained forces that made the situation unique, and a lot he still needed to work through. Work through what made this feel like …prophecy, of all things.

“Father, wait.” 

He turned. 

Y/N pulled her cardigan tighter around her and let out a breath. Then she motioned to the store, looking at him. With a nod of understanding, he followed her inside. Not a word since it wasn’t needed.

Without warning or anything particularly romantic, she touched his shoulder, fingers stretching and trailing. Biting her lip as if fighting back a smile, she approached closer. His feet were nearly pressed against the toes of his shoes. She reached up, her fingers tracing along his jaw, eyes following the same path. Once, and then again, slowly, as if unable to break the wonder that she had. 

It was far too much and not enough. His hands grasped her hips, trying to memorize the way she leaned into him.  She raised her gaze back to his, chin tilted up. Her whole face lit up. 

It was easy to forget the world that stood beyond her. Easy to wish to drop the sense of duty and feel her warmth. But he would have to settle for her reaching up to kiss him. Soft. Chaste. A gentle and hesitant attempt, more or less. From her, that felt extraordinary. She was soft, and her movements were careful, trailing kisses along his jaw, leaving a fire trail in her wake. His nerves lit up like lightning, caught in the web she’d weaved. 

Pushing aside the momentary madness, he tilted his head to find her mouth waiting.

The second kiss was equally as breathtaking. Slower, but harder. A kiss that brought awareness, and she let out the softest moan. 

Father Sylus pulled back, looking at her with amusement. “Be careful,” he found himself saying. “I could get used to that.” 

Her eyebrow raised, and she smirked. “Then get used to it.”

“Thanks again for driving me out to the mall.” You told Rafayel, sinking lower into the seat and fidgeting with your scarf you hadn’t forgotten that morning. With your phone somewhere out in the woods, your friend had offered to take you on the half-hour drive for a new one. Now, you two had arrived back in town just in time for the first real cold snap of the season to settle in. 

“Oh no, don’t thank me. I’d do almost anything to escape Aunt Talia and her preachy gossip hour.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the look he shot over at you as he parked along the main street told you not to bother. If there was one thing Rafayel was good at, it was bringing out the stubbornness in everyone. Being around him again made you realize he was still the most childish person you knew in a playful, endearing way. You pulled your new phone from your pocket as you exited the car, pulling your coat tighter around you. In the time that you were out, it had dropped a few degrees, and the biting cold set in.

Rafayel joined you on the sidewalk and opened the door of the coffee shop, holding it for you.

"What will you ever do if I'm not here to chauffeur you?" He asked, playfully bumping into you.

You returned the gesture, chuckling. "Walk."

"How dull ."

"Right? It'll be impossible to survive without you here saving me." You quipped.

"You're a doll for making sure that I still feel wanted."

His words made you remember something, and for a moment, you put your weight against the wall near the counter and simply studied his face. The man who had always been such a welcome presence, even as a teenager. His self-centered quirks almost faded when he smiled at you, replaced by a look you had difficulty placing. The look of someone who had a hard out in the world, and there was an unspoken understanding between you two that you hadn't fully acknowledged until that moment. You shifted a bit and tucked your hands into your pockets, opening your mouth to speak.

"Seriously, though, I know how difficult this must be for you. Moving back home, settling after your little...adventure."

Rafayel didn't respond immediately; instead, he focused on handing his credit card to the barista and ordering the drinks. He pulled out his phone, and the girl behind the counter handed you your orders. You thought maybe he wouldn't speak until he looked up at you.

"It has a lot of perks. Being so close to Talia is certainly not one of them, but it's as if I've gotten to start over. And this time, I want to do it right. I'm older now, and I can understand what kind of person I can be. More like you."

You stopped mid-sip and blinked. What did he mean, 'more like you'? What did he know about you? Licking the cream off your lips, you gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm going to stop being such a pompous ass." He said.

