#or at least it seems to be going in that direction

[sing-you-fools]

once when my kid was a baby, we got a big snow storm and lost power. our neighbor had a generator and had kindly agreed to let us go over there when we needed to warm up her bottles.

i was on my way over, about halfway down our (quite short) driveway when i heard a quiet noise. i looked around as i walked, because it almost sounded like a meow, and if there was a cat stuck out in the snow maybe i could do something to get it home, or at least inside somewhere. i got to the end of the driveway and noticed something strange in the snow across the street. i couldn't tell what it was, but the noise seemed to be coming from that direction, so i went over to investigate.

as i crossed the street it became clear that both the noise and the shape in the snow were a person. the old woman across the street had tried to walk to her neighbor's house, intending to ask for help backing her car out of the driveway so she could go somewhere with heat until the power came back. she fell on the ice and couldn't get back up. she'd been yelling for who knows how long. she assumed i had heard her from inside my house and come out specifically to help her, but no - i couldn't even hear her until i was basically on top of her.

snow is terrific.

do people who live in countries that don't have snow know about the snow silence? When you get a nice big dumping of fresh snow and you step outside into an infinitely harshly contrasted world and there's no sound because the snow absorbs it all? I believe it fits the traditional use of terrific both wonderful and incredible but also causing a great terror.

[hrtwayne]

Hasta Los Dientes || Alexia Putellas [Part Two]

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Lionesses!Reader

Summary: One of Arsenal's top players receives an offer to play for Barcelona after recovering from a cruciate ligament injury in her leg. Following a recent fallout with the Gunners' captain, the athlete decides that the best course of action is to accept the offer and escape the tension in the locker room.

Note: English is not my first language!

Warning: None!

Previous Chapter | Women's Football Masterlist

It was barely seven in the morning when Y/n Lancaster sat up in bed, her eyes still heavy and her cheek slightly marked by the pillow. She stretched for a few seconds before finally getting up and starting her old work routine. Y/n felt her mind wandering through the negative possibilities about her return to football, about how fans and the media might not like her performance on the field.

Y/n knew it was her anxiety speaking louder, and that she should go back to consulting with the team psychologist. She sighed audibly as she packed some extra clothes in her bag, along with an extra pair of socks and shin guards. Six months away had been a true chaos of disorganization and stress. Y/n zipped up her bag before finally heading to the bathroom to relax with a hot shower.

Little by little, her routine was returning to normal. It had been just over three days since Y/n had been reintroduced to training with the rest of her teammates. She was relieved at the prospect of at least playing the second half of the game in the middle of the month, and that could be the first moment to find out if it was worth moving to a completely different country than the one she was used to.

Y/n took a generous sip of juice, savoring the moment as if it were her last breakfast in London. The defender bit into a piece of freshly baked bread and sighed contentedly at the familiar taste. She needed a few minutes of calm before hearing the slightly scandalous voices of the players and the strange atmosphere between Leah and her.

The defender entered the training center wearing Prada sunglasses and her faithful Adidas tracksuit in the team's colors. Y/n smiled in the direction of the team's media staff—it was no secret that Y/n was a real favorite among the fans, especially the younger ones who followed her on social media.

As she entered the space reserved for storing her belongings, Y/n's expression closed when she saw the team captain with a fixed and completely indifferent look in her direction. Leah and Y/n had had a relatively turbulent history—it couldn't be considered a relationship, but it also couldn't be treated as a casual fling. The breakup had been complicated, which seemed to shake the chemistry on and off the field between the players. Y/n definitely wasn't the jealous or combative type, but the last two months of that strange relationship had made her discover a frightening side of herself.

The breakup had been the right decision to make. Y/n didn't feel happy or satisfied with the direction of that strange relationship. She was a grown woman, well-resolved and with a successful career. She wasn't willing to be someone's pastime or indecision—she wanted something serious, with a guaranteed future or at least an attempt at one.

"Good morning, Lancaster. They called you to the meeting room," one of the girls from the management team said, making the midfielder frown for a few seconds.

Y/n followed the dark-haired girl to a room reserved for meetings about renewals or possible transfers.

"Y/n, we were waiting for you," one of the club's directors said, shaking the player's hand. "As you know, your contract was set to expire at the end of 2024 with a renewal clause if you met certain goals. Those were met, but with your injury, it was relatively hard to believe your knee would fully recover."

Y/n sighed, knowing exactly where this was going.

"We've received seven offers from some European teams and two Brazilian teams that wanted to sign you," he began, placing a stack of papers on the table. "Your agent filtered the best offers and left it up to you to choose your future for the next few years."

Y/n picked up the documents, seeing the familiar logos: Chelsea, Manchester City, Lyon, Real Madrid, Atlético Madrid, and finally, Barcelona. Y/n's eyes widened when she saw the million-dollar offer from the Catalan team—she would earn triple what she made at Arsenal for a period of three seasons with the option to renew.

"I received the email from Barcelona weeks ago and spent some days thinking about the offer. It's been a few years since I belonged to this team... and I think everyone is aware of that. If necessary, I'll choose Barcelona's offer and leave the team today," Y/n stated, observing the way the directors tried to hide their shock. "I grew up watching Arsenal with my dad, but I think my time here is over."

The middle-aged man sighed wearily, with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

"We'll process the termination contract and inform Barcelona's management that you've accepted the offer," the man replied, hearing her sigh in contentment and stand up to leave.

Y/n looked at her agent, and the blonde woman immediately knew she was about to get an hours-long lecture.

With a slightly reluctant sigh, Y/n entered her mother's house with a couple of extra coats due to the sudden change in London's weather. She hung her overcoat on the rack while hearing some voices coming from the kitchen, most likely from Haley and Aliyah, her younger sisters.

Y/n softened her closed expression the moment she felt the warm arms of her mother. The maternal touch was an obvious sign that Y/n was tired and shaken by the painful departure from her team, the place where she had been discovered and celebrated. Y/n allowed herself to relax and cry copiously in the arms of Angela Lancaster, the woman who always knew exactly what to say or do.

Shhh, I know it hurts, my love," Angela whispered, stroking the player's hair.

It wouldn't be the first or last time Y/n would run to the warm embrace of her mother. It had been like this with her first heartbreak, her first scraped knee, her first victory or failure, her breakup with Leah, or her fight with Alessia after a loss in the Euros. Y/n would always turn to the one person who knew the right words to say.

"I'm leaving for Barcelona this weekend," Y/n said, wiping the tears from her cheek.

"At least you'll be close to some teammates. Maybe it's the best place for you to start over," Angela replied in a comforting tone. "And you know the captain, right?"

Alexia?" Y/n asked, with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. "I've talked to her a few times, but nothing major."

"But it's something, dear," Angela adjusted the dark strands, making the defender sigh. "You know that living with your 'ex' wasn't doing you any good, my love."

The defender bit her lower lip, knowing the older woman was right about that subject.

"Now go sit with your sisters in the living room. I feel like they're going to miss you for the next few months," Angela gently pushed the girl, making Y/n laugh softly.

[hellsslibrary]

Crazy idea but Omega Shuto Sendou and breeding kink. (Idk if you do heats but I would like to request that too.)

P.s. LUVVVVV your blue lock posts, especially that sae and skirt one❤️❤️❤️

Life is short so why the hell are you wasting it holding back when I'm here like this? (My husband's quotes as titles day 2)

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : I'll be brutally honest, he's so 100% straight in my eyes... This was really hard to write, I was picturing him getting fucked by a woman lol. 🌻 I can't picture him with a man (unless it not works out with his actresses, which is probably the case).

!!Warnings: top!male!reader (can be woman tho, it was in my mind), bottom!shuto, A/B/O, heat cycle, mention of impregnation, cumming inside, Sendou in your shirt, 'whore' one time, round number two million three hundred and five thousand four hundred and twenty seven (Sendou is REALLY insatiable here), mention of scratches on your back/lower back/butt, praise in both directions, Sendou is a bit of a tsundere(?), the reader suffers as I do while writing this LMAO.

"Come on, don't sto-stop, co-come on," escaped his lips for the umpteenth time that evening, while he was lying on his side with his leg raised, and you continued your thrusts inside him.

What time do you fuck? Who knows. How many times have you cum inside? God only knows. How long will it last? So long that after death you will probably be stewing in all the cauldrons of Hell for this lustfulness.

No, seriously, how much longer will it take for this guy to be satisfied? He looks like he's not going to stop for another couple of hours. The way his glass eyes stared at the wall in mute, well, not quite, pleasure was even funny.

You push his raised thigh to the side, making the bed creak under his shifted weight, and he scowls at you, though moans escape his lips, as if in another second you will fuck his whole being out of him.

"You're so fucking hungry... And still so tight," you grumble almost displeased, throwing both of his legs over your shoulder, penetrating his hole, from which mixtures of his slick and your cum were dripping, causing him to arch his back with a trembling moan.

"You're so big inside... I nee-need to make sure that the fe-fertilization has taken pl-place, stupid," his hand falls on his face, covering his eyes, which only makes you exhale in defeat.

Your body bends closer, Sendou's body bends almost in half, although he doesn't seem against the idea, just lowering his hand from his face, revealing the tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Sensitive. Greedy. Whore."

You emphasize your every word with a thrust into him, making sure that you touch everything you need, not being surprised when he comes again, covering your shirt with his fluids again.

His hands grab onto your bare back as you nuzzle into his neck, starting to cover the white skin with hickeys until he can only whimper. His legs were shaking on your shoulders like an aspen leaf, his knees were pressed against his chest making his breathing even harder.

"It's so, fuck, good... the-there... Hi-hit it again... Hard-harder!" he mumbles unintelligibly because of the amount of saliva in his mouth, and you just smile against his neck, biting his collarbone, making him cry out, and pulling away.

"Whatever you say," you shrug, wishing you could just get him to pass out and continue after at least a couple of hours, considering how your hips are already hurting.

The bed immediately started hitting the wall when your hands lift his hips a little higher. And his head rises from the pillows in a loud, ragged moan, pulling another orgasm out of him.

You curse when he squeezes you as if in a vice, which makes you come too, filling him. And when you don't hear the reaction, you look up, and fuck, you just thank all living things when you see that he's asleep.

Your cock slips out of him, reflexively thrusting his cum back inside him, which makes him twitch a little and you cover him with a blanket, looking at the calendar... And then a whimper escapes your lips when you see that this is only the first day of estrus, and you just lean back on the bed, wiping the tears from his face.

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: What kind of beauty you possess

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will tell you what kind of beauty you possess. I hope you all enjoy it!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

pick a card

Pile 1:

You possess the beauty of intelligence and creativity. You can think of so many ideas with such depth it’s art on its own. You could be an amazing and successful writer or inventor. You can be passionate about things to an amazing degree, something people look up to once they realise you have this characteristic trait. People envy that about you, since such traits are not often found in people, at least not to the extent that you possess. People are absolutely fascinated by how your brain works, how quick you can think of solutions or new ideas, how some ideas seem absolutely ridiculous yet somehow they work each and every time.

Extended reading

Pile 2:

You have the beauty of visuals. Your face is perfectly balanced and makes everyone want to take a look at you. If you sit down with confidence, you’ll be the most endearing of all. You have a hard time getting close to people and being able to trust people. This could give you a sense of insecurity and hide your natural beauty. Even if you hide your beauty partially by insecurity, people still find you beautiful and alluring, it allows people to trust you easier, let you get away with things easier. Even though you do not try you receive pretty privilege a lot in your life; you won’t always be aware of it though.

Extended reading

Pile 3:

You have beautiful legs and a classical form of beauty, a classical energy that is around you. All the little things about you are beautiful and attractive, they make people want to go to you and talk to you, even if they can’t fully place why. Your energy in itself is endearing and gets people to come to you and want to be with you. Your personality may come over as feisty or direct which can get people to stay away a bit, but the awe they feel when they see you doesn’t leave.

