#that'll do perhaps. for now at least

[telesodalite]

I've got like 5+ other creative projects i want/need to do, but holiday cookies gotta be made, lol. Started with almond cloud cookies <3

Ft. A lump of soon to be choc chip cookies

[mariasont]

EEEEK your post prison fic for spencer is fREAking me out!!! could you maybe do one where spencer is now teasing the reader a bit? maybe he's giving her extra praise and she freaks (what would i do if he called me a good girl? 😩) (this is very indulgent to my praise kink i'm so so sorry 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️) tytyty!! i adore love and cherish you and your work 💕

I Aim To Please - S.R

a/n: shewwwwww to be complimented by post prison spencer fucking reid. im drooling!!!! but anyway babes i adore & love YOU!!!! so thank u so so sooo much for requesting 💖💖

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x shy!media-liaison!reader

warnings: spencer being hot, reader being shy girl, spencer being a little shit who loves to tease

wc: 1.5k

There were a few basic rules you had established from working at BAU. First, avoid Rossi at all costs until he’s had at least two cups of coffee. Second, never attempt to outwit Emily; she’ll see right through you and crush your argument every single time. And third—perhaps the most crucial—do everything in your power to maintain your freaking composure around Dr. Reid.

That last one, however, was proving to be a monumental challenge. It wasn’t just the way he spoke, his brain firing off at a speed only he could keep up with. It wasn’t even the way he seemed oblivious to how endearing those very quirks were. No, it was the fact that the simple act of him breathing in your direction had you scrambling to hold yourself together. And honestly you were failing miserably.

Which is why you spent most of your time holed up in your office. It wasn’t much—just a desk, a slightly uncomfortable chair, and a perpetually growing stack of case files that seemed determined to bury you. But it offered privacy, and that was enough. Here you could breathe, decompress, and occasionally allow yourself to daydream about a certain genius profiler without the risk of public humiliation.

The bullpen was proving to be too chaotic, too close to him. Your office gave you distance, a buffer. But, as you had come to learn, hiding only worked when he didn’t decide to seek you out. And Spencer Reid had a knack for finding you when you least expected it.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly, nearly fumbling the stack of press notes you’d been carefully organizing.

Turning toward the door, you found Spencer leaning casually against the frame, a file tucked under one arm and a distracted sort of smile on his face. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and—just like that—your brain completely short-circuited.

"Hi," you said, trying not to sound too startled. "Do you, um, need something?"

"Yeah." He further into the room, lifting the file in explanation. "I was looking at the local coverage of our case, and I noticed a couple discrepancies in the timeline published."

"Oh,” you said softly, quickly shuffling the press notes into a messy pile and pushing them to the side. "Well, um, sometimes reporters try to fill gaps when they don't the facts. It's... frustrating, but it happens."

You glanced up at him briefly, but that look of his made your cheeks warm. Your fingers twisted together in your lap as you tried to focus on anything other than how ridiculously self-conscious you suddenly felt.

"That makes sense. I figured you'd know."

Instead of lingering in the doorway or leaving like you assumed he would, Spencer, casually grabbed the chair across from your desk. He spun it around in one fluid motion and sat it backwards, draping his arms on the backrest with an ease that felt strangely familiar—like you had been friends or colleagues for years instead of just a few months.

"I'll reach out to them about fixing the timeline," you said, your hand instinctively moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You clasped your hands together to still them, offering a small, nervous smile. "It shouldn't be too hard to correct."

"Thanks," he said. "That'll probably save from giving another long-winded lecture on factual reporting."

You gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the distraction from your tasks, though you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about the company. Not that you didn’t enjoy his company—there was plenty to enjoy, more than you cared to admit. If you could manage to function like a normal human being around him, you might even look forward to moments like this.

But then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were unraveling some kind of puzzle and for one terrifying second, you were convinced he could hear every single thought racing through your mind.

"So," he began, "how are you liking it here so far? The job, I mean. Is it what you expected?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um... yeah. It's been great so far. Busy, but... I like it."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "I know it’s not exactly the most predictable job. Some people don't expect it to be so... chaotic."

"Well," you said, fidgeting slightly with your pen. "I knew what I was signing up for. Or, at least I thought I did. It's a lot, but it's rewarding."

"That's a good attitude to have," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you're doing a great job. I don't know how you manage to keep everything straight."

Your heart leaped, thudding in your chest as warmth flooded your face. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, especially from someone like him. You wanted to savor the moment, to bottle up the way his words made you feel, but your nerves refused to let you fully enjoy it.

"I'm just, um, organized I guess,” you stammered, your hand flying up to rub at the back of your neck.

"More than just organized," he replied easily, completely unaware of how his words were affecting you. "You've got half the team wrapped around your finger already. Even Rossi listen when you talk. That's impressive."

Your face burned. "I think that's more about respect for the job than me."

Spencer shrugged lightly, as he was watching you, like he didn't quite believe you. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just better at this than you give yourself credit for."

You let out a nervous chuckle, fingers twitching as you fiddled with the corner of the paper in front of you.

"I don't... I don't know about that."

He tilted his head, again, his brow quirking. "Do you know how to take a compliment?"

"Of course I do." You were sure your voice lacked the conviction needed.

He smirked, leaning forward over the chair. "Doesn't seem like it."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled in the frantic web that was your thoughts around this infuriating man.

"Well, uh, you’ve only done it twice, so I don’t think that’s enough for you to judge."

His grin widened. "Oh? So you’re saying I should try again? For research purposes?"

Your eyes widened, and you blinked rapidly as if to process his words, your hands shooting up as if to physically block the implication. "I—uh—no, that's not what I meant.”

"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter and waiving off your flustered attempt to deflect. "I aim to please. If more compliments are what you’re after, I’ve got plenty.”

"Please, no."

"You're incredibly efficient. Seriously, I think you've managed to anticipate what the team needs before we even know we need it. And your ability to keep your cool under pressure? That's impressive. I mean, do you even get stressed? Because if you do, you hide it really well."

"Dr. Reid—," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands as if that could somehow shield you from the onslaught of praise.

"And," he continued, clearly now enjoying himself. "You're probably the most patient person, I've ever met. Which is something, considering you work with people who constantly interrupt and derail your perfectly planned press briefings."

Your stomach flipped, and you felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment pooling in your chest. As much as you wanted to sink to the floor, the way he looked at you sent every nerve in your body spiraling. Each word felt like it was tailored to you, peeling back the very thin veneer of control you’d desperately tried to maintain over the massive crush you found yourself drowning in.

Your head dropped to the desk with a soft thunk, muffling your groan. "Okay, okay, I get it."

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on his arms atop the chair. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you."

He smirked widened. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide the nervous smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't have to go on and on..."

"Oh, but I did." He was still grinning. "You deserved it."

You risked a glance back at him, losing your cool by the second. That only made your face heat up more. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you haven't kicked me out of your office."

"That's only because I didn’t think it would work."

"Well," he said, turning towards the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't mind the compliments."

You opened your mouth to protest but no words came out. Instead, you watched helplessly as he shot you one last smile before disappearing into the hallway.

When the door finally clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath and drop your head back onto the desk.

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[areyouwell]

Nyctophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of the dark. Children or adults may have Nyctophobia if they are afraid to be left alone in darkness

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: None as of yet, but we'll get there ;)

Word count: 9.2k

A/N: RIGHT FUCKERS ITS TIME. i don't think i've written a fic this long in goddamn years but here we are. DEFO ooc Logan and also timeline what timeline? Kitty is older than the rest of the students cuz i love her and i said so. reader's mutation is currently shadow-walking but that'll develop as we go on so slay boots. also I have no concept of word limits sooooo 9k chapter let's fucking go

How long had it been? Six months? A year? Two years? Honestly, you couldn’t recall. It felt like it had been forever since ol’ Charlie had sent you travelling the continent. Sure, it had been your idea to try and find mutants before they experience the most traumatic event of their lives, but you didn’t think he’d send you, and certainly not immediately. Though you were glad he did, you didn’t think Scott would make as good an impression as you could.

But, now you were back. Thank fuck. You could finally rest your weary legs and put down your heavy-as-shit bag. And at least now you could work on developing your mutation. Shadow walking. Or at least, it is now. You thought that was the extent of what you could do, just disappear and reappear whenever and wherever there happened to be a shadow cast on the ground. Or on a wall. Or anywhere really. But, Xavier had gently suggested that, perhaps, those shadows could be manipulated one way or another. You wished to fuck you knew how because your bag was all but cutting right through your shoulder.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you took a deep breath, making your way inside. It was nice to notice nothing had changed. The lawn was still neatly mowed, brickwork hadn’t aged a day. It smelt like comfort. It smelt like home. But before you could even knock on the door, at least being courteous enough not to slip through the shadows, the oak burst open and two unidentified arms had wrapped themselves around your neck in one of the most warming hugs you’d ever received, accompanied by a high pitch squeal.

You knew instantly who that would be. Brown hair spilled across her shoulders, smelling faintly of lavender. “Hey Kitty,” you grinned, dropping your bag to return her tight embrace. It truly did feel like forever.