You laughed nervously, sputtering a bit and then clearing your throat as you set the drink down. "No offense, because you're pretty clever when you want to be, but please, for the love of - do not follow my example."

Rafayel snorted in response and rubbed at his jaw, "Who said anything about 'following your example'? Just thought it would be nice to be more mindful." He reached out to hold the door open for you again, a sign of your return to the outside.

Cold air spread through your jacket, and your heart flitted as a memory sparked.

Father Sylus gave you a little smile, dimples and all, and you fell. Backward, it seemed. There was a flicker in the vision. A dazed high that you knew would stay forever and ever in your core. That evening. The briefest moment of letting go, just for a bit, just to have the pleasure of feeling hands.

Of feeling more.

Pinpricks traveled from your neck, cascading through your chest. Glancing down at your phone, you collided with another form, someone solid who caught you by the elbows, pulling you upright. As your coffee cup flew to the ground and your phone nearly slipped from your hand, you looked up to give whoever it was who nearly caused your stumble a piece of your mind.

You were met by a pair of hazel eyes framed in silver-rimmed glasses and a look of intense surprise on his face.

It took a moment, too long, but as soon as it registered, you froze, the rest of the world shutting down.

"Zayne. Hi," your voice cracked.

He gawked, grip tightening a bit on your elbows, brow wrinkling before he released you.

"Y/N," the whisper of your name carried so many mixed emotions. His expression broke, revealing a look of shock before quickly fixing it, shifting back to one of control and neutrality. It was much too practiced and not enough to really fool you. "It's you."

Something deep resonated, and you inhaled sharply, taking a step back. There was no fucking way this was happening. No fucking way this day was going like this. No fucking way this man was standing in front of you. Your mind blanked, any clear idea darting around and disappearing in its wake. You suddenly wanted to cry, to scream, to puke all over his shoes.

"What are you doing here?" You heard yourself ask. An automated response.

You watched as Zayne cautiously glanced toward Rafayel, standing next to you with wide eyes, lips parted, and ready to fight. Zayne's hands rose slightly in defense, recognizing he'd set off a land mine.

"Y/N." His face fell, and again, a genuine relief. Sad. Guilty. Something. "You weren't answering my calls. I -" another glance toward your friend, and his lips pressed into a line. Zayne inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, eyes landing back on you. And suddenly, you were reminded of what drew you to him in the first place: those eyes. The kindness and the truth there. But now...

"What the fuck , Zayne." It was half whine and half plea.

Suddenly, Rafayel grabbed your arm, gently tugging you closer. His arm is locked around your shoulders, glaring glacial. "If it isn't the Prince of Parcheesi."

The 'Prince' straightened his posture. "Excuse me?"

You pointed an accusatory finger, "I asked you a question. What the hell are you doing here? "

You knew Zayne was a man of great patience, but even he couldn't have enough to deal with the two of you. "I was just wondering if I could...talk to you, Y/N."

"You flew across the country to talk to me?!"

"Drove, actually, and no." He flinched as the words left his lips and looked as if he hadn't thought through this plan until just then. A blush crept up his cheeks, and his hand adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. Was that cute or obnoxious? Either way, the sight was irritating and endearing, all in a nauseous mix. "Maybe."

You felt something weird, like a light pull, drawing a magnetism. It was easy to slip into what you felt for him , regardless of everything. It was always there. Mixed with disgust and anger.

"Well, you can't, so, uh, fuck off," Rafayel said.

Then there was the shame. Pure and unfiltered shame , along with a sort of helplessness that stuck and settled. The feeling resurfaced in the back of your throat. And with Zayne staring at you with that damned broken expression, sadness and hurt over losing something close. Your breath came out unintended. Eyes stinging. Why did he have to show up again now ? Hadn't you dealt with enough already? Weren't you due for a fucking break already?

"Alright," Zayne answered quietly. "That's okay, I understand, and I hope-"

"Hey, dumbass."

"Excuse me?"