Extended reading

[polgarawolf1]

Right. So this is one of the (too many to go into here) reasons why I actively dislike Brotherhood, because honestly, ex-weapons dealer ex-smuggler Dex really should be too canny/too knowledgable about the rest of the galaxy to fall for Palpatine's propaganda shill and the whole thing with Satine not knowing what's actually going on in the rest of the 'verse during the war just . . . doesn't hold up for me, at least not in the long run, given the people we know she knows and talks to (starting with Padmé, who is personally familiar with entirely too many of the atrocities actually being carried out by the Separatists and doubtlessly hears about an awful lot of the rest of them from Anakin and Ahsoka. Of course, this is also why the whole storyline with Mina Bonteri in SW: TCW shreds my poor little heart, because, you know, ditto. You cannot convince me that the reason why Dooku ends up killing Mina isn't because Padmé outright told her about several of those atrocities and Mina believed her enough to start to look into gathering evidence to present to the Separatist Senate so that Dooku would be removed from his position of power over them. The show makes it seem like it's because Mina's trying to push for peaceful talks as a means to end the war, but I truly and deeply believe it's at least as much because Dooku can sense that Mina no longer trusts him and he knows that Padmé probably spilled the beans about a lot of the sheer awfulness going on that's being actively kept from the majority of the Separatist Senators and their people).

FYI, this is also why I vacillate a lot on Satine's stance during the Clone Wars. On the one hand, yes, she's obviously the only one who gets that the game (the war) is rigged and, thus, that the only proper response is to refuse to engage (i.e., to not to play). On the other hand, we all know that she has to know (if only because of her non-Mandalorian friends, like Padmé and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and . . . well, the list just goes on) that Mandalore isn't by a long shot the only system or people suffering and that the Separatists are amassing a list of war crimes longer than the spaces between the stars and that neutrality in the face is evil is NOT neutrality (or at least it's not just neutrality). It's complicity. It's tacit approval. It's a complete and utter failure of morality, of caring enough to do something, even if it's just to take a firm stance, one side or the other. It's bloody well choosing the side of the oppressor. And it's not just our own history that has taught us this: the history of the GFFA teaches us this, too, over and over and over again, which means she has no real excuse, at least not once she's learned more about what the war is truly like. The fact that she's right about the war being a rigged game does not save her from being a moral coward about refusing to involve herself and her people with the atrocities being committed during the Clone Wars.

So. I like Satine - or I like the idea of her, anyway. A society cannot survive on war and warriors alone. Logically speaking, there must also be doctors to patch the warriors up and farmers to keep them fed and weavers to keep them clothed and cobblers to keep them shod and merchants to help get necessites to those who need them and craftsmen to make people's homes and different craftsment to make the ships and different different craftsmen to make weapons and and and and - but I can't see her as a truly moral figure to look up to. In a way, Satine is portrayed as just as much as an extremist (if in the completely opposite direction) as Death Watch, and fanaticism (of any flavor) is just not an attractive look, folks. Plus, every time I think about her being the leader of the Council of Neutral Systems I get metaphoric hives, because it reminds me so much of the United States refusing again and again to openly get involved in two very massive and vitally important European wars until there was literally no other choice (especially that second one, and we still managed to frak things up by not addressing the whole Soviet/Stalin issue when we had the chance to do so and could've saved so many people in Eastern Europe so many years of agony and suffering and death). I like her, but she both exhausts me and disappoints me massively.

(There's also a massive missed opportunity for storytelling here, in rgards to what a strong Mandalore and the Jedi Order could have accomplished by working together, in opposition to both the war and the corruption of the Republic Senate, and it absolutely kills me. But that's a totally different lament for a completely different rant/post.)

FYI, Satine's an awful lot like Padmé Amidala for me, because these two otherwise strong and wonderful female characters ultimately both exhaust and disappoint me in regards to the (lack of) morality of their biggest decisions, even though Padmé's failure is selfishness (even though she clearly knows better) and Satine's failure amounts to a sort of moral cowardice that makes me want to grind my teeth.

Absolutely fascinating that Dex is the one to say that Satine’s push for neutrality isn’t going to help things.  The scene isn’t without sympathy for Satine, as well as it mostly elides the point of ignoring what the Separatists are already doing so you don’t really get a deep conversation about it, but Dex has been treated as a voice of wisdom in this book and, so far, it seems to be saying that neutrality in the face of evil isn’t going to help anyone. Obi-Wan’s defense of her is that, well, Mandalore is different because its entire history is based on warfare, it would undo all her hard work, but it ignores Dex’s point here–she’s not just speaking for Mandalore, she’s pushing other systems into neutrality. And we all remember what Nute Gunray (a leader of the Separatists) did on Naboo, they’re going to do the same.  That is what neutrality means to not fight back against. The scene doesn’t really go hard one way or the other, it even introduces that characters are often biased in what they say (Obi-Wan’s feelings for Satine mean he isn’t always as clear-headed as he should be), it’s a scene that just sort of is, it’s two characters expressing their points of view in a friendly discussion, but it really struck me that Dex blatantly said that her push for neutrality isn’t going to help things. (Personally, I think Satine’s point of view is really, really empathizable for someone whose life’s work is to drag Mandalore away from war, that they’re still so wounded from the centuries and centuries of war, that they probably couldn’t be dragged into this war and I can believe that she feels other systems shouldn’t be joining in because then, what happened to Mandalore, might happen to them, too.  She is intimately aware of the cost of war and has said “no more”, even if I disagree with her, because those innocent lives were still on the line, those planets were still being bombarded with bio-chemical weapons to kill them all, they were still being kidnapped and enslaved, as evil as war is, neutrality isn’t the answer when it’s destroying people.)

[solaquintette]

A Feminist Reading of Junko Touhou

The following is a slightly reworked thread I posted to the Everything App last year, using Euripides' Medea as a device to explore how Junko Touhou (from Touhou) subverts our expectations of stories of women seeking revenge.

One of the reasons I adore Junko and why her story features so heavily in my art is because of how she subverts the typical portrayal of female rage and revenge in literature and media. I often see her as Euripides' Medea-if-she-was-fucking-awesome. Traditionally, 'female rage' is depicted as something rooted in romantic betrayal, often directed at a man who has been unfaithful, with his mistress also falling victim to the scorned woman's wrath. While feeling anger over infidelity is obviously valid, literature often acts as though this is the most intense pain a woman can feel, as though it is the only justifiable reason for her to unleash her rage and seek revenge. Even when it comes to the loss of a child, stories frequently assign the role of avenger to the father, while the mother is left to express her grief in a quiet, restrained manner, expected to endure rather than act.

Junko completely rejects that mold. While her grudge is initially directed at Hou Yi, a man, it has nothing to do with romance, infidelity, or rejection (at least in Touhou canon; her mythological origins vary). She isn't heartbroken over love; she is a mother whose child was taken from her, and she is out for revenge, pure and simple. And once Hou Yi is out of the picture, her rage turns to Chang'e, not because of a petty rivalry, not because of beauty, not because of a man, but because she needs to avenge her son at any cost. There is no underlying romantic narrative, no love triangle, no traditional "woman scorned" trope. Her rage is unfiltered and all-consuming.

What makes Junko's depiction even more striking is that her grief and rage are not presented in a way that is easy to digest. They are not subtle, delicate, or aesthetically pleasing. They are messy, relentless, and brutal. Even her danmaku lacks beauty. It reflects the rawness of her pain, an expression of fury that refuses to be softened or romanticised. Junko does not conform to the palatable, almost sanitised versions of female vengeance often depicted in media, where anger is neatly packaged into clever manipulation or quiet suffering. Instead, she embodies something far more visceral and real.

There is something deeply relatable about Junko’s need for revenge, particularly for anyone who has ever experienced loss or injustice. Her rage seems directionless to those who haven't felt that kind of grief. After all, Chang’e didn’t personally kill her son. And yet, if you’ve ever suffered a wrong so profound that the thought of seeing the perpetrator go unpunished feels unbearable, Junko’s quest makes perfect sense. Justice is not always attainable, and the idea of having to simply accept that reality is its own kind of hell. Junko exhausted every possible avenue for vengeance, and ultimately, her pursuit is futile. The one person who remains as a final target for her rage cannot even be killed. And even if she could kill Chang’e, it would never bring her son back. Her story is a bleak but brutally honest portrayal of grief: there is no true resolution, no catharsis, just the endless, aching persistence of loss.

Her identity is almost entirely consumed by this loss. The idea of grief shaping or even erasing identity is something worth exploring on its own, but in Junko’s case, it is clear that she has stripped herself down to nothing but vengeance. In many ancient cultures, particularly in antiquity, a woman’s identity was intrinsically tied to her role as a mother. When Junko lost her son, she lost not only him but also the identity that had previously defined her. And yet, instead of fading into obscurity or assuming a different role, she reconstructed herself around her grief and her fury, becoming something entirely new, something purely vengeful, purely wrathful.

This is where the connection to Medea feels so strong. One of the reasons Medea is often regarded as a ‘feminist’ work is that she does not meet the expected tragic end for a woman who enacts revenge. She does not get sent to hell, does not beg for forgiveness, she isn't put back in her place by her husband. Instead, she ascends, outwitting Jason and becoming something greater in the process. In much the same way, Junko’s rage does not destroy her. It transforms her. Her purification and ascension into a divine spirit mirror Medea’s ascension. Her wrath does not lead to her downfall, it's the very thing that elevates her. That is such a subversive and powerful way to depict a woman’s quest for revenge.

Sometimes I feel guilty for always drawing Junko suffering, but there is so much depth and untapped potential in her character. Her story is so much more than finding a neat resolution to grief or a moral lesson about the perils of holding a grudge. i love you Junko touhou ❤️❤️❤️

[secretlyazombi3]

Sweet Things ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎𖹭

 leon kennedy x gn! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count:  1.2k words ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SFW, 2nd person, no specific version of Leon, you’re an agent, established relationship, fluff :33

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: You and Leon are both agents, you happen to be assigned a job on Valentine’s Day, ruining your plans with Leon. But, by fate, you run into Leon as he’d been assigned to a mission that’s coincidentally linked with yours. 

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: short little treat for Valentine’s Day soon !! >_< i'll probably write smth else on valentines day too idk

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Eugh.” You mumbled in disgust as you looked down at the corpses of a couple of zombies a few feet away from where you stood. You wiped down your top, attempting to remove the sticky red blood, instead you smeared it into the fabric, staining your clothes.

“Great.” You muttered in annoyance. The universe really seemed to be working against you today.

You were supposed to be enjoying a nice candle lit dinner with Leon right now, but atlas, you two never seemed to catch a break. Instead of enjoying a romantic date, you were assigned a mission at work to contain some new zombie outbreak at the outskirts of the city. 

You already hated having to clean up the messes made from bio-weapon bullshit for the government. But on Valentine’s Day of all days?

You scrunched your nose as you caught a whiff of the rotted flesh melded to the bones of the zombie corpses in front of you. You shook your head before taking a few steps back, keeping a firm clutch on your gun. 

You glanced around, making sure you were safe before you began reloading your gun. “Area cleared,” You mumbled into your walkie talkie before you leaned back and waited for further instruction from your higher ups.

Your gaze drifted down as you waited for a response, quietly hoping that the other teams had contained the outbreak by now. But of course not, right, nothing seemed to be going your way. 

Through the thick static emitted from your walkie talkie, you were clearly close to being out of range, you heard the voice of your higher up telling you to advance forward. Your shift just wasn’t over yet. 

Think positively, you thought to yourself. All those fancy restaurants are probably fully booked today, there'll be more room tomorrow, and all the chocolate goes on sale after Valentines. 