“I’m so happy to see you it’s been years! We thought you were never coming back! Scott thought you’d died and Charles wasn’t telling us, Logan didn’t think you even existed and that we were all lying, Jean thought you’d just got sick of this place and dipped, it was carnage!” She rambled, her deep brown eyes sparkling slightly. You had to take a minute to actually comprehend what the fuck she was saying before your lips split into a broad smile.

“Well, I can tell you that I’m not dead, at least not yet, and I do very much exist and I am not sick of this place despite what Jean may think. And– wait who’s Logan?” Your brain had only just caught up with the fact that Kit had mentioned a name completely unfamiliar to you. Just how long had you been gone?

“Oh, right yeah. A new teacher,” Kitty kept one arm around your shoulder as she guided you back inside, stopping only when you realised your bag was still left discarded by the front door. “He uh, sorta took your position as PE and combat professor… sorry.” She looked genuinely apologetic, whilst internally, you couldn’t be more grateful. You always thought you weren’t ever cut out to teach, and whilst you sometimes enjoyed it, you were always too worried about the kids being hurt. 

“I’m hurt, a girl’s gone for a year or two and you replace her? What kind of school is this?” you cracked a smile, Kitty’s face morphing from remorse to relief. She really thought you’d be upset? You were touched. “Anyway, what time is it? Where is everyone? I thought classes stopped at–” You were cut off abruptly upon entering the lounge.

“Welcome back!” you covered your face at the chorus of voices, laughing behind your hands before clutching your heart dramatically. 

“Christ! You’ve all just knocked five years off my life!” you grinned, faces both familiar and unfamiliar laughing and smiling just to see you.

“They’ve been looking forward to this for days. Ever since rumour of your return started circulating, they’ve been pestering us nonstop for a date. Eventually, someone caved,” You didn’t need to see Scott’s eyes in order to know he was giving Kitty a pointed look behind his glasses. You looked back to see her looking sheepish.

“Yeah well… they can be really persuasive.” She shrugged, taking your bag off your shoulder and placing it out of the way. You sighed at the loss of weight, rolling your joint slightly. 

“It’s good to see you,” Scott pulled you in for a brief hug, clapping your back once before pulling back, letting the rest of your friends and pupils make their way over. You were consumed by various arms of embraces, questions about your travels, introductions to new students, reminiscing with old students. It was quite possibly the best moment you’d had since you left. But a face caught your eye at the back of the crowd. A young girl, with the same dark brown hair you remember, only now a streak of brilliant white framed her face.

You made your way over, shuffling through the crowd, clasping hands and shoulders with people you knew before finally getting to her.

“Hey you,” you smiled gently, remembering how timid and easy to scare she used to be. You were caught off guard completely by her sudden bright smile. 

“Hey.”

“How long’ve you been here? I didn’t actually think you’d listen to me to be brutally honest with you, thought you’d just shrug it off and continue your own path,” you were relieved to see she had listened to what you’d said two years ago. You’d urged her down this path, to find the school. You’d already known Charles would take her, it was just a matter of her taking herself here.

“Uh… about that…” you’d only seen a smile that sheepish on Kitty. You cocked a brow, head tilting to the side slightly before a hand on your shoulder caused you to whirl. But it was just Ororo. Clearly, your travels had affected you more than you originally thought. 

But Storm wasn’t looking at you, you could only see the back of her white hair as she frantically waved at someone through the crowd, beckoning them over.

“Logan!”

Ah, you guess that made sense now.

Whoever you’d expected to walk through the crowd, you threw that image out your mental window the moment you saw him. 

Now you understood why he taught combat and PE… he was fucking ripped. White t-shirt leaving nothing to the imagination. The facial hair was an interesting choice, but you couldn’t say it didn’t suit him. He was very… rugged lumberjack looking.

You placed a hand on your hip, brows raised in intrigue as he made his way over. You don’t think you’d ever seen a grumpier-looking man. 

“Logan, this is Phantom,” your eyes slid to Ororo as she used your mutant name. 

“Ah, so you do exist,” his voice seemed a perfect match for the rest of him, just as rough and rugged as the worn jeans he was wearing. You nodded, mouth quirking into a small smirk.

“Heard there was some debate over that, glad I could put it to rest,” you outstretched your hand for him to shake, something you were surprised he actually did, calloused palm encasing your own.

“Can ya blame me?” He asked with a raised brow, dropping your hand after a beat too long. Clearly unaccustomed to civility, judging from his appearance. 

“Guess not. You’re also the son-of-a-bitch that stole my position, right?” You asked, wanting to be a lot more serious than you actually were being, but for some reason, you couldn’t help grinning slightly. 

“Language!” Storm elbowed you slightly. Guess you’d forgotten how to behave around the kids too.

Logan held his hands up in surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t think you existed,” though he also seemed serious, you thought you could detect something that could be perceived as humour in his hazel eyes. You couldn’t keep up your poorly constructed façade anymore, waving your hand as if to physically clear the air between the two of you.

“I’m kidding, you can keep it. In all honesty, I was never really cut out for it.” You shrugged. “Besides, I’m–”

“She’s being super modest by the way, she rocked as that professor!” Kitty called from the other side of the room, somehow managing to listen to your conversation. You didn’t know how, since the entire welcome party was still chatting way, but you cast her a withering look nonetheless. 

“So I’ve heard,” Logan’s eyes slid from Kitty back to you as you scoffed.

“Though, of course, it was purely hypothetical, since I didn’t exist and all.” You teased, gesturing to your very much existing self. You silently triumphed over the fact you managed to drag a small smile out of him, realising that making this man pull any other expression other than irritation was something to be proud of. 

You hadn’t realised how completely caught up in the introduction you’d been before you noticed the girl still standing next to you, eyes flicking between you and Logan with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“Anyway,” you continued pointedly, “you were saying? So you didn’t come to find this place?” your head tilted again slightly in confusion. “How did you end up here?”

Rogue looked from you to Logan, who’s eyes were still trained on you. You looked between them. “Nope, still confused. How did…?” 

“Well, after you found me, I did carry on my own path, which led me to some shady bar where Logan found me,” she explained quietly.

“More you found me but sure.” He shrugged. You could tell there was some kind of bond between them, one you could recognise was only built through trauma. You’d heard a little of what happened with Eric through Charles’ telepathic link, but he always reassured you to continue what you were doing. But you often wondered what could have happened if you’d returned. 

“So, you brought her here?” You asked, trying to prompt the story forward. Honestly, you wanted to know how he’d succeeded where you’d failed. You could be incredibly persuasive when you wanted to be, but Rogue was stubborn on another level. 

“Me? Nah, didn’t know this place existed at that point.”

“Seems to be a common theme with you,” you couldn’t help the subtle teasing grin spreading across your face, nor your laugh as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Not whilst I’m still breathing,” you winked, before turning your attention back to Rogue and completely missing the way his features shuddered slightly. “So how’d you get here if tall, dark, and broody over here didn’t know about this?” 

“Tall, dark, and– what?” He asked, bewildered.

Ororo snorted in amusement, before stepping in. “That would be us. We’d been tracking another mutant, Sabretooth, and he just so happened to be tracking Logan, or so we thought at the time. We found Sabretooth, and these two at the same time. Brought them both back.” 

You nodded in understanding, now finally having got through the whole story. Well, maybe not the whole story, you knew there were details you definitely were missing, but at least you got the jist.

“I see. Glad it wasn’t my lack of persuasive skills then. Though I guess a life or death situation isn’t much better. How’s your mutation coming along?” you asked, only now noticing the black, elbow-length gloves she was wearing. Ah.

“Still hard to control, but I’m getting better at it!” She looked genuinely enthusiastic about her mutation, so much so that it almost brought a tear to your eye. When you’d met her two years ago, you didn’t know if she even wanted help. She’d been so lost in her despair and self-loathing that you didn’t think she had long left with the way her mental health was going. So to see her so happy, your throat closed up slightly.

“I’m glad, I really am. You deserve this, Rogue. All of this,” you gestured to the room around, to the friends she’d made, to the haven she’d found.

“Oh, my name’s Marie. Guess I didn’t tell you before.” She shrugged, and you had to laugh to stop yourself from crying. 

“Marie it is.” Her story touched your heart, and to see she managed to get her happy ending… fuck you were so close to crying. You had to change the subject before you broke down in front of these people. “Oh hey, is my room still the same? Wouldn’t mind freshening up a little, been a long journey.” Two birds with one stone. You could leave the situation and cry in your bathroom whilst taking a shower so you didn’t smell like the wrong end of a skunk. Perfect!

“Uh…” Storm started.

“About that…” Kitty continued, coming over to stand alongside Storm. You looked between them, before shooting a glance to Logan who seemed to be showing absolutely no remorse.

“Your bed’s real comfy, bub” he smirked, and you gaped.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Language!” both Ororo and Kitty said at the same time, and you winced.

“Fuck, sorry. Shit! Argh!” you gave up, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m not letting any of you off the hook. This is betrayal at its finest! Giving him my position I can handle, but my damn room? That’s shocking behaviour from the both of you!” You pointed at them accusingly, shooting a glare to the man next to you who was doing nothing but lowly chuckling. You breathe out a sigh. You had the best room in the whole mansion. Or at least you did, before Muscles McGee stole it from you.