Despite the emotional crisis, Rafayel stood as a pillar, and suddenly, despite the heaviness and suffocation that came with so much unwanted stimulation, he seemed to really be the key to holding it all together. Thank God for him. As much of an idiot and a wild child as he was, he managed to bring you back to the right here and the right now.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Zayne was shocked to silence, blinking his hazel eyes, "Do I - do I know you ?"

"Exactly why, pray tell, is a self-important prick like you anywhere near our neck of the woods?"

"I'm getting divorced." Clearly, this was something Zayne wanted to tell you in private. You could tell by the way his voice practically faded out, and you went completely numb. It was like the phrase dropped into a stormy sea, drowning out into the water, getting pulled under and lost to the depth.

You imagined Rafayel had heard it based on his sharp exhale. Perhaps he even felt a little bad for his colorful choice of words. For a moment, you stayed rigid, your hand sliding down and grabbing hold of Rafayel's hand, which was tight and uncertain. Just to hold onto something, even if it felt silly.

"You don't owe him shit," Rafayel leaned and whispered. The reminder was appreciated, if needed, and loud enough for the other man to hear. This had nothing to do with you or what happened. Or maybe it did. Fuck. None of that mattered, did it? Because nothing could ever happen between you and him again. Whatever relationship there was could never, should never, would never. Even if the whole divorce was due to the hurt you'd caused.

God, you had done that.

There wasn't a way to focus anymore; your brain simply fizzled. Out and empty. Almost like the second, you knew Zayne was there, a huge barrier just came down, releasing every little ache and desire you still held onto for him. All the suppressed 'what ifs' and the hope of healing. And happiness.

Yet there was a heaviness, too, knowing he couldn't be yours because he was never free in the first place.

It had to sink, but you could feel a rage slowly taking over, along with a hollow agony that had haunted you.

"I can't breathe." You felt yourself take a staggered breath and another, pain catching in the back of your throat.

Without a second thought, you decided you had to leave. Quickly. As quickly as possible. That part, at least, was clear in the madness.

Zayne stepped closer, leaning forward in alarm and worry. "Y/N, I'm so sor -"

"Don't," was your only response. You sniffed, tears in the corner of your eyes. Rafayel was quick, giving the bespectacled fool the nastiest glare known to man as he wrapped his arm around you again and turned you toward the car.

"Y/N, will you please-" Of all the times for the doctor to be persistent.

"No."

"I can explain, I swear, I- please."

"Fuck off."

There was nothing else to say, however, because that second, you were confident that this was, in fact, your old hometown, and this was the man you'd let consume all your fantasies and wishes not that long ago. Your voice was loud enough to grab the attention of the others who dared to be on the sidewalk. Not that they bothered to do anything more than gawk.

Your hands shook, your heart pounding right out of your throat and chest as you got into the passenger seat. As soon as the door closed, Rafayel went around to the driver's side, the slam of the door jolting you.

"Damn," Rafayel muttered, glancing in the rearview mirror as he put the car in gear.

Tears were slipping down your cheeks, hot and sticky and just fucking uncomfortable. Disappointment did that, no matter how well-deserving the end result was.

"Fuck, fuck," you hissed, rubbing at your cheek to try and wipe the wetness away. It didn't work. The car started moving, and you gripped the handle above you, trying to straighten your back, trying to focus on literally anything to get your damn thoughts to come back together.

Rafayel didn't ask, make any guesses, or make any more offhanded comments. Once the speed increased and his grip on the steering wheel loosened, he focused on driving instead. But knowing how confused he was for you didn't take a psychic.

Inhaling sharply, you held it and then released, shuddering again. "I need a Xanax."

"Just try to keep it together a while longer, okay?"

"He just had to fucking show up like that and ruin it."

"I know."