As you stepped forward, attempting to avoid stepping in the red sludgy blood beneath you, you continued to quietly convince yourself that it’s no big deal that you’re working on Valentine’s Day. 

You snapped out of your head once you heard a gunshot snap through the air. Was that someone on another team? Nobody was supposed to be in this area besides you, it was your duty to clear out the zombies whilst everyone made sure no infected escaped into the city.  

Your mind immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. Were the other sectors overrun with zombies, forcing your colleagues to flee towards less crowded areas? Was there someone here who wasn’t supposed to be? 

You kept your gun in hand, your finger lifted away from the trigger, you were disciplined, but your anxiety was telling you to keep your finger on it just in case. 

Your heart rate spiked as you turned the corner. You saw a man in the midst of fighting a few zombies, taking most of them down with a few kicks. 

Your muscles relaxed slightly as you recognized the blonde man in front of you. Leon. You felt your lip curve ever so slightly into a smile seeing him. 

This was certainly, well… unexpected, to say the least, but definitely welcome. Maybe the day wouldn’t as shit as you thought. 

You raised your gun, aimed and fired a few shots at zombies to assist Leon. Leon clearly was taken aback at first, not knowing where the shots were coming from at first until you fired some more and he traced them back towards your direction. 

Leon scoffed a bit as his eyes landed on you. He clearly wasn’t expecting to run into you during his mission, either. 

Leon took down another zombie, his arm reaching to his aching shoulder once the zombie hit the ground lifelessly.

Leon muttered your name breathlessly, his breathing a bit laboured after the fight. 

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Leon remarked. “You’re not hurt, are you?” You shook your head. Your expression softened as you heard his voice. Today, you wanted nothing more than to spend your time with Leon. This surely wasn’t half as romantic as you initially envisioned in your head, but you appreciated it nonetheless. 

“Could say the same about you.” You replied. “Didn’t even know you were assigned a mission today. Did they just call you in?” Leon kicked the corpse’s body aside to make it easier for him to approach you. “Yeah.” he replied. 

“You here to help contain the outbreak? We could really use some help.” You asked. 

“No, they sent me in to track down the people responsible and capture a sample of the virus. I wish I was here to spend time with you, especially today.” You shook your head and scoffed. “You’d want to spend time with me here?” Leon had a sheepish smile on his face he was clearly trying to suppress. He shrugged. “I mean, yeah.” “I don’t think I could imagine anything less romantic than being here. I mean, the stench is just awful.” You replied lightheartedly. 

Leon simply scoffed in response. “We can make it romantic,” he replied simply. 

Leon paused for a moment before eyeing you up and down. 

“You look good in red.” Leon commented. 

You became confused, you weren’t wearing red. You looked down at your outfit and realized Leon was referring to the blood that had stained the fabric of your clothes. “Shut up.” you replied playfully. 

“No, I’m being serious. You look damn good.” 

You couldn’t suppress the smile creeping up on your lips. This definitely wasn’t how you wanted to celebrate your Valentine's Day with Leon, but at least you had something.

You could tell Leon was still eyeing you, eyeing your body, admiring your body. And you couldn’t help but do the same right back. You could see Leon’s muscular body through his outfit, of course you were going to stare…

Static crackled through the speaker of your walkie talkie, breaking the tension in the air between you and Leon. 

You could barely make out the words, you were definitely out of range now, but you knew for certain that it was a sign to get back to work. You had to help out your teammates. 

“I think that’s a sign I need to move up.” You said, sounding slightly disappointed. 

Leon’s expression went back to how it always looked, a bit blank. “Right,” he replied. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up, drive you to dinner…” Leon said with a slight smirk. 

“Please don’t drive me.” you joked. 

“I’m not that bad at driving.”

“Mhm.”

You moved forward, aiming to walk past Leon, who’s eyes never seemed to leave you. “Wear red tomorrow.” Leon said. You smirked and nodded. “Will do.” You replied.

“And please, keep yourself safe out there. Don’t do anything stupid.” Leon added. 

“I’ve never done anything stupid.” you protested, pouting your lip ever so slightly. “Mhm.” Leon replied.

Your eyes drifted down towards Leon’s lips, and you couldn’t help but move forward, fluttering your eyes shut as you kissed Leon and pulled away as quickly as you had moved forward. 

Leon was visibly a bit taken aback by the suddenness. He blinked a bit as he simply stared at you, trying to hide his flusteredness as he searched his fuzzy mind for some snarky comment he could make.  “See you tomorrow.” You said simply as you continued moving towards the next area you were supposed to clear.

Leon cleared his throat. “See you then.” he replied as he watched you walk away.

[drdemonprince]

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 8]

Herbology turns out to be an alright class, even if Tim gravely regrets not wearing gloves. His nails are a mess now. But Transfiguration is way worse, because he can't, for the love of him, make his matchstick turn into anything, much less a needle, and Professor McGonagall looks vaguely disappointed at him, with her lips pressed into a thin line and all. She is not even his Head of House, why does it matter what she thinks of him?

But anyway, it looks like the main challenge is still ahead of him.

The Potions class, that is.

Tim doesn't have any love for the subject, he never had. Brewing takes a lot of time and precision, and, what's more, various ingredients have too many different effects when mixed and overlapped, and Tim never understood why does it matter how many times you have to stir the concoction and why clockwise or counterclockwise direction makes a difference. Besides, most potions can be replaced with an appropriate charm or spell, which is way more interesting to study (not to mention that it works faster than spending hours over your cauldron). So, all in all, Tim is understandably not very excited about the class.

Honestly, his only saving grace would be the fact that Potions are taught by Professor Snape, who is his Head of House, so it's unlikely that he is going to actually fail.

However, all those pros, cons, and side notes quickly leave his mind when he enters the classroom. Because, as it turns out - and, yeah, maybe he should have paid more attention to his schedule, but he was rather busy snapping at Manson ever since they left the common room in the morning - they have this class together with Hufflepuffs.

Which means Danny is here. Which means it's his chance to apologize.

Which is why he takes the seat right beside the boy without a split second of hesitation, because if he doesn't act quick then Manson is going to claim it first, and Tim is so done with her. He is immediately proven right when he hears her angry, snake-like hissing behind him, but it doesn't matter since, hey, the early owl gets the treat or whatever.

And then Danny turns to him, visibly startled by his arrival, and all carefully prepared and rehearsed words leave Tim's head in a rush, like someone vanished them right out of his head.

His eyes are very blue.

Wait, no, his apology!

But, right as Tim opens his mouth, the door to the classroom swings open again, and Professor Snape sweeps in, his robes flapping behind his back. Yesterday, after the first-years were escorted to the Slytherin common room, the man left them with a very brief, albeit distinctive impression of a grumpy bat. Today, this impression only strengthens.

Danny blinks at Tim a few times before hesitantly turning his attention to the Professor. Tim's mood instantly sours - couldn't the Professor wait just, like, three more seconds before starting his class?.. Tim is very cross with him right now, Head of Slytherin or not.

Seems like his apology is going to have to wait at least till the end of class.

~~~

Halfway into their period, Tim learns a few very important things.

First, their seats are assigned, and whoever they choose as a partner today is going to be their partner for the rest of the year. Which might have been a bad thing - House unity and whatnot since Tim is the only one to dare pair up with a student of a different House - but. For one, Tim is pretty sure if he didn't sit next to Danny, then Sam would, so the House unity was going to be questioned anyway. For two, Danny turns out to be an honest to Merlin Potions prodigy, so Tim can't bring himself to be upset.

Second, the fact that a Hufflepuff can be good in Potions seems to grate on Professor Snape's nerves quite obviously. And Danny, apparently having no idea how to read the room and keep his mouth shut, doesn't help.

They are making a Boil Cure, and the instructions written on the board are rather simple even for Tim. But Danny doesn't even look at the board, instead going to gather his ingredients as soon as he hears the assignment, and it sparks a whole debate between him and Professor. If their quick question-answer barrage can even be called something so mild as a 'debate'.

"Uses of barn hazel," Professor demands, suddenly snapping his attention back to Danny just as Tim thought they calmed down.

"Urtica dioica, other known as stinging nettle or just nettle," Danny responds without even taking his eyes off the crushed fangs in the mortar in front of him, "It can be just a cooking ingredient if you want, but other than that, the essence goes into the Sleeping Draught, dried leaves can be crushed and used to speed up the brewing of almost any mucus based potion except the Herbicide, because Horklump juice goes into that one. Also goes into Hair-Dye potion, but, just so you know, if you add too much, it can make your hair greasy."

"Just so I know?" Professor sneers, his eyes narrowed dangerously. Danny gives him a side-eye that is all but screaming 'duh'.

"Yeah, since it looks like you've made that mistake repeatedly," he answers, and Tim can't laugh, he absolutely can't laugh, no way. Stephanie, who is sitting at the desk right behind him, doesn't have such reservations, though, and snorts loudly.

Professor's left eye twitches. "Ten points from Hufflepuff for disrespect," he snaps, but Danny merely shrugs and adds the contents of his mortar into the cauldron, eye-measuring the amounts. Tim panics briefly - the instructions said strictly four measurements of it - but the potion turns a perfect pale blue, just as written. Danny adjusts the heat and stirs the whole thing almost absentmindedly.

Professor Snape looks like he's had one too many Pepperup potions, all red-faced and a moment away from having steam come out of his ears.

Sitting next to Danny was simultaneously Tim's best and worst decision for this class.

~~~

It's only about ten minutes before the class ends that Tim gets a chance to actually talk to Danny. Not that they hadn't said a word to each other before, of course, but it was all 'pass me the ginger powder' and 'watch the slugs, they are making a run', so, not very productive. At least not in the area where Tim wanted it to be productive.

They are cleaning their station now, two vials of Boil Cure successfully turned in to Professor. He very begrudgingly gave them both an E for it, even though Tim is pretty sure this was the best Boil Cure to ever exist - it was looking exactly like the finished product was supposed to be. But arguing with a teacher on the first day is not on Tim's 'to do' list, to be honest, and Danny doesn't seem to mind, so he thinks it's okay. For now.

What's not okay is that he still hasn't apologized.

So that's what he does, right as Danny returns from putting the mortar and pestle and the cutting board away. He spells the tabletop clean and quietly offers, "I'm sorry."

Danny looks up from where he is studying the remains of their Cure in the cauldron and blinks. "For what?"

And that... is a good question, actually, because Tim can't exactly formulate his vague feeling of guilt into words.

"For... Well, I never thanked you for the broom," he gives one reason, but it doesn't sound like enough. "And I- ugh, I mean- Okay, there's not a good way to say this, but I'm sorry I forgot to write you. Or talk to you. Or, um, just you, in general," he breathes out finally, still not looking up from the table.

There's a short beat of silence following his poor attempt at making peace, and then, "Huh."

Tim whips his head up, and Danny's expression looks a bit puzzled. Then, he hesitantly smiles, tilting his head to the side like an owl, "So you did like the broom? You just never replied to my letters, so I figured it was, um, not the best gift. Which, technically, it wasn't, I probably should have, like, gotten you a new broom, at least."

Now it's Tim's turn to be puzzled. "Letters?" He asks, staring into Danny's eyes, "Wait, you wrote me letters?" He didn't think this situation can get any worse, but here he is, not only completely forgetting a person but apparently also ignoring them. Way to go, Timothy Drake.

Hold on, no, there was another important question there. "And, yeah, of course I liked the broom," he backtracks, "I still have it, actually, not with me because first-years are not allowed brooms, but it's back home. Dick - err, he is my brother- or, cousin, sort of - taught me how to ride it after I broke my leg at first attempt."

The more he talks - rambles, really - the bigger the smile on Danny's face gets. And, coincidentally, the lesser the anxious knot in Tim's stomach becomes, the tension leaving him slowly.