“Don’t blame those two” Jean placed a calming hand on your shoulder. “we didn’t have another room made up when these two arrived. It was supposed to be temporary, but–”

“The view was too nice to pass up on,” Logan interjected. You realised he probably thought it was his turn to tease you. You knew that view was nice, it was overlooking the entire grounds behind the school. And whilst you were going to sorely miss it, you weren’t so heartless that you’d take it back from him. Besides, in a weird way, you felt like you owed him. He found Marie, and whatever transpired between them, she seemed happier now. You guessed you maybe had him to thank for that.

“Yeah yeah, alright fine. I concede. Where am I then?” you asked Jean, who broke into a broad smile.

“You’re in the one above, still got the same view, don’t worry,” she elbowed you slightly. That wasn’t so bad actually. Same view, same side of the mansion, just one story up? You breathed a sigh of relief. Yeah, you could do that.

“Good enough, I’m still mad about it though.” Your eyes narrowed at four of them, Logan included, before cracking your neck in preparation to take your bag all the way up the stairs.

Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you raised a brow in suspicion. “What’s got you so giddy?” you asked as she once again slid her arm across your shoulders, guiding you back towards the door. 

“Oh nothing, just glad you're home. It’s been kinda boring without you.” You laughed at that. With everything that’s been going on, you didn’t think any of them had time to be bored. But you appreciated the thought nonetheless. 

Eyeing your bag on the ground, there were times when you really wished your mutation involved some kind of super strength, because as happy as you were to be home and have a room just above your old one, you really didn’t want to lug that thing all the way up. And all the damn lights were on, so slipping up through the shadows was a no-go. You blew out a breath in preparation, rolling your shoulder once again, before you were stopped by a broad hand landing on your arm.

“I got it,” Logan’s voice weaved butterflies through your stomach. You hadn’t realised he was behind you before he was leaning down next to you and effortlessly slinging the bag over his own shoulder.

For the second time that afternoon, you gaped up at him, left almost speechless. 

“Super strength?” Was all you could say, hoping to Jesus he knew what you were asking. You watched his features morph from confusion to amusement as he shook his head slightly. 

“Nah, not quite.”

“Then how the fu–” you were reminded of the children present by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Kitty. “–uuun. How fun.” you gave up on your question, much to his mirth. The sight had your brain short-circuiting. You wouldn’t deny he was good-looking. You’d be fucking crazy to deny that. But there was something else hidden under all those knowing smirks and sharp glances. Something that you wouldn’t mind uncovering. 

Deciding that was a quest for another day, you turned abruptly on your heel, making your way to the staircase before once again stopping in your tracks. This was starting to get on your nerves a little. However, any irritation soon died as you finally saw Professor Xavier.

“Ah, I wondered whether the commotion was your return.”

You snorted a laugh. “No, you didn’t. You absolutely knew it was my return.” You quipped back, earning yourself a laugh from the man.

“As quick as ever. And I see you’ve met our Wolverine.” Charles nodded to Logan next to you, and you turned to him in bemusement. 

“Wolverine? Seriously?” you asked, laughing at his shrug. “Can’t think why…” your sarcastic jab paired with your pointed looks from his hair to his body brought another amused smirk from the man. 

“I thought you two would get along. Get yourself settled back in and meet me in my office and your earliest convenience.” You nodded back to Xavier, unable to take a moment to process what he meant when he said he thought you and Logan would get along before Kitty began dragging you towards the stairs.

“C’mon! You’re gonna love it!”You were slightly worried about what it was but followed her nonetheless.

Logan had to admit, he didn’t mind carrying your bag up four flights of stairs. It wasn’t the worst way to spend his afternoon. And as much as he wasn’t the kind of guy to stare at a woman’s ass, he wasn’t mad that he was behind you. 

Everything he’d been told about you had been proven correct. At least, everything he’d seen so far. Whether or not you could hold yourself in a fight was up for debate, but everything else, your wit, your charm, heartbreaking kindness, humour… it was all right there in front of him. 

Literally.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d had to bite back a smile or a laugh, stunned by the fact that you actually managed to break through and pull both from him. Even now, as you paused before the landing that lead to your old room and sighed wistfully, had had to stop himself grinning. And he was glad you turned back around quickly after throwing him a pointed glare over your shoulder because that was another smile he was struggling to rein in. Fuck, how did you do it? He’d only known you for half an hour and he’d displayed more expression than he had in his whole two years of being here. 

He was in huge trouble. 

The stairs finally flattened out to the top floor landing, Kitty still leading the way down the corridor until the final room. It was isolated, like his one floor below, and he guessed you must like it that way. Which he thought strange. The way you were with others, he hadn’t exactly pegged you for being someone who liked her space. But then again, he’d only known you for thirty minutes.

He had to remind himself of that. 

“Here we are!” Kitty grinned excitedly, stepping to the side to let you open the door yourself. Logan knew what you’d find behind the wood. He’d helped set it up after all. Some twisted guilt forced him into helping. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

You eyed Kitty suspiciously, before twisting the handle on the door, pushing slightly to reveal what she was so excited about. 

If Logan was being honest, your expression was worth all the consuming guilt he’d felt by taking your room. A smile of pure, unadulterated awe wiped all thought from his mind, your eyes were practically glowing.

“You… Kitty, you didn’t need to do this,” You looked back to the giddy girl and pulled her into a tight hug. Everything you remembered was here. Your posters, fairy lights, and every single plant you’d nourished and grown made your room look like a rainforest. The light in the ceiling had been covered by patterns to ensure there was always shadows cast somewhere, whether it be floor, wall, or ceiling. 

“It wasn’t just me! I employed help,” Kitty smiled, taking the liberties she knew she had to sit cross-legged on your bed. “And others offered to help.”

Logan held his breath as he felt your attention shift from Kitty to him, meeting your gaze of sheer wonder. 

“You helped?” you asked, taking your bag from his shoulder, though he was almost too caught up in your gaze to notice.

“Here an’ there…” he muttered, trying to calm himself by leaning against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest, attempting to escape your eyes by looking around your room. 

“Here and there? That’s such a lie! He’d heard about your mutation, the shadow-casting thing was his idea!” Kitty grinned excitedly, and you all but choked on the realisation. He did this for you. He didn’t even know you, and he did this for you. 

“Kitty, that’s en–oof!” Logan barely had time to react before your arms were around his neck, your chin resting on his shoulder. Your scent hit him like a truck, and it was nothing like how he’d imagine it. Not that he had imagined it…

“Thank you,” you whispered earnestly, and any guard he’d put up previously melted away. He didn’t exactly return your embrace, but his hands somehow found your waist as you pulled back, keeping your arms across his shoulders. “Maybe I can forgive you for stealing my old room now. Oh! And my job. And not believing I exist,” your grin held more mischief than he ever thought possible, but now you were back to teasing, he felt his thoughts return. 

“Anythin’ else?” He asked, mirroring your expression.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something,” was it Logan’s sudden and overactive imagination, or did your eyes just flicker to his lips?

Was it the sudden physical contact that made your body hum this way, or was it just the fact that he could bench-press three of you? You didn’t care, and somehow, you didn’t think he did either. 

Until very suddenly and very abruptly, you did care. You stepped out of his hands far too quickly for his liking, your arms falling back by your sides. Though you didn’t look like you regretted anything. 

“I really appreciate this, from both of you. And whoever else helped. This is… well it’s better than what I was imagining,” you gestured to the room around you. It truly was perfect for you. They’d really outdone themselves. He’d really outdone himself. And you couldn’t help the warmth that spread from the centre of your chest to your limbs. You wanted to know more about him. “What’s your mutation, by the way? You never said,” you asked before you could stop yourself, and Logan blinked in surprise.

Holding his fist up, he flexed the tendons holding his claws. He no longer winced when his knuckles split. No longer grimaced as he sliced through his own flesh, though watching your face did cause him to worry just a little. 

You held your silence for a moment, not really knowing what to say. That looked painful as fuck, but you felt that asking might make it worse. “I see…” was all you said, before it hit you. “Wolverine! I get it now. It made sense before but now it actually fits!” You exclaimed, chuckling at his confusion. 

“Whaddya mean it made sense before?” 

“Don’t think too much into it,” you winked again, and Logan swore his heart stopped. 

“Yeah, alright Phantom.” He cocked a brow at the playful narrow of your eyes before you melted into the shadows right in front of him. He’d been made aware of your mutation, having overheard Jean using both you and Kitty as examples of phasing mutants, but to actually see it for himself? He couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. He glanced around the room, retracting his claws as he looked for where you could have gone. 

“Get it now?”

Logan whipped around to see you standing behind him, arms folded across your chest, a mischievous grin plastered across your features. 

You always felt a sense of freedom when you released yourself into the shadows, like holding yourself in this corporeal state was somewhat of an effort. But letting yourself be free, to move like liquid amongst the darkness, it was like refueling a beaten truck. 

Logan’s lips quirked into a smile as he nodded once. “Got it,” the silence lingered once again, some kind of charge energy crackled in the space between the two of you before he cleared his throat. “Kitty, we should– the fuck?” 

You popped your head to the side, peering around Logan to see the space on your bed Kitty used to be sitting in was now completely empty. “Guess she left,” you shrugged. “Or she never existed.” That earned you a flick to the forehead from Logan, and you laughed, batting away his hand. How long had it been since you’d felt this comfortable with someone this quickly? Either it had been years, or never. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he smiled, this time completely unrestrained. And fuck was he gorgeous. But you had to remember this was a man you’d just met. 