"That's...what..." you stopped. Your mind is fuzzed; everything is going through, flashing at different speeds and scenes of your relationship. It was everything and nothing. Emptiness, followed by the familiar weight of regret. Pain. Worry. The fear you'd been dealing with for months, but the one thing that broke, sinking in finally after forcing it so far down, was the loss of the possibility. Zayne was married, and he was getting divorced, and all those missed phone calls might've been him trying to share that. Run back to you, just to have something. You'd always seen him as someone who could truly never belong to himself.

You couldn't find the energy to wipe away any more of your tears, so you left them to slowly dry against your jawline and into the lining of your scarf.

"He said he drove," you told Rafayel. "That means he's not leaving anytime soon, which means-"

"It's all going to suck."

After about ten minutes of quiet and blank, empty thought, the car moved slowly through the neighborhood. When it pulled into your driveway, it was a surprising relief.

"Will you be okay alone?" Rafayel asked.

"Probably not, but I want to be."

"Okay, well, your mopey mug has seen enough action for today. You're heading inside to take a little day nap, and when you wake up, you will feel better, and everything will look less confusing, yeah?" He reached into the back of the car, pulled out his messenger bag, and dug into it. You wiped one eye with your sleeve, cringing and taking a deep breath as you did the same with the other. Then there was a bottle of pills in his hand. "And take a fuckin' Xanax."

You held your hand out and looked down at the blue pill pressed into your palm. You didn't hesitate to pop it in, mouth dry and sticky as you managed to force it down without water. "God bless you, you crazy sonofabitch."

Rafayel shrugged, shaking the bottle before shoving it back in the bag, "Anything for my friend, Y/N."

"Mm." Somehow, a smile made it to your lips, your face a bit numb. You stared blankly at the center console for a moment before turning to Rafayel. His expression was determined, and his lips twisted, looking a touch less than steady. It took a few seconds for the message to click until you realized he meant it. He'd been honest.

You nodded, closing your eyes.

"Anything, Y/N. Call if you need me."

"I fucked Father Sylus." You blurted out, unable to bear the confusion. His eyebrows raised.

"What the actual fuck? Of all things, why would you say that ?"

"Because I think I really like him."

"Jesus Christ. You really did it, huh?"

Then you were all out bawling, and you thought that perhaps it was Lindsey who cursed Stevie in the first place.

Tag list: @celestialforce, @readerxyourbabe, @babyx91

A/N: I found this tiktok the other day and it made me LOL and actually gave me the motivation to edit this chapter and post it. If you find any relatable tiktoks, please send them. I beg you.

[leandra-kinard]

you could just not respond and keep the slurs to yourself. have you ever considered that? maybe a post by someone affected by the slur isn't the place to harp on why it's so hard for you to not be able to type it. you can have your opinions, you're grown and obviously not open to change. but consider respect and decorum when you decide to invalidate the feelings of marginalized people on their own fandom experiences. blocking is free, scrolling is free, be fucking decent.

Sigh. I am going to respond calmly to this one because it comes from a place of wanting to be supportive and understanding to other people's struggles.

However, I still disagree. Firstly, I've seen posts like these many times, and the logical fallacy in it has always rubbed me the wrong way. So I felt like I wanted to say something this time in the hopes of opening people's eyes to the logical fallacy. The assumption that I could do this on here was, admittedly, too optimistic.

Secondly, I understand not wanting to be faced with things that are uncomfortable to us, but that's not how the world works. And in many ways, that is good or at least neutral.

There are many things that make us - in our own personal contexts - uncomfortable, and the feelings as such are valid. But what is not - in my understanding of fairness and common sense - valid, is making your own problem (that is valid in your limited personal context) everyone else's problem.

I find that kind of behavior not only annoying and irrational but actually dangerous.

To elaborate on what dangers I am seeing in it in detail would go beyond the scope of this response, but to pick out one factor, it's dangerous because it creates the attitude and assumption that things are universally something because they are that thing to you.

That automatically creates injustices for people in wider and different contexts, and an atmosphere of anxiety and over-caution that is detrimental to human interaction.