And then, Danny's smile turns into a grin. The one that reminds Tim of shimmering sparkles in the mirror ceilings and flutes of champagne spiked with silly potions. The one that makes the tension return, but it's a different kind now, an anticipation of something really bad but really fun happening in the next second.

"Okay," Danny says, his blue eyes creasing with a phantom of laughter. He settles the cauldron back on the table and looks over the few potion ingredients that are still scattered around the desk, a contemplating look on his face. "I'm glad," he adds and reaches for one of the vials containing some kind of weird white beans that Tim doesn't recognize, "And I'm going to forgive you, but on one condition."

Two minutes ago, Tim would have jumped at the opportunity. Right now, he is not so eager anymore, cautiously watching Danny uncork the vial.

"Which is?" He prompts the boy, and he gives him a quick glance, his whole posture dripping of mischief.

"I see why you're a Slytherin," Danny mutters almost like to himself, and then adds a bit louder, "On the condition that I get to make it fair." And, before Tim can agree or refuse, he drops all the contents of the vial into their cauldron, which immediately starts making low, aggressively bubbling sounds.

Tim only has a split second to take a quick step back in alarm before it starts spilling over the rim and shooting bright blue foam everywhere like a fountain, covering both him and Danny from head to toe, and Cassius' back , and the whole table and floor around them, and everything.

Professor Snape lets out an enraged battle cry from his desk, and a few other students are screaming, but Danny is laughing, and Tim is not sure what kind of face he is making but it's definitely as far from pleased as possible, and-

The foam smells of something sweet and feels vaguely warm and tickling on his skin.

Tim's insides kind of feel like that foam as well.

—☆—☆—☆—

Vibes for Potions classroom:

I'm having too much fun with Picrews, can you blame me? I didn't do Sam and Tim this time since they were just in the last part, and not much has changed since then, but here's Steph, and Fred and George, who have already figured the entrance to the kitchens, and Valerie who is not excited by that.

[Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

Wow, this part turned out way longer than expected. I'm thinking of cross-posting this on ao3 at this point since I'm not planning to stop any time soon,

Anyway, notes!

They didn't get detention only because it's literally their first day, but Snape deducted a shitton of points. However, the number of detentions with Snape that Danny got himself into over the years is twice as much as every other detention he served for all other classes and rule-breaking combined.

Have you ever wondered why it was that Slytherins and Gryffindors, who had the biggest rivalry between them, were paired together for Potions, one of the most volatile classes? I fully intend to give you an explanation for it. It's because Danny motherfucking Fenton is a Potions prodigy, but he is also a shit, no, The Shit, and Tim has no problems enabling him. By the end of their first year, Snape absolutely refused to have the two of them in the same classroom and demanded a change in the schedules. He can deal with the House rivalry by scaring the Gryffindors shitless, but he won't have the Fenton kid paired up with the Drake kid. Just no.

Granted, the Fenton kid is still up for trouble even without his usual partner, but he at least mellowed out without someone he wanted to impress by his side.

Also, Danny is a prodigy mostly because he spent near his whole childhood in his parents basement, and Jack and Maddie are in love with potions and experiments. Also, they saw no reason to gatekeep the knowledge from him for reasons I'm not yet sharing because that would be a spoiler. Just know that they've made their fair share of mistakes with potions, and now they intend to give Danny (and their other kids) all the tools to avoid the same thing.

By the way, Danny's favorite subject is Astronomy, and he absolutely sucks at Charms. Tim, on the other hand, is excellent at Charms and usually has a good grip on Potions - as in, he can follow the instructions just fine when there isn't Danny nearby, cutting out steps that he thinks they don't need or adding ingredients to make the potion better - but he's notoriously bad at Transfiguration. Sam likes Herbology the best but isn't very good at Potions (which is why she wanted to sit with Danny, aside from other reasons), and Stephanie is in a deep love-hate relationship with Transfiguration: she loves the subject but has a rocky relationship with McGonagall due to her behavior.

According to wiki, there was no DADA teacher in Hogwarts in 1989, so I'm sticking with the idea of other teachers rotating the substitute role for it during the whole year. I bet even Dumbledore took a turn.

[<- part 7 | part 9 ->]

[seellove]

Hearts Like Ours // sukuna x female reader - Valentine's Day Edition!

Masterlist

// (3.9k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3

You're going through a rough patch with your husband and having to work late on Valentine's Day causes you to have to cancel all the plans he's made for the evening. While you feel guilty, Sukuna adjusts to make the most of the evening by pampering you and making you feel incredibly loved, which is very much needed after the last month.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are humans in a modern AU, husband Sukuna, established relationship, fluff, sex toys, explicit smut

AN: Hope you all enjoy reading about some Valentine's Day activities with husband Sukuna! Also getting stoned apparently results in me writing Sukuna one shots lmao.

“Let’s go ahead and make today the date we put on the submittal package, does that answer your question?” you say to the younger employee, ready to head back to your office after answering their questions.

They nod in response and thank you. During your final quality control check of the submittal, you had found a glaring error that needed fixing, thus resulting in this late night with the team you manage. You’d bought everyone dinner as an apology for needing to work late, but there truly was nothing that could make working late on a Friday night any better. 

When you sit back down in your chair, you pull your phone out.

7:15 PM. 

Fifteen minutes past the dinner reservation you had to flake out on because of needing to work late. A reservation that your husband, Sukuna, had made months in advance at the most exclusive restaurant in the city for your Valentine's Day date. Oh and the fancy hotel suite he’d booked for after, you had to cancel on that too.

You tear up at the thought as a wave of guilt floods over you combined with the stress of work. You and your husband desperately needed a date night or something of the sort to reconnect. As two upper level executives in your respective firms, work has been chaotic since the new year, leaving you hardly any quality time together. 

If you were lucky, one of you would slip into bed before the other fell asleep so you could at least talk to each other for a few moments. Even those minimal exchanges didn’t have much substance as normally you both were drained from the long day, struggling to hold a conversation after being in meetings and directing people for over twelve hours straight. 

Sukuna was always very understanding on the nights you didn’t feel like talking. He would hold out his muscular arm as an invitation for you to rest your head on his toned chest and hold you close, planting soft kisses on your forehead as you melted into his embrace. 

“I love you,” he’d whisper, turning off the lamp and holding you until sleep quickly overtakes you. 

Even though there were few meaningful interactions lately, you felt his love in other ways: how he tries to wait up for you even though some nights he falls asleep on the couch with the light on, sending food to your office when you are working late, waking up early to make you breakfast, waiting patiently to watch your favorite shows so you were caught up together, among numerous other little things that you can’t possibly remember.

Even if you can’t remember all of his actions, you remember how they make you feel and that means everything. You still feel loved, appreciated, understood, and cared for and those underlying feelings help get you by on nights like this. 

After another hour, you and your team finally pull together the revised submittal and you fire it off to the client. Walking out to your car, you realize your feet are killing you and your neck and shoulders feel extremely tense from the stress lately. You hope this is the last late night for a while.

It’s well after 8:30 by the time you park in your building’s garage. The long elevator ride to the penthouse floor seems to last an eternity as all you want to do is flop down and get these heels off. 

The elevator door opens and you are surprised to see Sukuna right there. 

“Oh, hey there,” you greet him with a small smile. He’s in his sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, something you can’t wait to join him in.

“Hi baby, here lemme get those for you,” he reaches for your bags, which you shrug off quickly, relieved to be shedding the extra weight. But that’s just like your husband, shouldering the extra burden when life gets the best of you. 

He doesn’t stop there though, picking you up, cradling you against his hard chest, and carrying you the rest of the way to your penthouse door. He smells so good, his familiar cologne enveloping your senses, reminding you that you are indeed home and you can relax.

He unlocks the door and brings you immediately to the bedroom, setting you on the bed where you can hear the water in your en-suite bathroom running. 

You realize he’s started running a bath in your large jacuzzi tub and you almost collapse with relief at the idea of soaking your defeated body in the hot water.

He reappears after putting your bags up, kneeling at your feet to take your heels off of you. His large hands rub your legs after getting them off, planting a kiss on each before getting up and bringing your shoes to your closet.

“Sukuna I’m sorry I ruined our Valentine’s Day,” you finally blurt out, feeling extremely guilty as a result of seeing him going above and beyond right now.

“Who said it was ruined?” he clicks his tongue, sitting down next to you on the bed and pulling you against him.

“It’s just I know you had that nice dinner planned and the presidential suite at the St Regis downtown booked, and because of me you had to cancel it all,” you choke back the tears that are starting to spill over.

He pulls you gently into his lap, hands cupping your cheeks and thumbs swiping below your eyes to catch your tears.

“Baby it’s just dinner and a hotel. They’ll always be there, they aren’t going anywhere. All I want is to spend time with you, whether that be here or some fancy ass hotel. You gotta admit though, our penthouse is pretty fancy on its own,” he chuckles which causes you to snort in response. 

“I just want you to be comfortable, relax, and unwind. Now come on, I’ve got a nice night planned for us right here,” he picks you up again and drops you off on the bench next to the tub. 

You notice the tub has a slight pink hue to it with bubbles and rose petals in the water along with white candles along the edge. A bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice with two nice glasses sits next to the tub, completing the enticing scene.

“You did all this on such short notice?” you stare at the display and then back at him, the tears threatening to spill over again. Sometimes you just don’t feel like you deserve this man. 

“Of course, anything for the love of my life. Now get in there and lemme just take care of you,” he says as he sheds his shirt, revealing his toned body with those sinful tattoos snaking their way down his chest and back. 

He helps you out of your work clothes until you both are naked in front of each other. You don’t miss Sukuna’s eyes roving over your body as he helps you into the tub before settling in on the opposite side of you.

“Gimme your foot,” he says softly, propping it up on his knee in front of him. The chill air hits your wet skin but that soon dissolves as he starts massaging your sore foot pads, his skillful fingers working themselves into all the places that need attention.

“Oh fuck that feels so good,” you hiss, letting yourself sink further into the water. 

“Good, I’ll get your back and shoulders next,” he says warmly. 

You can’t help but steal a peek at the way his muscles flex as he massages your legs and feet. It’s been a minute since you really looked at him, since you really studied the peaks and valleys of his shredded physique. You almost take it for granted after being together for so long. It had been one of the first things you noticed about him when you first met at his fraternity beach week back in college. 

You’d gone with your friend Gojo and saw him for the first time out on the beach while you were mingling with your friends. You’d been mesmerized by the way his tattoos rippled over his tan skin while he threw a football with the other guys, his wild pink hair hidden by a backwards hat and a beer in his hand. 

His sunglasses had hidden his eyes from you, but later he confessed that he was watching you at the same time, your hair blowing in the breeze and your cute smile tearing him up inside while laughing with your friends. 

That night he had finally built up the nerve to talk to you (with the help of some liquid courage) which turned into a nighttime walk on the beach and snuggling up on a blanket beneath the stars, talking together until early the next morning. He’d kissed you that night and even though you wanted to go further, you weren’t interested in potentially getting caught in public.

You didn’t have to wait long though because the next day while everyone was back out on the beach, you and him were a mess of limbs beneath the sheets of your hotel room for almost half the day and then again that night. 

That was almost eight years ago and even though time has passed and a lot of life has happened, you still love him to pieces and in your eyes he’s the perfect husband and partner. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Sukuna asks, his crimson eyes peering over at you, interrupting your thoughts.

“Mmm, just admiring your muscles, and it made me think about when we first met where I was doing the same thing,” you giggle. 

“Ha, it was meant to be wasn’t it,” he chuckles, planting a kiss on your heel and dropping it back into the water.

He pours out the champagne and clinks his glass to yours.

“Cheers to us checking each other out all that time ago. Had no idea it would lead us here, but god I’m so glad it did. Happy Valentine’s Day babe,” he leans in and kisses you. 