He had to remember this was a woman he’d just met.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll uh, see you later?” You didn’t mean for your voice to sound so hopeful at the end, but honestly? It was worth seeing him turn back to you with that same smirk you’d seen countless times already.

“Sure.” He said, before closing the door. 

You sat heavily on your bed, your head in your hands. “What the fuck?” 

Little did you know, Logan was having a similar reaction right outside your door, his back against the wood as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What. The. Fuck?”

Having almost drowned yourself in the shower, using that shampoo you’d missed so dearly on your travels, you’d changed clothes into something a lot more comfortable, a loose pair of sweats and a spaghetti strap tank top, before heading down to Xavier’s office where he’d just spent the last ten minutes explaining his plans to further your mutation. And to be completely honest with yourself, you hadn’t listened to half of it. 

“So, in short, your ability, whilst appearing similar to Kitty’s, is actually entirely different. Where Kitty phases through objects, you become those shadows. Your molecules break down completely, unlike Miss Pryde.” He finished his explanation slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you had no idea what he’d just said. Luckily, when conversing with a telepath, you didn’t have to.

Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead slightly. “You’ve always said you felt a strain on yourself whilst corporeal, yes?” He asked, and you breathed in relief. Finally, a question you could answer.

“Yeah, it’s like I’m holding water with my bare hands. Or something like that,” you nodded, looking at yourself slightly curiously. “So, I’m not like Kitty?” you clarified, looking back up the the professor, who shook his head. 

“I’m afraid not. We were mistaken before, simply assuming you were just another phasing mutant. But Jean ran some tests on your blood, and it was quite remarkable.” You’d almost forgotten the woman was in the room until she cleared her throat, her red hair pulled up in a tight ponytail. 

“I think you describe it perfectly. Your molecules are being held together, more or less, by string, or so to speak. Not real string, but I think you understand.” You nodded. You actually did understand, because that’s how you constantly felt. It was, however, incredibly unnerving. What would happen if that string frayed? Or worse, fucking snapped altogether? Sensing your distress, Charles covered your hand with his own.

“My dear, that’s why we brought you back. We’ve been incredibly lucky so far, and clearly, you have an innate ability to control the string. It’s led us to believe that your abilities don’t stop at shadow walking.” He looked at you with understanding as you took this all in. He’d mentioned to you previously that he thinks you could do more. 

“Shadow manipulation, right?” You asked though the question was rhetorical. You knew that’s where they were going with this. Charles glanced at Jean who nodded in confirmation. 

“Essentially, yes. We think you could pull shadows from an already existing cast and wield them to your heart’s content. In… theory.” She hesitated, and you blew out a breath.

“But in practice?”

“In practice… honestly we don’t know. It will be a learning curve for all of us, to be blunt.” You nodded a little numbly. You’d only just returned and already you were being bombarded with hard truths. 

Once again sensing your distress, Charles cleared his throat. “Well, I think we should continue this discussion tomorrow. You’ve had a long day and perhaps right now isn’t the best time to be entertaining new ideas.” He threw another look to Jean and she nodded again, standing from her seat.

You couldn’t agree more. This was a lot to take in. Especially since you’d become so comfortable with your mutation, believing that you were just another phaser like Kitty. But now, you were something else completely, something unknown. Even to yourself. It… scared you. And you didn’t scare easily. Worry? Sure. Impending sense of dread? Absolutely. Fear? Never.

“Right. Thanks, Professor. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.” You dipped your head goodbye, before leaving his office and closing the door behind you. Tea. You needed tea. Fuck you needed something stronger than tea, but since this was a goddamn school, alcohol was strictly prohibited. 

Fuck’s sake. 

Dragging a hand down the side of your face, you absently made your way to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. Muscle memory guided you to the drinks cupboard, moving aside the jar of decaff coffee to reveal your personal stash of teabags. Whilst primarily you were a coffee drinker, when it was this late in the evening, you tended to steer clear of the caffeine. You weren’t the best at sleeping to begin with, let alone when your mind and body were buzzing. 

You didn’t turn when you heard footsteps behind you, and the scrape of one of the chairs against the wooden floor, too focussed on rifling through the cupboard adjacent to the drinks one for our favourite mug. A gift from Kitty, she’d had custom-made for the print on the side to say ‘Phasers Forever!’. It made you a little sad to think about now. But, thankfully you found it, nestled right at the back next to the mug you’d gifted her. Also custom-made, but this just had the image of two hands with their little fingers linked. You’d made sure the gloves matched the ones you both wore in your suits. 

Dropping the teabag into the mug, you instantly savoured the scented steam as you poured the hot water, even the aroma calming your slightly frayed nerves. Wow, that meeting had seriously rattled you. Looping the string and tag over the lip of the mug, you turned back to the room, only to almost drop your freshly made drink in surprise.

Logan. Hair slightly damp, in a white v-neck tank, sat at the far end of the table, leaning back in the chair with a bottle of what you could have sworn was larger in his bear paw of a hand. That same fucking smirk pulled at his lips. 

“Phantom.” He raised his bottle in greeting. You wished you could match his energy, but honestly, you were drained from the day and the meeting. But you tried nonetheless.

“Wolvie.” You smiled back, though you could feel it didn’t reach your eyes. And clearly, he noticed too, expression shifting from self-assured confidence to slight concern.

“You alright?” Logan had only known you for less than a day, and he already knew he really didn’t like seeing you despondent. 

“Yeah, fine.” It almost pained him physically seeing your eyes remain dull with your liar’s smile. That was something else he realised in that split second. 

He really didn’t like you lying to him.

“Uh huh?” Fuck, he definitely knew you were hiding everything. How the fuck could he possibly tell that? He didn’t even know you! You sighed heavily, hoping it would help your next half-truth.

“I’m just tired. Long day, lots of emotions. Are you hungry? I’m starved and was gonna make pasta if you wanted some,” You tried your best to steer the conversation away from how you were feeling. Once again it wasn’t exactly a lie. You were starving, having not eaten since this morning, and it was now ten in the evening. 

Logan knew you turned away quickly so you didn’t have to see his suspicion. If you weren’t ready to talk about whatever was bothering you, he knew he shouldn’t push. But, to his surprise, he found himself wanting to know. He wanted to know what was up, and maybe, just maybe, he could make you feel better. It seemed doubtful, but it was worth a shot. “How was your meeting with Charles?”

Your shoulders tensed, spine straightening. Gotcha.

“Yeah, fine. Just easing me back into life here basically. Nothing earthshattering.” Now that was a flat out lie, and once again you refused to turn around as you brought the kettle over to the tap, filling it to the max line before placing it back on the stand and flicking the switch. You found it easier to lie when you were busy doing something else and making pasta seemed perfect. Crouching to one of the lower cupboards, you pulled out the pack of wholewheat, refusing to eat any of the sugary white bullshit. Unfortunately, the one downside of busying yourself so remarkably well was that you weren’t always paying attention to what was going on around you.

For example, Logan walking up behind you to take the packet from your hand and place it on the counter. You turned, realising he’d given you minimal space to move. He was so close you could smell the gel he used in the shower. Woodsy and smoky, like a forest cabin. He smelt fucking great, but to be honest, you were too busy trying to avoid eye contact to care.

“S’that why you look like your pet just died?” You knew he was trying to be teasing, trying to lighten the mood, trying to create a comfortable environment for you to open up in, but you didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you. With a deep breath, you stepped to the side and out of his reach, opening the fridge to look for something to make a nice creamy sauce with.

“Look, Logan. I appreciate it, and what you’re trying to do, but at the same time, I don’t know you. And you don’t know me. So, and I mean this with the utmost respect, fucking drop it. I’m tired and I have genuinely had a long day, what more do you want me to say?”

Logan blinked. And blinked again for good measure. He wasn’t expecting you to be so sharp. He didn’t know why he wasn’t expecting it, but you really took him by surprise. That seemed to be all you were doing since the moment he met you. Though this one stung a little more than he cared to admit. “That might’ve been the nicest fuck off I’ve ever heard. But it was still a fuck off.” He shrugged. He knew deep down you were right. You didn’t know each other, and maybe was was expecting a little too much from a three-hour friendship. If he could even call it that. 

“I didn’t mean–” You turned back from the fridge just in time to watch his disappearing form leave through the door, hearing his footsteps recede back up the stairs. You cursed inwardly, hating yourself for how you handled the situation. Though, looking at the pasta on the counter, you had an idea as to how to fix some of this. 

It had been roughly half an hour since he’d left you in the kitchen, recognising you needed space, and in all honesty? Retreating to lick his own wounds. He didn’t know why he wanted you to open up so badly. It wasn’t like he had a long-lasting friendship with you. He met you today, for fuck’s sake. Only hours ago. Shit, this morning he still didn’t think you existed! Logan groaned at the memory of you shutting him down, wishing he’d handled the situation differently, and stopped prodding when he knew he should have. Fuck!