We are all different, we all come from different social and cultural contexts. We have different personal and societal needs, different expressions of ourselves. To measure everything by one standard you automatically apply bigotry towards other standards.

This 'trend' to find offense in things and limit the ways in which we can communicate and express ourselves is so fucking detrimental to us as human beings. People preach for tolerance and acceptance but then are incapable of applying it to others when others' needs clash with one's own.

Example: the whole "queer is a slur" discourse. There are people who have VALID lived experiences with the word "queer" being used against them as a slur, often combined with physical violence; there are gay men who have been beaten up or even killed while being called that.

On the other hand, you have a mostly younger generation (but not solely) who have reclaimed the word and feel empowered by describing themselves as such; there are many neutral usages for the word as well, such as "queer theory" in academia.

So what do you do with that? Who gets to decide which side is right and which side is wrong?

If we were to apply the principle of who feels the strongest about it, who has known the most violence/discrimination in connection with the phrase, then we would HAVE to concede to the "queer is a slur" faction (and to the "ABO without dashes is a slur" faction). If there are just a dozen non-straight people out there who get literally (not over-used figuratively) triggered back to violent and abusive experiences when hearing/reading the word "queer", then we all have to stop using it, right?

Well. For some reason we (society/the LGBT+ community at large) have decided that no. We care more about the utility of the word queer in the contexts we have created than we care about the valid and lived experiences of those people. Because it HAS utility and means something positive to many people.

(Personally, I am very much in two minds about this issue and understand both positions.)

And this example is even different than the ABO one, because we are talking about "queer" with the same main meaning in the same language. It's not like "queer" means "wood shoe" in Swahili or is a company that makes knitting needles in Korea. "Queer" means the same thing, whether it's used as a slur or used as an empowering/neutral term to describe non-straight people.

Whereas ABO means a myriad of entirely different things in different languages, most of all as an acronym for completely innocuous things like the "American Board of Orthodontics" or my cited wind energy corporation. So there you even have a much more washed out and very much broadened variety of meaning and context.

So, then why is it we say "Fuck them older queers who have been hate-crimed and killed while being called this slur that we like to use to describe our identity" but don't apply it to ABO fanfiction where the meaning is completely removed from the meaning of the slur?

It's not only inconsistent, it's even going much further into the restrictive!

So no, I do not play along, I do not keep quiet, I do not simply accept it. Because it is IMPORTANT to remind people to THINK. To see context, see meaning, see intention. And to also understand that the world cannot be fair to everyone because every fairness to you is an unfairness to someone else.

We HAVE to be able to tolerate and understand that. Or else we have to succumb to tribalism and all stay in our small little niches where everyone thinks and speaks exactly like we do, and if you only fall one millimeter out of line, you have to find your own community, because you can't be part of ours anymore.

THAT is the danger in this way of thinking.

If we ban saying "abo fanfic", we have to ban saying "queer community", we have to ban Brits smoking "a fag", we have to ban Spanish speakers saying "libro (or other masculine noun) negro", and so on.

And we CANNOT do that because it creates more injustice than it initially strives to fight.

[constellationmelody]

Bill Cipher is very fortunate. He may hate the Axolotl, but They are the only being in all dimensions of creation to shown him empathy. Perhaps because they are omniscient, They seen and understand everything Bill has been through and what he’s become. They harbor no hatred toward him. While everyone believes Bill doesn't deserve a second chance, this benevolent cosmic entity looks upon this horribly traumatized 'demon' who suppresses his pain by spreading his unique brand of fun for a trillion and twelve years; Despite the destruction and the countless lives he’s ruined, the Axolotl still deems him worthy of compassion. And that warms my heart.

Although the Axolotl was disappointed that Bill only used the incantation to selfishly save himself rather than using it to truly redeem himself, It's as good as any give him the help he needs.

This post when on longer than I expected:

Initially, I thought it couldn't be agape love, as that kind of love by its definition is unconditional and selfless, expecting nothing in return. But it was implied that they would help under their conditions or not at all and just let him fade away or hang out in limbo.