As he starts to pull away, you grip the back of his head, holding him in place, forcing your tongue into his mouth. The sweet taste of champagne mixes between you as you slowly roll your tongues against each other with practiced ease, your silhouettes becoming one in the flickering candlelight.

“I love you so much,” you whisper as your lips break away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I love you more.”. 

“Come lean against me,” he gestures as he leans back against the tub side. You get settled, his knees caging you in on either side, scooting forward a little so he can start working his fingers along your neck and shoulders.

The combination of the hot water and his firm fingers has all the tension and stiffness from the last few weeks disintegrating and morphing into a tingly sensation that makes your skin heat up. As you move back to press your back against his torso, you feel him hard against you, amplifying the tingling feeling that shoots to your core.

“Mm fuuuck,” he groans at the pressure, his forehead falling forward to rest on the back of your head. He starts to trail soft kisses from your ear down your neck and across the back of your shoulder which has you moaning his name. 

“Kuna, that feels so good,” you sigh as you feel your core and stomach start to heat up. His hands start to wrap around you to fondle your chest, rolling your nipples between his fingers, causing you to fall backwards in delight into his pecs.

“Can’t forget these other spots,” his husky voice is in your ear, breath hot on your skin. His hands are all over you now, dipping below the water to squeeze your hips and thighs before coming back up to stroke your breasts again. 

“Vibrator or my fingers?” he rasps and it has you clenching around nothing in anticipation. 

“Oh shit. Vibrator, want you to keep touching my tits,” you can hardly speak.

He reaches over and grabs the rubber vibrator off the tub edge, turning it on and submerging it. You take it from him and get it positioned how you want it. As soon as it makes contact with your clit, your whole body jerks, causing his cock to throb behind you.

His hands go back to your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples while you squirm from the stimulation on your clit. Everything feels soooo good, it’s been awhile since you’d been intimate like this, usually both of you are too tired to do anything. All you can do is lean back against him and take it all, unable to form a coherent thought at this point.

The thrumming of the vibrator against you sends waves of pleasure through your body, making your thighs tremble as the coil of desire begins to tighten with the mounting feeling. 

Your breaths get heavier, chest heaving causing the water in the tub to move in small waves from the disturbance. You can feel Sukuna’s heart pounding against the back of your head and him starting to rut his cock against your lower back. 

His fingers dig into your breasts as you both get more and more turned on. You click the vibrator up one setting, putting even more pressure on your clit. Your core is burning with hot waves of pleasure, on the precipice of an earth shattering orgasm.

“I’m close, kiss my neck,” you gasp. Sukuna quickly obeys, nipping and sucking at the spot under your ear he knows is your weak spot.

“Oh fuck! oh fuuuuck, Sukuna!” you cry out as you feel the orgasm start to tear through you, your pussy clenching around nothing as you convulse against Sukuna’s rock hard body. 

You are in complete bliss, eyes closed and resting your whole body weight against Sukuna. His cock throbs again as you start to come down from your high and the water starts to still.

Finally you come back to your senses, turning around to face him. You’re met with his trademark grin and blown out crimson eyes. He’s probably dying to do more, and quite frankly so are you. 

You reach down between you two and grab his hard cock, slowly pumping his shaft. Sukuna gasps, thrusting into your hand, causing the tub water to splash again with his movements. 

“Let’s get out,” he rasps, standing up with no regard for the water overflowing the tub. The man is on a mission and pulls you out with him. You both towel dry off and next thing you know he has you pinned against the cold tile wall, legs wrapped around his hips as he slides his cock through your folds and across your clit, slicking himself up.

“Ready?” his husky voice pants into your neck as he ruts himself harder against you. 

“Yes, please, I need you Kuna,” you whine as his hard cock rolls against your clit again.

That’s all he needs to hear as he lines his tip up to prod at your entrance. With one sharp thrust, he pushes into you, stretching out your walls as he pauses to let you adjust. You can’t really remember the last time you had sex but it’s like muscle memory at this point as your body adjusts.

“Fuuuuuuck, feel s’good,” he groans as he stares down where you are both connected. 

You bite your lip with the painful stretch, Sukuna watching you carefully as he gives you shallow strokes to help work you open. He stops when you squirm from the discomfort as he starts sinking deeper.

“Sorry, having a harder time than normal I guess,” you utter.

“It’s fine, I know you can take it. You’re my sexy ass wife, the only one who can take all this,” he says in a deep voice, continuing his slow thrusts. 

He finally bottoms out, letting out a guttural groan, his forehead falling forward against yours. His mouth is partially open as he tries to slow his breaths. 

“God I’ve missed this, so fuckin tight, taking me so well, my perfect girl,” he whispers in your ear as his thrusts pick up. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he probes for your sweet spot, adjusting his angle and depth slightly with each snap of his hips.

His pelvis slaps against yours as each punishing thrust pushes you harder into the wall, the cold tile rigid against your shoulder blades. 

“Can we get in the bed? It’s kinda uncomfortable,” you tap his shoulder. He’s knocking the wind out of you in this position and the hard tile is digging into your skin.

“Of course.”

He slows his movements, giving you a few more hard, deep thrusts before turning you around and walking back into the bedroom. He carefully lowers you both to the bed, keeping your bodies connected the entire time.

He pulls your legs over his shoulders and sinks even deeper into you, making you whine at the sudden pressure against your cervix. 

“This is much better anyways. Can see and feel so much more of you,” he growls in your ear as he sets another grueling pace. The softness of the bed is a welcome reprieve from the hard wall as he drills you into the mattress.

Your hands rake through his hair, moaning loudly as he quickly finds your sweet spot. There’s very few positions where he can’t hit your favorite spots. After all this time and god knows how many fucks, he’s an expert when it comes to your body, rarely leaving you unsatisfied.

“Right there Kuna, fucking right there, don’t stop,” you cry out, your pussy clenching around his cock as you start to careen toward your release. 

“God fucking come for me baby,” he pants against your neck, folding you up under him as he pushes your knees into your chest. 

A few more perfect strokes and you’re falling apart under him, your vision going white from the mind blowing pleasure coursing through your body. Your back attempts to arch against his large frame, nails digging into his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you. 

“Thats it baby, fuckin’ cum all over my cock,” Sukuna looks down on you with a smug grin, so proud of his work as he fucks you through your climax. 

He flips you onto your stomach and slides into you prone bone, giving you no time to react before railing you from behind. Your orgasm has barely subsided and now he’s drilling your sweet spot again, turning you into a drooling whining mess. 

His massive body leans over you, fingers entwined with yours and digging into the sheets as his punishing thrusts echo across the room from the hard slaps and the wet sounds of his cock ruining your pussy. 

“Love you so fuckin’ much,” he rasps in your ear, nibbling and sucking at your earlobe, driving you absolutely mad as you just surrender to the mind blowing feeling. 

“Lo-love you too,” you barely get out, jaw clenching as you feel another mind bending orgasm about to rip through you again.

He flips you onto your back, causing you to gasp in surprise as he goes back to the perfect pace from moments ago.

“Wanna see you, see your face when you cum…and when I cum, I’m so fuckin’ close,” he says through heaving breaths. 

The telltale sign of you clenching around his thick cock has Sukuna doubling down, not changing his angle or pace, knowing your release is close. 

“Look at me,” he demands. You do everything in your power to meet his gaze, which you are surprised to see is soft and loving now, the cocky smirk gone. 

Meeting your eyes is his catalyst because it's only one more deep thrust before he’s spilling himself inside of you while you milk him for everything he has. You quickly follow him over the edge as your bodies mold against each other, cumming together perfectly. 

Sukuna’s large body collapses onto yours, cock pulsing inside of you as he pumps his thick load deep inside of you, coating your cervix and walls with his hot seed. 

You both lay in your respective delirious states, coming down from the high together, heartbeats slowing and breaths syncing. You slowly scratch his head and work your way down to his upper back, earning a small whimper from the beast of a man sprawled out on top of you.

“Oh my godddd I love you,” he groans as he lifts himself up, pulling out of you. He rolls to the side and promptly pulls you onto his thick chest. 

“I love you too Kuna. Thank you for all that,” you giggle, basking in the afterglow of your love making. 

“Likewise,” he peppers kisses all over your face, earning a squeal from you. 

“See, I don’t consider this a ruined Valentine’s Day,” Sukuna grins as he stops his kiss assault, “I feel like this was a pretty damn good one actually.” 

“I agree, it was perfect,” you respond with sincerity. 

And you mean it. You’ve never felt safer and more secure in your relationship. The both of you are patient and loving, not letting the isolated rough patches and dry spells impact the strong foundation you’ve built after all these years. Both of you always find your way back to each other, letting the underlying bond guide you home, never letting the chaos of life win out. 

“Have one more gift for you,” his deep voice breaks the silence. 

“Sukuna this is all just too much,” you sigh, rolling off of him so he can get up.

He returns with his phone from the other room, sliding back in beside you.

“Hush, it’s a joint gift, you’ll like it,” he chuckles, pulling you tightly against him while he navigates to his email.

Then you see it, 7 nights at the Four Seasons Bora Bora. Your heart leaps in your chest.

“Oh my god!! Baby that’s amazing,” you exclaim with excitement. 

“Now there’s no way for anything to interrupt us, just you, me, and that gorgeous overwater bungalow in which I’m going to fuck you on every surface,” he grins, earning a playful gasp from you.

“When do we leave?” 

“First Saturday in March, so a few weeks from now. Get that time off request in my love,” he grins before diving back in to give you a sweet kiss. 

“You’re seriously the best, I really don’t deserve you sometimes,” you say softly, overcome with the emotion of everything he’s done for you while you had nothing to give in return. 

“My love, you are the most deserving and don’t ever think otherwise. As if I’d let a rough month or a tough few weeks upend all the years we’ve spent together. It will be but a blip in our hopefully long lives, god willing. I took those vows to heart when I said them, especially in good times and in bad, and I intend to uphold them until I’m dead and gone.”

All you can do is dive into his arms, both of you capturing the other in a tight hug. 

“I love you,” you say as you pull back and stare into his eyes.

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I love you too. Always.” 

Masterlist

[jackdraw-spwrite]

Star Nursery

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

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

---

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

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

Clockwork didn't care.

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

He was sleeping soundly. 

Read the rest on AO3, or below the readmore:

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

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

Before he could, Clockwork picked him up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Already wide, his eyes grew even wider.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Danny nodded.

—

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

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

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

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

Clockwork smiled and said, "Watch."

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

Daniel followed suit.

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

And then it struck.

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

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

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

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

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

Shadows returned. 

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

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

Danny shook his head, looking up with sleepy eyes.

"It's Earth. Your home."

—

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

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

"They're also known as star nurseries."

"Star Nusr'y"

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

One finger in his mouth, Daniel nodded fervently.

—

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

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

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

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

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

He spent a space of breaths savoring the contact.

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

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

"Do you want a hint?" offered Clockwork. 

A nod.

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

He would piece together the clues.

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

"The Moon?!" 

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

…

He was putting off the conversation they needed to have.

He knew that.

It didn't make it easier to stop. 

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

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

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

He loved Daniel.

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

Outside their little bubble, the world was frozen. 

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

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

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

For Daniel's sake, he would have it. 

Daniel looked up, floppy contentment draining from his limbs. 

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

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

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

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

And yet. 

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

And yet.

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

He was deviating from his script.

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

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

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

Footing lost, he opened his mouth to continue.

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

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

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

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

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

Adrift.

The possibilities here…

No. He needed to stay focused.

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

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

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

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

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

Daniel was looking up through his hair at Clockwork.

His core ached.

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

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

A nod.

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

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

Daniel ducked his head and muttered something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“Jazzy’s got friends.”

This was not all Daniel would say. Clockwork waited.

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

“What if,” he said. “What if.”

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

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

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

Daniel nodded.