He’d just managed to resolve to come and talk to you, before there was a thump at his bedroom door, followed by another. That wasn’t any kind of fist knocking… 

With deliberate caution, Logan stood from his bed, shining claws sliding through his knuckles as he approached the door, only for his nerves to be calmed when a familiar scent wafted through the cracks in the door. He didn’t dare get his hopes up until he turned the handle, pulling the door open to reveal you, stood before him, two steaming plates of pasta held impressively in one hand, and two bottles of larger in the other, your foot raised to kick the door a third time. 

“Before you slam the door, I brought peace pesto pasta, homemade so you know it’s good.” You were honestly surprised he opened the door, though you eyed his claws cautiously. Who did he think it was?

Logan noticed your line of sight, retracting his claws to cross his arms, a brow raised. “Peace pesto pasta?”

You nodded. “Homemade, don’t forget.” Logan smiled slightly at the hope in your eyes. “And also beer so you physically can’t turn me down.” You raised the two bottles in your hand, and he sighed as if you were a nuisance. Unfortunately for him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Homemade peace pesto, beer, and…?” 

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. “An apology.” You reluctantly admitted, looking anywhere but his face. “Can I come in or are you gonna stare at me all evening? These aren’t the most balanced plates, been a while since I was a waitress so…” you mumbled in explanation, earning yourself a quizzical look.

“You were a waitress?”

“Yes and it was a long time ago but we can talk all about it if I can set these down somewhere they won’t fall on your feet,” you said hurriedly, borderline pleading with your eyes for him to let you in. It wasn’t as if he was about to say no, there was just something comical about the way you were managing to hold everything in your hands. 

With a click of his tongue, he gestured for you to enter with his head, closing the door behind you as you set one of the plates down on the window seat, rubbing the red skin of your arm where the hot plate had ever so slightly burned you. He instantly felt bad, crossing the room with the intention to take your arm to look at it before you stuck it into the shadow on the wall, removing it again to reveal your skin pristine again.

“It wasn’t that bad, just uncomfortable,” you shrugged, handing a plate and bottle to him. Logan shook his head at what he’d just seen, giving you a look of ‘fair enough’ before taking the plate and beer gratefully. How long had it been since someone cooked for him? Though you’d done it as a peace offering, it still warmed his heart slightly. That and the fact it smelt fucking divine. 

“I’m sorry…” you started, mindlessly poking your pasta around your plate with your fork after making yourself comfortable on his window seat. He guessed it used to be your window seat, but it still made him happy how comfortable you looked. “The Professor told me something in the meeting and… rattled me, that’s all,” you shrugged, popping a few pieces of green pasta into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

Logan decided to wait for you to continue, cracking open the bottle top of his beer with his teeth. Raising a brow as you looked over at him in slightly disturbed awe. 

“How did you not just break your jaw?” you asked, flabbergasted at his seemingly endless pool of abilities. 

“Not much can break it, considering my skeleton’s adamantium.” Logan was starting to like when you gaped at him in shock, admiring the way you jaw went completely slack, eyes wide. 

“Wait, how don't you– ohhhhh…” It had taken you a while to notice just how much the bed dipped when he sat down. No wonder he was so ripped, he had to be that strong in order to fucking walk around. “Any other secrets you're hiding?” You asked, before instantly regretting the question when his eyes met yours.

“You wanna talk about keeping secrets now?” He asked curtly.

“Walked into that one…”

“Yeah, you kinda did.” 

You sighed, fiddling with the bottle cap of your beer. Not to remove it, just to feel the sensation of the almost serrated edges helped to ground yourself. 

“You know about my mutation, the whole shadow-walking thing?” You asked, to which Logan responded with a nod, finally taking a bite of the pasta you’d made. Your heart swelled with pride as he paused, looking from the food to you with an impressed smile. “So, turns out, it’s nothing like Kitty’s. It’s not phasing like we originally thought, but something totally different.” You started to explain to an intensely listening Logan. “Kitty phases through things. I actually become the shadows I enter. Like, it’s not still my body but just in the shadow, my molecules break down to literally be the shadow,” you could tell he was trying to understand, his head tilting slightly to the side in a way you genuinely found cute. “It’s like, I’m holding water in my bare hands,” you started to demonstrate, placing your plate and bottle down beside you to cup your hands in front of you. “And this, this is my body. My corporeal body. But, when I dive into shadows, that body breaks down,” your cupped hands splayed apart, fingers spread to simulate a liquid splash. Logan nodded thoughtfully through mouthfuls of pasta. “How Jean explained it was that my molecules are held together with some kind of thread, and I control that thread, but it’s a constant strain… Like, I can feel my body being held together. And it just… I don’t know. It scared me I guess.”

The room fell into silence as you finished your explanation, Logan setting his somehow clean plate to the side, leaning his elbows against his spread knees, beer bottle clasped in both hands. “I uh, don’t really understand what’s scary bubs, sounds like this is an opportunity to develop it, right?” he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign you were reassured.

You sighed, the back of your head softly hitting the wall behind you. “Well apparently we’ve been lucky so far, and my control over this string or thread or whatever the fuck is stronger than they thought but… I don’t know, I guess what first went through my mind was what would happen if the thread snapped. Would I just stop being able to shadow walk or–”

“Would you stop altogether, and be able to do nothing but shadow walk,” Logan finished, realisation dawning on his gruff features. You nodded slightly, not wanting to speak anything into existence. 

“Exactly.” You whispered, staring into your borderline untouched pasta. You honestly didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t know what could be done. Surely, at this point, it was just a matter of time, right? The thought hit you like a lightning bolt. If it was just a matter of time, you just burdened this poor man, who you’d only met hours ago, with the knowledge that, eventually, you were likely just simply dissolve into nothing, cursed to live forever in the shadows of others. “Anyway, yeah, that’s why I had a face like, how did you put it? Like my pet just died,” You did your best to imitate his voice, hoping to shit it would lighten the mood of the room, but it only earned you a look of sympathy.

Fucking sympathy. You hated sympathy.

You’d come in here in the hopes to make things right with him and apologise for how you were earlier, but the one thing you really didn’t want, and never fucking wanted, was sympathy. You sighed heavily, preparing yourself for whatever ‘I’m so sorry this is happening speech’ he was clearly getting ready to spill. 

But for the umpteenth time in the short while you’d known him, Logan surprised you. Taking your bottle of beer from your side, he cracked the lid off with his teeth, the same as before, before handing it back to you. You, as stunned as you were, managed to take it from his hand, the soft skin of your fingertips brushing the backs of his own. You smiled in resignation, raising your bottle in some tragic excuse of a toast. ‘To the inevitable’ you wanted to say, but you physically bit your tongue before taking a long sip of the slightly bitter liquid.

“It won’t come to that,” you’d forgotten, in the period of silence, that you were waiting for him to say something. You tilted your head in confusion, and it honestly took all of Logan’s willpower not to launch into you and wrap you up in his arms. He really needed to pull himself together. “Look, I was pretty fuckin’ helpless when I came here. And I know you remember the state Marie was in. Neither of us thought we were worth savin’, but look at us now,” in complete honesty, Logan still didn’t think he was worth saving, but that was neither here nor there. “He’ll help ya. You’ll get this under control. And it ain’t all bad. He already said you had more control than he thought,” You could feel his eyes search your face as you closed yours. Maybe he was right. Charles had said you had more control over these strings than he thought. 

Logan was right. That was a good thing.

“Well, we’ll see tomorrow. That’s when we really start everything. We have another meeting before we’re straight into training, seeing if we can really develop this mutation before I cease to exist. No pressure right?” You half-joked, your lips quirking up into what you hoped was a smile. Or, at least, a lopsided one. 

Fuck he wanted to kiss you. Kiss you. When the hell was the last time he’d felt like this toward anyone? He hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in goddamn years, and here you were, a woman he didn’t even believe existed a few hours ago, waltzing into his life and making him feel things like wanting to fucking kiss you. 

“I uh… ya know I wanted to apologise too.”

Well, that caught you off guard. “Wh– wait what? Why? What for?” you couldn’t help firing off questions at speeds you didn’t know you were capable of, utter bafflement contorting your features. 

“You were right. I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.” Logan watched as your face transformed from confusion, to hurt, to acceptance. 

“Yeah…. I did say that didn’t I? I–”

“But,” he interrupted, stopping you mid-sentence. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know ya…” Logan almost laughed aloud at how your eyes went comically wide. Did you know how cute you were? When you weren’t telling him to fuck off, that is.

“I– Uh, okay, sure… what d’ya wanna know?” you asked, hoping to fuck you didn’t sound ridiculous. If you didn’t, Logan didn’t seem to mind or care. 

“You can start of by tellin’ me how or where you learned to cook so well,” you scoffed loudly, rolling you eyes. “Nah I’m serious kid, that was fuckin’ great,” Logan leaned against the headboard, an arm positioned behind his head as you too made yourself comfortable again on the window seat, resting your elbow on your raised knee.

“Kid? Do you know how old I am?” you asked, smirking slightly. Though you were a little embarrassed, there was no way you’d show it. Kid? Did he seriously think you were that young? 

“Do you know how old I am?” he retorted, that same self-assured glint dancing in his eye. You peered at him in scrutiny, emphasising how hard you were looking at him by squinting intensely.

“I’d put you at around like, early thirties? Maybe mid? Am I hot or cold?” you asked, kinda hoping he was in the same sort of age bracket as you were. Not for any specific reason of course… just for… science.