Allowing him to die would arguably be the simpler and safer route, sparing all dimensions the fear of his eventual return. Giving him a second chance could easily be seen as enabling him to wreak havoc again. Even when they were in each other’s presence, the Axolotl seemed distant, and somewhat reluctant to lend their help. That there's limits to their generosity because why should they go through this again when, eventually, Bill will appear before them for 'another chance'?

Yet, I believe their actions come from a place of genuine care. Setting boundaries and expectations on what they expect Bill to do to grant that second chance is fair, even Bill agrees to it (before realizing it was therapy, but he did say he's up for a challenge). If it is to believe that their true identity really is the Aztec god, Xolotl, a god who's attributes are change and rebirth, then turning away someone who is broken without offering a chance for redemption would be contrary to his divine responsibilities. Whether this remains true or not, if they still claim their former title and duties.

Agape love extends to all—even to Bill. The Axolotl may not expect anything in return personally, but by prioritizing his needs, they show him the highest form of love.

Clearly, they see potential in him to change and truly heal, ensuring he doesn’t carry his disruptive behavior or lingering guilt into the next life. To most, Bill is a lost cause, someone not worth saving, and many would have no qualms about letting him die. Yet, the Axolotl believes they can draw out the good in him, even if it takes an eternity. And really, who wouldn’t want someone to have faith in them when they’ve lost all faith in themselves.

It's no wonder they are revered. In time, Bill will thank them.

I'm not sure I just kept repeating myself or if I made any sense or if anyone would care but I just wanted to convey my thoughts on why I'd like to see these two converse. Maybe I'm the weird one who, after finishing reading the book, One of the things on how I describe the ending of the book is heartwarming.

The Axolotl when someone tells them why Bill Cipher should be given a second chance:

After writing this and reflecting on this, I can see myself shipping them. I can imagine Quality time and Words of affirmation as how they express their love considering it will be how it also heal Bill during his time in the Theraprism. With due time and guidance, as Bill begins to recover, they’ll reach a point where they are able to be in each other's presence without tension. The Axolotl’s peaceful presence keeps Bill grounded and provide a deep sense of calm as they watch the stars. It's truly a slow burn; Bill's resistance towards treatment is ironclad, but through the Axolotl's unwavering demonstration of patience and empathy, Bill would eventually crave for their companionship. Hopefully, by then, he'll learned what it means to have a healthy relationship. I want to draw interaction of them showing compassion to Bill as He resists their attempts. I imagine that Bill see Kindness without intent of wanting anything in return as an alien concept.

He'll probably feel uncomfortable out that someone is being kind to them without a nefarious motives. Or, Bill pretends to go along with the Axolotl's 'help,' attempts to trick them without actually learning his lessons. Of course, the Axolotl sees right through his schemes but plays along. I need more of their interactions! I'll probably make another post about this, this post is already long enough.

[bogleech]

I still can't fathom what in the entire world I could have ever said or done to make that gerrysherry (also known as spot-the-antisemitism) person come after me, and try every possible way of reframing every anti-war feeling I have as somehow, secretly, anti-jewish. Unless they don't actually believe that, but they hope saying it enough will make people believe it?? I don't know them, never did anything to them, and yet this person has reportedly still spent weeks and weeks boosting the same thread over and over, in which they urge people to boycott my book - something I'm depending on to even be able to afford my home in the future - because they apparently insist I have only antisemitic reasons for wanting to support Palestinians. How would that even make sense?! Jewish people aren't doing anything to Palestinians, a government is. They failed to make any dent in my follower count which just keeps jumping up every day, and I'm technically making more income off my art than ever (even if it still only barely covers cost of living), but I can't get over the sheer principle of someone hoping they could spread misinfo like that with the hope of impacting my ability to live. I've never run into anything that personally vicious before, all over sentiments they just up and pretend I have? For what??

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"