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

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

He was the ghost of time, not parenting.

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

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

Separation anxiety…

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

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

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

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

Daniel nodded again.

“Did they play with you?”

Another nod.

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

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

Still quiet, Daniel nodded.

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

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

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

Just a little longer…

.

But all things must come to an end.

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

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

“Cl’wrk?”

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

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

Daniel peered at him, suddenly tentative.

The rest of this conversation would be so very difficult.

“Daniel,” Clockwork began. Haltingly.

It would be so very easy to lie.

…

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

Daniel’s eyes were so very blue.

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

He forced himself to say what came next.

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

And there was the shock Clockwork had so dreaded.

And there were the tears.

.

Eventually, the tears slowed.

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

This was for the best.

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

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

Daniel hiccupped.

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

“‘ree.”

“Hm?”

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

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

“Today’s bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

But he already had.

Clockwork pinched his eyes shut.

“What if I can’t?" Daniel asked.

“I think you may surprise yourself."

Daniel frowned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have your parents, too.”

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

I want you, too.

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

“I will!”

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

“I don’t wanna.”

“You will.”

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

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

I love you, too.

.

Clockwork tucked Daniel in.

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

It could. All he had to do was–

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

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

It wouldn’t matter.

Clockwork had let him fall asleep in his arms.

It wouldn’t matter.

Daniel would forget him.

With a swirl of blue, Clockwork vanished.

—

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

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

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

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

He was still sniffling.

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

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

—

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

"Do you see over there?"

Danny squinted. "Yeah."

"Just watch that spot."

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

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

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

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

Eleven whole years indeed. 

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

Clockwork hoped.

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

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

Eleven years. 

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

One little boy.

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

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

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

He’d fallen asleep holding Clockwork's hand.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a flash of blue.

And then, the room was dark.

[hrtwayne]

You Know How to Ball, I Know Aristotle || Alexia Putellas

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Singer!Reader

Summary: Where a music star travels to the other side of the world to watch her girlfriend win a final.

Note: English is not my first language!

Warning: None!

Women's Football Masterlist | Masterlist

It was no later than two in the afternoon when Y/n landed at the airport in the city of Léganes, Spain. The singer was accompanied by her younger sister and a few bodyguards as a precaution. It would be the first time in months that Y/n would appear in public after a sort of "hiatus."

On the other hand, it was quite a novelty for Barcelona fans that Alexia was so publicly involved with someone, to the point where her girlfriend attended almost all of her games, carrying a portion of fans who ended up sympathizing with the Spanish player. Y/n was a charismatic and kind figure to everyone, and this was an important factor in the Catalan fans' fondness for the English singer.

With determined steps and a confident posture that immediately caught attention, Y/n wore a Barcelona jacket and black pants paired with a pair of Nike sneakers on her feet. For Y/n, this moment was pure chaos—having to navigate relatively heavy traffic and the relentless paparazzi who didn’t know the right time to bother her. This moment wasn’t about her; it was about a certain blonde-haired player.

Y/n settled into the lower ring of the stadium, her eyes fixed on the figure below. Alexia had a focused gaze and a serious expression, as always happened when the player took the field.

"Seems like people were waiting for you," Olivia remarked, noticing some fans staring at Y/n and others recording her on their phones.

"I feel like I’m about to perform at the Super Bowl," Y/n joked, hearing the girl’s soft laugh.

A little over two hours later, the game was about to end with yet another rout in the history of matches against Real Madrid. Y/n had a proud smile on her lips as she sang along with the crowd. It wasn’t hard to notice her excitement, especially during decisive games.

Y/n had become something of a good luck charm for Barcelona fans. It was as if they knew Alexia would play three times better to impress her girlfriend, or perhaps she just needed a little nudge from the English singer.

While Alexia’s teammates ran to hug her, she quickly broke free when she noticed Y/n in the middle of the crowd, so close to the field. A wide smile spread across her lips, and without thinking twice, she jumped over the advertising board and ran into her girlfriend’s arms. Y/n couldn’t hold back her smile, swearing she could hear her heart racing with every second.

"I did it, mi amor," Alexia whispered, hugging the singer’s body, feeling the comforting warmth of her touch.

"You did it, darling," Y/n replied, holding the blonde’s chin, her eyes reflecting love and admiration. She leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the player’s lips, not caring about the cameras pointed in their direction.

Alexia closed her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the touch.

"Thank you for coming," she said, resting her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

"It’s the least I could do after you went to California to watch my shows," Y/n replied sweetly. "Now go get your medal. I’ll wait for you in the locker room hallway, okay?"

Alexia nodded, reluctant to pull away but knowing there was still one more step to complete. She planted a quick kiss on Y/n’s lips before heading back to the field, while Y/n smiled, watching her walk away.

At that moment, Olivia couldn’t resist and let out a soft laugh, clearly amused by the sight of her sister completely smitten.

"Don’t you dare say a word, Liv," Y/n muttered quietly, still with a mischievous smile on her lips, unable to contain her happiness

.A little over thirty minutes later, Y/n stood beside Alexia on the field. Both knew this was the pinnacle of their professional careers—Y/n shining on stage with profound lyrics, and Alexia on the field lifting trophies.

[chosaraki]

What would it be like if they took care of Jinrang's little daughter?

—————————————————————————

Baek Sang:

Baek was sitting in the main room of the Jinrang residence, reviewing some papers when a loud sound echoed through the mansion. He sighed heavily, already knowing exactly whose fault it was.

Jinrang's daughter.

He got up calmly and walked through the corridors, finding a trail of destruction. Torn cushions, misaligned paintings and a broken vase on the floor. In the middle of all this, there she was - neutral expression, hands in her pockets, staring at the wreckage as if nothing had happened.

- What happened here? - Baek Sang asked, his voice cold and controlled.

- The vase fell, - she replied, without emotion.

- Did it fall by itself?

- I played him.

He ran his hand over his face, exhaling patience. Despite the chaos she caused, the girl did not show any emotion. She wasn't angry, she didn't laud at her own mischief. He simply did what he wanted and continued with his monotonous expression.

- Your father left me in charge of taking care of you. That means you'll stop destroying the house, right?

She blinked slowly.

- Maybe.

Baek Sang laughed softly, a cruel and fun smile appearing on his face.

- You're definitely Jinrang's daughter.

She shrugged and walked out of the room, but he held her by the collar of her shirt.

- Where do you think you're going?

- I don't know. I'm just walking.

Baek Sang narrowed his eyes. He knew that "walking" meant more destruction.

- Listen here, plague. If it's going to cause chaos, at least do it right. Learn how to hide evidence. You are very direct, but you need to be more strategic.

The girl blinked again.

- Strategic?

- Yes. If you're going to destroy things, at least make it look like it was someone else.

She seemed to think for a moment.

- Like... make it look like it was you?

He stopped.

- Hah... So it's like that? You learn fast.

- That's what my father would do.

Baek Sang let out a low laugh. It was true.

- Okay, so, if you're going to make a mess, do it right. But if I have to clean up another of your dirt, it will be you who will help me.

She stared at him for a few seconds before giving a slight nod.

- Okay.

Baek Sang sighed and messed up his own hair, already preparing himself mentally for the next few days.

"This child-shaped demon will give me a headache..."

But, somehow, he felt... entertained.

———————————————————

Hwang Jungeak:

Hwang had already faced numerous battles, trained crew leaders, dealt with traitors and survived situations that few would achieve. However, nothing prepared him for that.

He was at the headquarters of the Jinrang Gang, finishing training some recruits, when one of the subordinates came in, pale.

- Boss... we need you in the main room.

Jungeak raised an eyebrow.

- What happened?

The subordinate hesitated before answering:

- Chief Jinrang's... daughter...

Jungeak sighed.

- What did she do now?

- Broke a table.

He snorted.

- Is that all?

- And two chairs.

He crossed his arms.

- Hm.

- And... the wall.

Silence.

Jungeak rubbed his face before going to the main room. When he arrived, he saw exactly what he expected: a scene of complete destruction and, in the center of it all, a girl of completely neutral expression, her hands in her pockets.

He crossed his arms.

- What happened?

She blinked slowly.

- I wanted to see if the wall could handle a kick.

- And?

- He couldn't stand it.

Jungeak ran his tongue through his teeth, trying to contain a smile. She was exactly like her father.

He walked up to her, placing a firm hand on her head.

- If you want to test your strength, at least do it in the right place.

She looked at him, without reaction.

- Where?

He pointed to the training yard.

- Outside. Instead of destroying furniture, destroy something useful, like recruits.

She blinked.

- Isn't this illegal?

Jungeak laughed low.

- They need to learn anyway.

The girl didn't say anything, she just nodded and started walking out of the room.

He watched her for a moment before muttering to himself:

- If this girl gets stronger, Busan won't survive.

He let out a heavy sigh and turned to the subordinates who looked at him, waiting for orders.

- You. Fix this mess.

And then, he went after her, knowing that Jinrang would not forgive him if he let his daughter cause a disaster without supervision.

——————————————————

Hyun Baekjin:

Hyun wasn't exactly the kind of person who liked to take care of children. But when Jinrang instructed him to supervise his daughter for a while, he had no choice.

He was sitting in the courtyard of the gang headquarters, sharpening his claws, when he heard a loud noise inside the building. He sighed and put away the blade, already knowing exactly what had happened.

When he entered, he saw one of the recruits lying on the floor, covered in dust, while Jinrang's daughter stood there, with her hands in her pockets, staring at the chaos around her with her monotonous expression.

- Did you throw him? - Baekjin asked, crossing his arms.

- Yes.

- Why?

- He was on the way.

Baekjin rubbed his temple.

- And did you think the best solution was to throw him around the room?

- Yes.

He looked at the recruit on the floor, who moaned in pain, and then at the girl.

- Damn... do you have a teacher or something like that?

She blinked slowly.

- My father.

Baekjin let out a short laugh.

- Yeah, it makes sense.

He approached and looked at her with a slight interest.

- Have you already learned how to use weapons?

- No.

He snapmed his fingers and pointed to one of the recruits who were watching from afar.

- Bring a training knife.

A few seconds later, a wooden knife was given to him. Baekjin held the blade and extended it to the girl.

- Let's see if you learn fast.

She took the knife without hesitation and held it in a simple but firm way.

- Now, try to hit me.

The girl didn't say anything. He just moved.

She advanced straight to him, without hesitation. His attack was raw and direct, but Baekjin deviated easily, turning to the side.

- Too direct. If one day you fight someone more experienced, it will be predictable.

She didn't react. He just adjusted his posture and attacked again.

Baekjin smiled slightly.

- Okay, maybe that's fun.

And then, he started training her. After all, if she was already causing damage now, he wanted to see what would happen when he was stronger.

————————————————

Jeagwang Do:

Jeagwang wasn't a babysitter. He was a fighter, a coach, a mentor for future warriors of the Jinrang Gang. But that day, for some reason he still didn't understand, he was in charge of taking care of the boss's daughter.

He was sitting in the training ring, watching the recruits sweating to improve their skills, when a thud echoed outside.

Silence.

The recruits looked at each other before looking at him.

Jeagwang Do let out a long sigh, already knowing who it was.

He got up and walked calmly outside, only to find a chaotic scenario: three recruits fallen to the ground, a broken door and, at the center of everything, Jinrang's daughter.

She was standing there, her hands in her pockets, staring at him with her neutral and monotonous expression.

- What happened? - he asked, crossing his arms.

- They annoyed me.

Jeagwang arched an eyebrow.

- You don't seem angry.

She blinked slowly.

- Because I'm not.

He analyzed the three men on the floor and sighed.

- Do you have any idea of the size of the mess you caused?

- Yes.

- Do you mind?

- No.

Jeagwang ran his hand over his face.

- If you're going to hit someone, at least do it right.

The girl tilted her head slightly.