Yeah. For science.

Though your heart deflated slightly at his bark of a laugh. “Not quite. Try mid to late hundred and thirties. Give or take a few years.” Once again you gaped at him, mouth wide open, jaw completely slack. He could get used to that sight. Dangerously used to it. “Take a picture bubs, it’ll last longer.”

“B-but… how–? Y–? Hundred and– what the fuck?” You couldn’t get over it. Though your mind was still reeling, you managed to recover quickly. “Why you don’t look a day over ninety. You’re in good shape for a fossil, though I was wondering why I was getting a lot of calls from museums recently… probably looking for their exhibit back,” you smirked wildly whilst Logan just stared at you, trying his fucking damnest not to let his disobedient lips quirk anywhere other than down. 

“Ya done?”

“I’ll probably think of some more. But, in all seriousness, how?” You asked, and Logan couldn’t detect anything other than genuine curiosity.

“Regenerative. I heal real quick, but that also keeps my body in good condition. Dunno exactly how old I am, but it’s around hundred and thirty,” he shrugged, and you whistled lowly. “So?” he prompted, and you looked up.

“So what?”

“How’dya make the pasta?” 

You snorted in amusement, before launching into an explanation about your brother and how he always had an interest in cooking and had taught you to cook simple things, like how to make a béchamel sauce, or how to make pesto from scratch. And if you weren’t so caught up in your storytelling, you would have noticed Logan drinking in every damn word like he was parched for conversation. Listening to you talk, the cadence of your voice, the way you pronounce every letter and the way you occasionally drop a letter, it was hypnotic. You didn’t have an abundance of energy, and whether that was simply because you were exhausted after the day you’d had, or if that was just who you were, he didn’t know. But honestly? He didn’t really care. 

As long as you kept talking, that was all that mattered. If he could take your mind off tomorrow, or your situation by letting you ramble about the smallest of things, he would. And he would pretend the whole time like he was doing this for you. And not because, at the end of everything, he liked listening to you. 

“Anyway, that’s how you tell the difference between a Thoroughbred and a Quarter Horse. And I will not make that mistake again.” You’d somehow weaved from topic to topic, the conversation ebbing and flowing for hours, you both taking turns in sharing random stories from your pasts, little anecdotes that gave context to who you both were as people now. And it was only thanks to the brief silence and the conveniently timed chime of the clock did you realise how late it was. Or rather, how early.

It was one in the fucking morning. How the hell did that happen? Your eyes slid back to Logan, who at some point had made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the window seat, and you watched as he had the same realisation. Holy shit.

“I should probably–”

“Look, you should–”

You both started to speak at the same time, before pausing to let the other talk first. It was gross and awkward and cringey but, for the life of you, you couldn’t find it in you to care. 

You stood, gathering your long abandoned, though now empty plate, and crossed the room to grab his from the bedside table. You heard Logan sigh heavily behind you in what you assumed was exhaustion. You couldn’t blame the man. You’d been talking for hours. 

Logan followed you to the door, holding it open for you as you stepped out into the hallway. You placed the crockery onto the floor, freeing your hands to wrap your arms around his neck in a similar embrace to the one before. Only this time, you felt his strong arms return your hug, wrapping you up tightly against his chest.

“Thank you. For letting me talk for hours. You don’t need to pretend you enjoyed it, by the way. But thank you all the same.” You stepped back, and Logan leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah well, you brought peace pesto and beer. How could I say no?” He quipped, and you chuckled lightly. He wasn’t about to admit he enjoyed your company far more than he should have done, and he sure as shit wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t pretending to like it. His eyes softened at your laugh in a way he’d stopped them from doing all evening. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You peered up at him, a knowing spark dancing in your iris. You noticed. Of course, you’d noticed. That was almost exactly what you’d said to him earlier. The same hopeful lilt and all. 

“Sure.” Was all you said in return, before picking up the empty plates and bottles off the floor, and turning away to head back down the hallway. You refused to look back, worried that if you did, you’d run straight back to his room and never fucking leave.

But if you had. If you had just turned to look over your shoulder, you would have seen him leaning against the doorway still, eyes following you down the stairs, and lingering still, long after you’d disappeared.

Yeah… he was definitely in trouble.

[cinnamonest]

Thinking about very well-endowed boys, perhaps endowed a little too much for their own good — with no idea how to properly use the thing.

No self-awareness, no experience. The moment you give a green light, this man just shoves his way in like a battering ram. You were at least expecting some degree of foreplay or buildup, but you don't get that. He has the audacity to tilt his head and hm?when you jolt and hiss.

Oh. It hurts you? You probably just didn't relax enough. That's okay. You'll feel better soon. You don't even get time to tell him that it's because he has no self-awareness of his size before you're tensing up and gasping again when it just slides out and slams back in. You see stars, and not in a good way.

You stutter out something about being too big. But big is good, right? That's what he's always heard. So it's just a matter of you getting to adjust. That'll definitely happen as he goes. No worries.

You're pretty sure your cervix hates you for making the decision to sleep with this boy, a choice you're sort of coming to regret as you find yourself pulled close to him with a harsh grip on your waist — that, too, is something he seems lacking self-awareness of, the fact that he's probably literally going to leave little bruises all along your waist.

It does feel a bit better as he moves and your body adjusts, insides expanding to allow more room… but no matter how much you do, it's not fully enough. You can still acutely feel him inside, the way it bulges and pushes against your walls, the friction as it drags back and forth, the way even at the peak of your own arousal, the tip keeps slamming into that so painfully sensitive spot. Even your toys never touched that part, you weren't even aware until now that you possessed the capacity to feel it so acutely.

At least when you tell him, he apologizes, says it won't happen again… but he seems far more pleased by the ego boost of this, apparently new to him, information. You get the sense that it will, in fact, happen again.

And it does. You blame yourself, honestly, for finding yourself in this situation again, but he's just so cute… only this time, you quickly find that being on your stomach makes it infinitely worse, and his hand on the back of your head, unintentionally shoving your face into the pillow and muffling your attempts to tell him to slow down, does not help.

God, why did you let it come to this… your thoughts are barely coherent from the sheer overwhelming sensation, your brain practically short-circuiting, unable to do anything but process the feeling.

But it stretches you out so good and presses against the good spot too, so unfortunately, you end up with admittedly one of the strongest orgasms of your life, spasming and squirting and making the lewdest of sounds. So, it clearly was good, this is reassuring for him, positive reinforcement. He's too occupied with basking in pride with this accomplishment to notice your groaning at first — but don't worry, once he does notice, he'll dote on you, of course. He cares about you very deeply, you know.

And later, you're still feeling the involuntarily spasms as your poor abused hole tries to adjust to the slight gape left behind, and here he is passed out beside you so blissfully. The bastard gets to just pretend like he didn't try to impale you from the inside.

He really does try. He cares about you, you know. He doesn't want it to hurt. It's just, you know, he doesn't really do a lot of thinking in that moment, and unfortunately, his brain just commands him to breed and he can't think about anything else, so, it's his brain's fault, not his fault. Yes of course those are two different things. Besides, you're the one that enticed him, so, realistically, you must take responsibility as well.

But no matter how many times you say it, he seems to simply get lost in the ego boost and then he... forgets. And admittedly, you too seem to consistently keep coming back, against your better judgement.

He forgets when he has both hands locked into your hair, wrapped around your head, so lost in the wet, warm feeling that he's jerking your head like it's some kind of toy — your jaw hurts, every thrust feels like it's going to tear your throat apart, and it goes so far down that you're fighting your gag reflex every single second. And worst of all, you can't tell him to stop, can't get a word out when his cock is relentlessly pounding your skull.

He just forgot. He forgets when he flips you onto your front side and pulls your hips up, forgets that you said that position is the absolute worst because of how deep it goes — but see, from his perspective, it feels best because he gets to fully bottom out inside, and it’s just so good, you wouldn't understand.

He forgets when he's got his arms wrapped around you, laying on your sides as you're railed like his life depends on it, far too harshly and with far too little warning, but you can't pause the lewd nosies and squeals long enough, and your only attempts to tell him to slow down and not go so deep are so slurred you can't even blame him for not understanding.

He forgets you said how sore you are, how you need one day off at least. You just look so nice, and you didn't say anything (you retort that you didn't get the time, dammit) when he started, so he wasn't thinking, and besides, he was very gentle this time, aren't you proud of him for learning how to not go so hard?

He really does try. When you're walking all funny and clutching your lower stomach and grimacing in pain, he's got this heating pad and bottle of painkillers he bought just for you, and he's quick to pull it out. He really cares about you! Besides, the faster you recover, the sooner you'll stop being mad and glaring at him (it hurts his feelings, this is important), and the sooner you'll get to have sex again (he depends on it now, this is in large part due to your actions, so you have some responsibility to take).

He's even learned how to roll his hips so smoothly, thanks to you, and now it shouldn't hurt so much… now it's less of an earth-shattering jolt of pain, and more of a gentle pain, you know, like poking a bruise. But hey, that's improvement.