- How?

He pointed to the ring.

- Go up there. I'll teach you.

She didn't hesitate. He calmly climbed the ring, still with that neutral face.

Jeagwang Do gave a slight smile, removing the bandages from his golden hand.

- Let's see what you're capable of.

He wasn't there to be a babysitter. But if it was to take care of the boss's daughter, I would do it the right way: teaching her to really fight.

—————————————————

Hashik Song:

Hashik didn't consider himself a patient person. As a mentor, he believed in discipline, focus and effort. But none of this seemed to work with Jinrang's daughter.

He looked at the gym floor. The mats were torn, the weights spread and some of the training bags were emptied. In the corner, one of the recruits was thrown on the ground, breathing heavily, clearly defeated.

And in the middle of the chaos, there she was.

With that neutral and monotonous expression, hands in their pockets, as if absolutely nothing had happened.

- ...What happened here? - He asked, his voice firm.

- He said I couldn't knock him down. So I knocked it down.

Hashik massaged his temples.

- And the rest of the mess?

She looked at the damage around.

- I don't remember.

He took a deep breath.

- You can't just go out hitting people and destroying things.

- Why?

- Because that's how it works.

She blinked slowly.

- Is that a rule?

- Yes.

- Who made this rule?

- I'm doing it now.

She was silent for a moment, then just shrugged.

Hashik Song crossed his arms.

- If you want to go out knocking people down, then at least learn to do it right.

She looked at him, expressionless.

- Will you teach me?

- Get in the ring.

She obeyed without hesitation.

Hashik Song snacked his neck, flexing his steel joint hand.

- Focus. Eyes on me.

The girl stood still, staring at him, expressionless as always.

He sighed.

- ... This will be a problem.

But if I had to take care of her, I would do it the only way I knew: turning her into an even more dangerous fighter.

———————————————

Jinrang:

Jinrang was not a man who showed concern easily. He trusted his subordinates, he knew they were strong and loyal. But when it came to your daughter... things were different.

He had left her with the best fighters in his gang - Baek Sang, Hwang Jungeak, Hyun Baekjin, Jeagwang Do and Hashik Song. Men who could crush anyone.

And even so...

When he entered the room, he saw Baek Sang sitting on the floor, massaging his temples with an angry expression. Hwang Jungeak crossed his arms, staring at a destroyed punching bag. Hyun Baekjin looked exhausted, leaning against the wall, while Jeagwang Do and Hashik Song discussed "adequate training for destruction".

In the center of all this, her daughter was sitting on a pile of dropped weights, with the same neutral expression as always, holding a glass of juice.

Jinrang raised an eyebrow.

— ...What happened here?

Baek Sang snorted.

- This girl happened.

Hwang Jungeak sighed.

- She knocked down half of the recruits.

Hyun Baekjin grumbled.

- She's like a natural disaster with a monotonous expression.

Jeagwang Do crossed his arms.

- At the very least, she has potential.

Hashik Song just looked at her, shaking his head.

Jinrang let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

- As problematic as I imagined.

He walked up to his daughter and messed up her hair.

- Did you have fun?

She blinked slowly.

- Maybe.

Jinrang smiled.

- Let's go home.

Without hesitation, she got up and followed him, without looking back.

The subordinates were silent, watching the two leave.

Baek Sang sighed.

- Next time, it's better to leave her with Jinrang himself.

Hwang Jungeak agreed.

- I agree.

Hyun Baekjin grumbled.

- My body also agrees.

Jeagwang Do just laughed.

Hashik Song crossed his arms.

- I'm still going to turn her into a decent fighter.

They didn't know if this was a promise or a threat.

——————————————

The personalities and

information of each of them came:

@immortalityforthegoddess

………………………………………………………..

[writing-whump]

A Sick Man’s Patience

Have Arnie visiting a still recovering Isaiah while in a not-so-quiet argument with Hector. Angst ensues.

"How could we not notice you were sick?" Arnie asked for the umpteenth time.

Arnie had come to Isaiah cause he wanted a change of scenery under the pretense of getting help with an exam question.

Isaiah did the exams of the first law school year as a side thing next to his psychology master degree. What Arnie was struggling with was something Isaiah did with a shrug and nearby, like it wasn't difficult as hell.

Arnie knew he wasn't stupid, but moments like these made him feel like Isaiah was on another level of genius.

Really, the youngest Wolfson thought it would be easy. He would surprise Isaiah home, get some questions answered and inconspicuously asked about his opinion about the dorms. Easy.

Except Isaiah had been sick, the apartment was a mess and Arnie's surprise turned out to be more of a bother. Like he came demanding study sessions from sick people.

How was he supposed to know?

Isaiah changed out of pyjamas at the sight of him, but he wasn't feeling well enough to forgo a bathrobe on top of the sweater he was wearing. To be fair, the bathrobe was nice, huge and super formal looking, but it was still a glaring reminder Isaiah wasn't 100% yet.

Isaiah was also leaning heavily with both elbows on the table supporting his cheek on one palm— which was something unspeakable under normal circumstances. "We were handling it."

"Oh, we were handling it," Matthew repeated sarcastically behind them. He was putting dishes out of the dishwasher with excessive strength. "Shame I didn't notice that sooner."

Isaiah just sighed.

Arnie turned around to face the red wolf. "Then why didn't you let us know? We would have...done something."

Matthew scoffed in Isaiah's direction and continued washing the sink like it personally offended him.

And Seline was an entirely different problem. She actually yelled when he came, only in her PJs on the extended sofa, unwashed hair in a loose ponytail and had been throwing lighting bolts at Arnie since.

"You could have at least called if we are in a shape for a visit." She was clumsily trying to fold the blankets and return the sofa to its normal stare. Arnie was tempted to go help her, cause it still seemed to have been a straining tast for her, but also didn't dare to get closer.

"Or asked if we didn't need anything to buy," she continued. "This isn't a train station you can just barge into whenever you want. People have their privacy."

Arnie chewed on his lip, feeling stupider by the second. So he did the usual thing, when he was feeling guilty. "Jesus, aren't you overdoing it a little? It's not such a big deal. So your hair is greasy and you have a bathrobe. Get over it. No one cares about it anyway."

Seline's cheeks heated up and she threw the pillow against the sofa. "You are so rude-"

"Alright," Matthew interjected, positioning himself between the two. "Arnie didn't know. He will be more careful next time. You can crash in our room...?"

Seline rolled her eyes. "I can get up the stairs again, thank you."

Arnie turned away from her stomping her way upwards. "Was she always this bitchy? It sure got worse after the break up-"

There was painful wet impact against the back of his head. Matthew smacked him with a wet kitchen towel.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

Matthew gave him a nasty glare. "Don't talk like that about her or I'll give you an actual problem to worry about." He threw a look over Arnie's head towards Isaiah, scoffed and stomped off as well.

Arnie looked towards Isaiah who was strangely quiet through it all. Was he supposed to feel guilty or look for sympathy?

Isaiah sat in the same position, leaning against his hand, though now his other was massaging the left side of his chest and frowning.

"You okay?"

Isaiah opened his eyes at him with slow, deliberate effort. "I'm not really in shape for conflict right now. I'm happy to help you out with this and all, but be a little gentle with me today?"

"O-okay." Arnie was stunned by the request as much as the admittance. Was this a win for them that Isaiah was finally admitting when he wasn't feeling well or a cause for worry it was that bad for him to do it? "Was the...the fever that bad?"

Isaiah gave a tiny shrug, still rubbing at the sore spot at his chest. "Puts extra strain on the heart. I guess it's the most exhausting to me." His lips were pressed together in a thin line.

Arnie nodded, swallowing down. He had wanted to discreetly ask Isaiah about his dorm moving idea and get support from him against Hector's fussing...but it seemed today just wasn't going to be his day. "We can also forget about the studying thing too, if you are still feeling tired."

"Nah, it's alright. I can do these just fine." Isaiah leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. "Read the example out loud and then find the corresponding section in the crime law that fits it the best."

Arnie looked back at the textbook he brought with him, simultaneously opening the law book as well, squinting at the tiny letters. "Yeah, but there are so many of them to choose from..."

"It doesn't matter as much what you choose but how you can argue about it."

Arnie rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "But shouldn't you look for like...objective reality?"

Isaiah chuckled, eyes still closed. "There is no such thing as that. But read the example again. Every word in that report matters. It gives you hints on the most likely law to apply."

Before Arnie could question that further, the front door suddenly slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls.

"So this is where you snuck off to," Hector said, amber brown eyes glistening yellow with anger as he stormed in.

Isaiah opened his eyes, straightening in the chair. "Was it a secret?"

"Of course not!" Arnie hunched his shoulders. "Not like I didn't message him where I was."

Hector stopped halfway through the living room, raising a blond eyebrow at the mess. "What the fuck?"

Arnie cringed, but this really wasn't on him was it?

Hector went white with realization but then took a deep breath and bit down the anger, going almost red from the effort. "I'm not gonna ask why you didn't call us when you were sick, cause you keep doing the same mistake and expecting an idiot to change is mine."

Arnie felt Isaiah freezing next to him, but Hector didn't wait for his answer. He shrugged off his jacket and shoes and started to wrestle with the blankets and pillows to clear the sofa, before attacking the mess on the table.

Isaiah tiled hsi head to the side at that, looking more curious than offended. "What is he doing?"

Arnie leaned closer conspiratively. "I think he is proving the necessity of his presence by cleaning."

Hector's head jerked up at that, like a wolf's ear turning towards a sound. "Where exactly are your manners, huh? Why are you giving him tasks instead of helping out? Honestly out of the three of us, only I was given common sense..."

Isaiah actually laughed at that. "When did he become so mature?"

Arnie had to join in on the laughter. "Oh, it's all the mysterious girlfriend's fault. Half a year later and Hector is getting the hang of his temperament."

Isaiah's eyebrows shot up. "Girlfriend? Since when? What?"

Arnie was immensely enjoying himself being the most informed. "I'm not exactly sure, because he keeps hiding her like she will turn into sand if you look at her, but she is definitely an influence. Quite the soft power." Arnie smiled in Hector's direction with a dreamy sight. "I'm so happy for him! For real, the best I can do for the lovebirds is to clear the space and move out, isn't it?"

He meant it as a joke. Maybe a subtle hint. Wasn't Hector supposed to be glad their life circumstances aligned so much? Arnie wanted to try out college life at the dorms, and Hector wanted to have his girl over. Ideal.

Except Hector didn't find it amusing. He dropped the dirty mugs into the kitchen sink, almost breaking them to pieces, before whirling around. "What did you say?!"

Isaiah looked perplexed like an owl. "You want to move out?"

Arnie focused on the undecided party like a good politician. "I have been thinking about it? Like the semester is going well, but because I live so far away I have to commute a lot to campus and I can't really take part in the social life if I'm constantly locked up at the pack building, right?" He was aware he was speeding up, but he couldn't stop. "So I wanted to move into the student dorms on the way. That should be possible, right? It'll still be in Hector's region, but it will be closer and I'll get to meet actual students of my age and-"

"Not a chance," Hector cut in. "Too dangerous. Forget about it."

Arnie looked at Isaiah. "What do you think? Would it be possible?"

There was a long pause heavy with tension as the blond and dark-haired wolf stared at the human between them.

Isaiah looked up as he thought, rubbing at his chin. "I mean...I wasn't expecting that, but it should be possible. It's not like they will know who you are and those that will should be too scared of both Hector and me to actually try anything." He met Hector's burning eyes. "With some safety measures in place, I think it's doable."

Hector’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He returned his attention to Arnie with a death glare he used to remind wolves under him of how small and insignificant they were. It was very much an authority move in wolf terms.

Arnie returned it without hesitation.

"How could you say it's because of Olive? You can't possibly-" Hector deflated a little at the words, hurt flashing in his eyes. "You think I would ever choose a girl over you? That I would kick you out just to give her room? How could you think that?"

Arnie swallowed, surprised by the change of tactics. Instead of getting angry, Hector was getting emotional. "Hex. Geez. You are not a divorced father who has to convince his kid to forgive him interests in other people. We are adults. You like that girl and I'm happy for you. It doesn't have anything to do with me wanting to move out."

Hector's brows furrowed. "Then why? Why are you insisting on this nonsense?!" He hit his closed fist against the counter.

Isaiah looked very unimpressed. "I don't quite understand the problem here. Socializing and trying out new environments is a good idea for him. I like it."

A muscle twitched in Hector’s jaw. "You. Stay out of it."

"Why should he?" Arnie said. "He can judge the risks well-"

"Oh yeah, Isaiah is so great, does everything right all the fucking time." Hector's voice was rougher now. "Very easy for him to be perfect when he was never there long enough to mess anything up."

Arnie's eyes went wide. "Hex, that’s just unfair—"

"Don’t you think you’re overreacting?" Isaiah’s said, voice low and controlled. But there was something new in his eyes. A warning.

Hector bared his teeth. "I don’t want to hear the opinion of someone who left us the first chance he got. What would you know?"

The chair scraped against the floor as Isaiah pushed to his feet, towering slightly over Hector.

"Say that again."

Hector stepped closer. "I said-"

"Sorry, I was busy taking the physical abuse of our father at the time so that neither of you would get hurt." Isaiah's voice was very calm and quiet compared to Hector's. Didn't stop the room from turning to ice.

Arnie’s breath hitched, caught in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

Hector seemed to have snapped out of his red fog, taking a few steps back. His fingers twitched at his sides like they weren’t sure whether to ball into fists or reach for something unseen.

"And that I left so you could grow up in a safe pack instead of running away while it was tearing itself in half," Isaiah continued. "Truly, I have done nothing but enjoyed getting beat up, cast out, and fucking up my health for good in the process. What would I know about caring about someone, huh?"

Hector was backing away until he bumped against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His lips parted in a silent exhale, but no words came.

"For your information," Isaiah continued, his voice colder than Arnie had ever heard it, "it's way harder to hide the pain than to take it out on others."

A ringing silence followed, the air thick with something unspoken, but Isaiah didn’t fill it.

A blue vein pulsed on his forehead. His breathing was steady, but just barely.

Then, finally, he rubbed a hand over his face, as if wiping away the last remnants of the fight. "I told you to take it easy on me today," he said towards Arnie.

He turned, moving past Hector like he wasn’t worth another glace.

The black-haired wolf stopped just before disappearing into his room. This time, his voice was soft. Almost too soft.

"You know why I never call you?"

He didn’t look back, didn’t wait for Hector to answer.

"You always kick me when I'm down."

And the door shut behind him.

[sol-consort]

pt.1 - pt.2

Between all of the available options, the one person I think Commander Shepard would fall in love with the most—time after time after time, no matter if renegade or paragon—is the player.

In a self-aware kind of sense. Shepard knows you're there, felt your presence fade in the aftermath of the last battle in ME1, a part of themselves evaporating into thin air, an inexplicable feeling of losing something they can't being to describe. Like an invisible limb amputated in plain sight.

Everyone can see that, the way Shepard acts differently, lacking that defined edge that having your guidance during the game offered.

Only for your presence to re-materialise at the intro of ME2. Shepard felt your soul breathing life into their body again, but circumstances didn't allow the time to dwell on it nor question this rejuvenating limb they thought was long gone. They had to act fast and get everyone out of the ship. Even if it spelt their own demise, suffocating in the vacuum of space, they'd die peacefully knowing they're never truly alone, that they're whole again with you swimming through their veins.

Three years in a coma, on a deathbed, reconstructed from the atom up. Three years of having you by their side, a comforting presence that anchored Shepard and pieced together their sanity whilst the doctors pieced their physical mind. Three years passed in the blink of an eye for the player, but felt like an eternity for the commander you're puppeting around.

And just how attached Shepard would be to you, to the faint voice urging them towards certain dialogue options, the subtle nudges to move in certain directions, the twitch of their finger as if your hand is brushing against theirs to select a specific planet you had in mind on the galactic map.

They trudged through this journey filled with both unfamiliar faces and changed-beyond-recognition once familiar ones. Endured the hardships, the deception, the belittling, and dismissal attitude of the council. No matter how many people had gotten close to them, caressed their body, and shared their warmth, none of them could truly reach within Shepard's heart.

At first, they thought they were crazy. Maybe a screw or two were loose after the reconstruction surgery. Maybe the doctors did put them back wrong after all. For how could someone fall in love with themselves? And not even themselves but a very specific part of them, a vague presence constantly hovering around.

Shepard came to the revelation that you weren't part of them, not natively, at least. You were an outside influence, something—someone that held the potential to become part of them at given instances, only to depart just as suddenly, leaving them feeling hollow as their world becomes a little bit more cold and grey.

That realisation only served to further their infatuation, to resonate within their mind how justified their feelings are. It's not something they could explain. Where would they even begin? Who would believe them? They attempted to open their mind and allow Liara to peer through their consciousnesses countless times, and yet not once could the asari sense your presence. Nothing seemed out of place.

Miranda is not an option. The least Shepard needs, right now, is an overly concerned scientist coercing them into more experiments, brain scans, and psychological evaluations.

Leaving the more spiritual crew memebers as their only option... If only Ashley was here. Thane will have to do for now. As Shepard told him of their strife, the drell was surprisingly more accepting of their eccentric tale of love than they expected.

He confessed not to fully understanding what Shepard's going through. However, he does sincerely believe in the existence of outsider influence. souls which weave themselves into your own during times of need, in order to help guide and direct you towards the righteous path—guardian angels is what he described them as, described you, the player, as. Wisps that come and go as they please.

Not that you'd be aware of a single word said during this conversation, of course not. Much like the instances of Shepard showering, training, and getting a full night's rest, this conversation between them and the drell only occurred during the quiet hours of the universe. The ones when your game is turned off, leaving you oblivious to all the rather mundane aspects of this world.

Although, he did discourage his commander from perusing anything more than admiration with this said spirit, it's a one-sided relationship, as he explained best he could. You'll only see what the universe wants you to see, Shepard's growing infatuation is not one of them. Angels came and went, that is their nature.

Leaving Shepard back to where they started at square one, frustrated and indecisive on how to approach this, how to approach you. And now they're questioning if you'd even perceive their approach. Are you aware of their existence? Or are they presented to you by the universe as an empty canvas, devoid of personality and preferences.

For a first step, they needed to make sure you knew of their consciousness... easier said than done. They could hear your voice sometimes, never clear words, but more akin to background white noise. A distant humming while they slept, the faint sound of an airy laugh during a conversation with one of their crewmembers.

Do you hear them, too? Or do you only hear the words you make them say during important conversations? Phrases that suddenly pop into their mind out of nowhere, that seemed a little too perfect of a thoughtful response for them to having come up with it on the spot.

Shepard decided that there is no better way for them to prove their free will to you than to purposely go against your benevolent guidance. Not out of ungratefulness or annoyance, but just as a way to catch your attention, remind you that whilst you can give orders, at the end of the day, they're the actual person steering this ship around.

It's small things at first, wrong dialogue choices getting selected that have you questioning if you misclicked or something. Shepard selecting a different elevator floor from the one you initially picked. Your built-up romance with a specific character going down the drain as Shepard decides to reject them and end everything during the lock-in conversation, and no matter how many times you reload a savefile and carefully click on the correct dialogue choices, the words coming out of their mouth are always the same.

A bug, is the logical conclusion you first reached, what else would it be? Video game characters coming to life? Don't be absurd.

A fresh reinstall would do the trick.

Except... it persists.

The internet hasn't been helpful. No evidence of such a bug ever existing came up.

[flowerchildshawn]

Oh Scar...

The doors opened in the middle of the meeting, and Skizz smiled brightly as a familiar face was revealed.

"Scarface! Good to see you buddy, where have you been?"

Scar seemed to bite his lips from the inside, pulling his mouth into a tight line. He looked away, then focused on the ground as he walked, his cane clicking on the ground and echoing around the silent room. Skizz almost called out after the man, but Impulse put a hand on his arm. He looked over and saw his friend shake his head solemnly before watching Scar with sad eyes. The other had sat down in his seat, False scooting her chair closer to him to pull him into a half hug. Wels on Scar's other side took off his gauntlets and took Scar's hand in one of his, patting it with the other.

Xisuma continued the meeting after greeting Scar with a sad and knowing look, keeping things soft and light. He didn't speak as loud as usual, but Skizz had no trouble hearing him due to everyone else falling completely silent. It ended shortly after, and it seemed like everyone gave Scar a hug before they left. Skizz wanted to ask what had happened, but followed Impulse out and away as Mumbo, Grian, and Bdubs seemed to huddle around Scar instead.

"Is he okay?" Skizz asked worriedly, wringing his hands. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

"From what I can tell no, and you didn't say the wrong thing." Impulse explains softly, the two walking in the direction of the nether portal. "Scar loses his grip on his world hopping sometimes, I'm sure you've heard him tell stories about it before."

Skizz nods and Impulse sighs sadly as the two step into the nether. "Sometimes he comes back, and starts chattering about his adventure, really happy to share. Others, he comes back silent."

"Like now."

"Like now." Impulse echoes, shaking out his hands. "We never find out what happened on those hops, all we can do is try to be there for him. It's been a while since he'd had a bad hop, I really hope it wasn't as bad as season nine."

"What.. what happened then?"

"The whole "Buttercups" vs "The Perimeter" thing was started because Scar was having frequent nightmares and needed someone staying with him to make sure he didn't hurt himself. We speak about it like a giant silly thing because that helps Scar too. It helps him focus on the silly things we all do as friends and not whatever had happened to him."

Skizz quietly follows Impulse along the rest of the nether walk, then out through his own portal. Skizz gently grabs Impulse's arm to stop him from walking ahead as he comes to a conclusion. "Has he ever gone to therapy?"

"He did before, but at some point he stopped and never told anyone but Xisuma why. As far as we're aware, it wasn't Scar's choice to stop going."

"Do you think if I ask him, he'll let me be his therapist?"

Impulse thought for a moment. "Maybe, but if you ask him, and he says no, don't press."

"I'll still be there for him, no shoving." Skizz says with a silly salute and Impulse huffs a laugh.

"Alright alright."

It's a few days later when Skizz finally spots Scar alone. He wanted to give the man time before he asked, and he had a feeling that if Scar wasn't being followed by someone, that would be his time to step forward.

"Hey Scarface!"

"Skizzly!" Scar called back with a smile, he's not as energetic as usual, but he at least was talking. "What can I do for you on this fine afternoon?"

"I wanted to ask you something, and you don't gotta agree or anything, but I just wanted to run something past you." He knows his serious tone wasn't putting Scar at ease, especially given the worried furrow in his brow, but he needed his friend to know he would mean what he was about to say. "It's none of my business, but if you need or want someone to talk to about stuff, I want you to know you can talk to me. I used to do this therapy thing a while ago, got an expensive piece of paper to show for it in school and everything, but I just wanted to tell you I'd be here if you needed to talk."

"You don't gotta, or ever mention this again, but I wanted to make sure you knew I'd be here for you if you wanted to." Skizz finishes, and he's shaken with the force of the hug Scar gives him. He hugs him back tightly as Scar's breath is clearly shaking with near sobs. "I've got you bud, don't even worry about it."

Scar loses control of his universe/world hopping sometimes. When this happens the Hermits will hear about it, Scar loves telling stories after all. But sometimes, even if he's gone for a while, he'll come back silent. Dead silent. No one knows what he encountered, they just help cheer him up.

.