[enviedear]

love to keep me warm ❅ dick grayson

part of enviedear's winter wonderland... 🎧ྀི dick grayson is your best friend, and has been since he moved to blüdhaven. you're more than familiar with taking trips to gotham with him, especially during the holidays! you've yet to miss one of bruce wayne's christmas galas—but this year is different. this year, you're hopelessly trying to hide the recent crush you've developed on your best friend. wc 2.0k | fluff, like, the fluffiest fluff

the pristine penmanship of an envelope, mingled in the mix of bills and various other junk mail, has you feeling nervous. unlike previous times—every other time—you're not excited to be invited to bruce wayne's annual holiday gala. not this year, at least.

perhaps if you hadn't spent the spring and summer falling head over heels for your best friend—or, partner in good—that's what dick calls it.

you hadn't meant to fall for him. in honest, you've tried your entire life to stop any of this for ever happening. there were times, when you were younger and dick was still outwardly an idiot, that you'd let yourself imagine it for a moment...being with him. but you always stopped yourself, never let the idea take root.

but then the hottest summer in blüdhaven history happened—and dick was so kind to offer up his apartment to you. generator-backed and remarkably cooler than your twenties era studio, you started out happy to have your best friend as a roommate. until it became too real, too perfect, and too out of your control.

dick grayson has always been a handsome guy, beautiful even, in some lights. but he's also the dork that sat in gum on the subway before his first dance, the annoyance who winks across the room when a conversation is going well, the loser that practices lines in his bathroom mirror—for criminals or lovers, you're unsure. he's been strictly off limits in your mind since you met.

but now—now he's morphed into something much more, and with it, so has your innocent little crush. you feel unable to hide it. always on edge when he emerges from his room. what used to be normal hang outs now have you feeling like a teen on her first date—you find it completely rancid. everything was much easier when you had control over these feelings.

the envelope sits in your hands, a little heavier than it should. you can already picture the grandeur of the evening—bruce in his tuxedo, smiling picturesque and politely, surrounded by gotham’s elite. alfred’s impeccable hors d'oeuvres and gentle quips. damian sulking somewhere in a corner, occasionally muttering about the frivolity of the season. and then dick...in a tailored suit that'll make your chest tighten, effortlessly charming as always.

you’ve been to enough of them to know the drill. you’ve stood by dick’s side countless times, smiling as people ask if you’re together. the answer has always been a laugh and, “no, just friends.” but this year, you’re not sure you can manage the smile.

“hey, you okay?” dick’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. he’s standing in the doorway, hair damp from a shower, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips, and a loose t-shirt that somehow still clings perfectly to his frame. you hate how easily he does this to you.

“yeah, m'fine.” you say quickly, stuffing the envelope into the pile of mail. “just bills.”

your mail still gets delivered to his place—despite the fact that you've updated your address again. it shouldn't be such an annoyance. really, it's a perfect opportunity to see him more...but seeing him while harboring the biggest crush possible is taxing.

he gives you a look, one that’s a little too knowing for your comfort. “you sure? you look…tense.”

“i’m fine.” you insist, maybe a bit too sharply.

“okay, okay!” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. but there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes. “you know, if you’re stressed, we could do one of those cheesy holiday things to cheer you up. ice skating? christmas movies? oh, wait—gingerbread houses. you can’t be grumpy while decorating a gingerbread house.”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “are you suggesting that i’m grumpy?”

“never.” he says with a grin that’s so sincere it’s almost maddening. “but you’ve been…quiet lately. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“i’m fine, grayson. really.”

he doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go, instead grabbing an apple from the counter and leaning against it as he takes a bite. “there should be something from bruce in there—you’re still coming to the gala, right? you know it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

your stomach twists at the thought. you can’t imagine spending an entire evening pretending your feelings don’t exist, not when they’re so painfully obvious to you now. but you nod anyway, because what else can you do?

“yeah, of course i am!” you say, forcing a smile.

dick beams, and it’s so genuine, benevolent even, that for a moment you forget why you were ever worried. but then he turns back to his apple, oblivious to the way your heart is practically in your throat, and you’re reminded all over again.

surely—this is going to be the longest holiday season of your life.

the night of the gala arrives faster than you expected. the manor is alive with golden lights and soft music, the atmosphere a blend of sophistication and holiday magic. you’re in a dress that felt perfect when you bought it but now feels too tight under the weight of your nerves. dick, of course, looks effortlessly stunning in a black tuxedo, his smile lighting up the room as he greets guests.

you stick to the edges of the event, trying to avoid mingling too much. the grandeur of the wayne manor only amplifies your discomfort, the chandeliers and opulent decorations feeling like a spotlight on your inner turmoil.

but dick finds you, as he always does, weaving through the crowd with that natural charm. “hey, you’re not hiding over here, are you?”

“no, just…taking it all in.”

“uh-huh,” he says, tone teasing as he leans against the wall beside you. “you know, bruce said something interesting earlier.”

“oh?” you ask, trying to sound casual as your heart rate picks up. terrible.

“yeah. he mentioned you’ve been coming to these galas for years, but he’s never seen you dance.”

you laugh nervously. “i don’t dance...this way. you know i can't waltz.”

“that’s a real shame,” dick says, holding out his hand. “because i happen to be a great dancer. and i think tonight’s the perfect night to be your instructor.”

“dick, i—” you start, only to be shushed with his pointer to your lips.

“no excuses.” he says, his grin soft but heavily insistent. “come on, it’s christmas. live a little, dance a little.”

before you can protest further, he’s guiding you to the center of the room. the music shifts to something slower, more romantic, and you feel your breath catch as he places a hand on your waist, the other still holding yours. his touch is warm and grounding, but it only makes the butterflies in your stomach worse.

“see? not so bad.” he says, his voice low as he leads you effortlessly across the floor. “you’re a natural.”

“hardly.” you murmur, eyes fixed on his collar to avoid looking directly at him. but he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze anyway.

“hey.” he says gently. “you can look at me, you know. i don’t bite.”

you laugh, though it comes out shakier than you intended. when your eyes finally meet his, there’s something in his expression that makes your breath hitch. it’s kindly and steady, but there’s an intensity to it too, like he’s searching for something—scouting.

“dick…” you start, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

“you know,” he interrupts, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you’ve been on my mind a lot lately.”

your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest. “huh?”

he nods, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “yeah. and i think…i think we should talk. after this.”

“after this?” you repeat, eyebrows furrowed.

he smiles, but there’s a hint of trepidation behind it. “yeah. but later, let’s just...enjoy this rare blessing of you dancing.”

you want to deny his request—hound him for the meaning of whatever “this” is. but you don’t. maybe even can’t—you’re unsure. because when you finally lock eyes on dick grayson, he’s looking at you as if you're the bright, shining, expensive star atop the tree.

as the song begins to fade, the chatter around the room grows louder, mixed with clinking glasses and rhythmic heels. dick doesn’t let go of your hand, even as the music shifts to something livelier. his thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, and you have to stop yourself from sighing in outright adoration. he's just being cavalier—you remind yourself.

“come with me?” he says softly, leaning down so only you can hear him.

“what? where?” you ask, glancing nervously at the sea of people around you.

“somewhere quieter.” his tone leaves little room for argument, and before you can overthink it, he’s guiding you through the crowd with a natural ease.

the two of you slip out onto the balcony, noting small flurries of snow raining down. for a moment, you’re grateful for the fresh air, until you take a look back to dick.

he leans against the railing, hands braced on either side of himself as he peers into the distance. he’s silent for a moment, and then you hear him sigh.

“dick?” your voice is hesitant.

he turns to you, his expression so sincere it causes your head to rush. “i wasn’t kidding earlier, you know. about—thinking about you.”

you freeze, your mind racing. “what do you mean?”

“i mean…” he runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that makes your lips curve. “i mean, this past year—living together for a bit, working together—i realized something.”

you swallow hard, your chest tightening. “what did you realize?”

“that i’ve been an fuckin' idiot,” he says, his voice softer now. “i’ve spent all this time thinking of you as my best friend, you know? my really perfect best friend…" he trails off, scanning your face before starting up again, "but somewhere along the way, you became so much more to me. i think i’ve been too scared to admit it, but i thought, you'd deserve to know.”

the words hang in the air, and for a second, you’re sure you’ve misheard him. that your brain pulled fantasy into some horrid delusion—but the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world, leaves no room for doubt.

“you…i'm sorry. what?” you whisper, voice more mouselike than human.

“i like you,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering. “more than a friend. more than a best friend. and i think maybe i’ve felt this way for a while, but i didn’t want to mess up what we have.” he says it as if he's reading off his grocery list, so willful with his truth.

your heart feels like it’s about to burst, a mix of disbelief and relief flooding through you. “dick, i—”

“wait,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “before you say anything, i just…needed you to know. because pretending everything’s normal when it’s not is starting to drive me crazy. and if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. totally okay. we can go back to how things were. i’ll deal with it." he shrugs, avoiding eye contact now, "i just couldn’t go another year without telling you.”

“i like you back, god, i have for so long.” you say, your voice faltering off near the end.

his eyes widen, surprise and hope flickering across his face. “you do?”

you nod, a small laugh escaping you. “of course i do. you’re—ugh, you’re everything, dick. and i’ve been trying to ignore it because i didn’t want to ruin what we have either. but…yeah, i like you. a lot.”

for a moment, neither of you says anything. just staring at eachother without the barrier of friendship—somehow it makes him look even more divine. then, before you can blink, he reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans in.

the kiss is soft and tentative at first, as if he’s afraid you might pull away or reject it. but when you don’t—when your hands find their way to his shoulders—he deepens it, pouring every unspoken word into his kiss.

when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, a quiet laugh escaping him as he rests his forehead against yours.

“merry christmas.” he whispers, his voice warm. the sound rumbles through his chest.

“merry christmas.” you reply, heart full and satiated. and for the first time, you're glad you fell headfirst for your bestfriend—even more glad he followed suit.

[vampykween]

toxic ex(?)husband!simon where he's all alone in his home, wife moved out across the city with their two girls, steps on something on the carpet and its the earring the missus lost a few days ago while moving out. it was a simple diamond stud earring, the pair being a gift from him during date night, once upon a time a long long time ago. he might bawl or lose himself in alcohol. or come crawling back; people change after all, right?

simon would actually spiral so hard over this. he's left alone in a house that's far too big, empty with all the furniture you took, along with all the laughter and joy you and the girls brought to the home. he hangs onto the earring as he storms around every corner of the house as if that'll make his girls materialize right in front of him. he's so fucking angry at himself. he vowed to be better than his father, and sure he doesn't drink himself under the table and smack around his family, but was he really any better?

he thinks about cracking open a bottle of Kentucky, the one you got him for his birthday, even though he's always insisted on not doing gifts (you always got him one anyway). if he drinks away the pain, perhaps it'll ease the ache of losing his family (again, only this time it really was his fault), but then he sees your face flash across his mind and he knew you'd hate for him to drown himself in alcohol; at least he hoped you cared, he wasn't sure if you really did anymore and he can't even blame you.

after he's sufficiently drunk, he decides he didn't even care if he drank himself to death in his now empty living room, he considers calling you. it isn't too late, only half past ten, so he knows you're still up; he's not sure what he would even say though. there aren't enough apologies in the world to win you back, you've made that abundantly clear, but god he misses your voice. the voice that nagged at him, that yelled at him, that kissed him with so much love. how could he have taken you for granted? he knows you'll get onto him about calling so late when it's not about the girls, but he needs you so badly it hurts.

"simon?" he lets out a drawn-out sigh of relief, he hadn't expected you to answer really. he goes to respond, but it feels like every word is lodged in his throat. "si, im tired. i really can't with this," you reply tiredness was evident in your tone. he hoped the girls weren't being too much for you, then again it's not like he was ever much more help when you all were under one roof. the way you whispered out the shortened version of his name made his heart race, perhaps this phone call would go much better than he expected.

he finally finds his voice after a moment, "baby... i miss you," he slurs out. he's not sure what he's expecting you to say back.

"you really have a knack for being too little too late, simon. goodnight, and please don't call me like this again. you don't get to drunkenly pour your heart out to me now." well that was definitely not what he wanted you to say. there's an edge to your voice that, despite the situation, sends him reeling. he secretly prays that this will all be some sick nightmare, that he'll wake up, roll over, and pull you into his arms. except he's awake, standing drunk and alone in a house that no longer feels like home.

[hello-there]

Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

[adoregojo]

valentines - sae itoshi x reader

yayyyyy I finished it, im free :3 im so freaking sleepy rn warnings: angst, very happy ending the chap before: one

2017

it's been years since you last saw sae.

those 3 years without the elder itoshi felt unfilled, missing it familiar spark. visiting the sea doesn't feel the same without the reddish-brown boy alongside with you. his endless grumbles about how luck keeps running the opposite direction and it's always loss in the in of his road were now just a remains echoing inside your head.

it's not that his face wasn't rememberable anymore, in fact, his face was glued on every bug screen around japan. under the name of the japan prodigy himself. however his face was blurry and those big-screens always do him unjustifiably. pictures were good, but sae grew. oh how you wished you could have grew together again.

you missed his actual face, when he would reveal his rare unseen smile to you. even when he didn't smile, there was something there, your grandma always said that his eyes would go soft under the mention of your name. when actual emotions were still swirling in his heartland. now you looking at his face, his slime teal eyes were so..bleary.. sae looked like he lost all his colours.

you wished you could embrace him, just like you used to when you two were kids after he flunked his math test and the first thing he does is let you hug him and play with his hair, sae told you that he would never let someone else do that to him yet the word shameless was unfound beside you.

but now you were helpless. thinking about the great distance itself between you two was crushing.

you kept writing, and sae promised to write back. at least he did at first, within the next months his letters and calls were fading, draining each day, they were getting awfully dry to the point you felt he was just saying anything to make shut you down. but in the end he stopped completely. no matter how much you texted or called they were never answered.

yet you kept on writing, even when he didn't reply. you sent him birthday cards on his, remained him of yours as well. however he never responded. you write and send, write and send, write and send damn letters nonstop. at some stage you didn't know where to send them anymore. they were never replied to, never seen nor read.

soon your texts became green. and it felt like a door was slammed on your face.

you felt desperate, like a dog waiting for it owner returned. and you could feel the pity glimpses in everyone's faces, in school, neighbourhood, sometimes even your own grandma, except that she held more sympathy with it.

perhaps, the younger itoshi was the only one who didn't change much. just like you, sae stopped his communication with him as well. but he handled it way better than you did, the letters 'big brother will come back, he's just busy' fell out rin's mouth every time he senses you unhidden soreness.

you should believe in what he says, it's literally his brother. his own flesh and blood, his family. yet you didn't ease up under his words, if anything it worried you even more. you felt it, the wave screaming back at you that something bad will happen, something that'll change everything forever.

and you knew you were right when opened the door revealing rin with tears running down his reddened cheeks.

2018

rin never told you what happened that tragic snowy night.

all you could remember was him shedding tears like there was no tomorrow, they were silent yet so painful that you felt sorry for the boy. you always took rin as an unbending person, he was like sae but much more chill and dare you say more friendly?

you warped a blanket around him when he slept in the guest room, you never pressured him. never pushed him, thinking about it now, you should probably have. because you woke up to that bed soothed back all clean and empty the next morning.

and it felt like rin last strike of humanity was left dead under your roof.

rin changed, and everything changed with him. maybe you didn't, perhaps you grew doleful, dejected. waiting was hard, pouring down your soul. it felt like the sky was telling you that you were waiting for nothing, but to be truthful, not only the sky was implying that.

you saw how the younger itoshi would look at you when he saw you writing letters to sae. he said nothing and stood silent, yet his eyes were pleading with you to stop, to give up on his brother before he curses you for good. however, you were already cursed by sae a long time ago.

even when he left for that project, deep inside. he wanted to say something, to speak up. the words were on the tip of his tongue yet he kept on opening his mouth and closing it like a lost fish. then rin left without a word, leaving you to face the truth by yourself.

you found it strange when every time you were present in the tv room, the first thing your grandmother dose is close the tv or change the channel. it was weird, you never remembered her being a big fan of national animals shows. she always liked the news which was what she kept avoiding for a while for some reason. her protection wouldn't last forever.

a secret kept swimming around you, just walking around in the hallways was enough for everyone to either laugh or look at you with such pity. even the teachers? what was going on, what kind of secret could it be to impair you this much?

you wished to stay curious, to stay lost in your little circle of agony but not to witness the man that planted dead hopes within you was now cutting your roots of holden on faith.

you saw a picture of sae kissing another girl, and you felt your soul getting toured up by him.

like the world itself was laughing at you naiveness, how stupid you were. you felt used, the wasted years you spent waiting on someone who didn't even care felt like a pure burning betrayal. you got that light message, sae was basically telling you to get off his back, you were no longer needed.

you meant nothing that anyone could possibly overshadow you. you got tossed aside, a dusty memory that was never worth holding in the first place.

you stopped writing letters after that day.

2021

"nice having you back in japan, genius boy."

aiku laughed, but the man ahead of him didn't even spare a smile at him. instead he found the glass of drink in front of him more interested. the black head let out a sigh, he guessed that sae isn't exactly a man of change, he needs to stop letting his hopes up for nothing.

it's an understatement to say that aiku was surprised that the elder itoshi would even acknowledge his invitation for a night out at what he called a fancy bar. hell, sae probably didn't even like wine in the first place. yet he was here, looking around with his boredom eyes that never opened fully.

"soo, you finally opened your heart for your dear home?." aiku asked, taking a sip of his own drink. through the transparent glass, he could see the slim teal eyes peeking at him.

"what's up with that interview question? don't say you invited me for this." sae spat out, the place was awfully packed despite it being the middle of the night. and he would lie if he said he wanted to spend another second here.

"haha, once a stiff always a stiff. thought i would get a thank you for getting you out of your forlorn shell for awhile. i mean, look at those chicks, you sure you don't wanna catch yourself a little fun? heard you were left out on valentines eve."

the elder itoshi frown a brow, "you think you're my wingman or some shit? don't get too high of yourself just 'cause i went out here with you." scoffing, the reddish head crossed his arms.

before aiku could get a chance to reply, a sultry voice called. "you boys would like a refill?" the suffocating smell of her perfume was pocking sae's nose, which made him hard grimace in disgust. while on the other hand, the shaggy head threw a sly smile at him for some reason, he better not do anything stupid.

"not me, hun. but my friend over there would definitely like to. right, sae?" he should've knew better. he knew this fucker was trying to set him up with some, it didn't even need a rethink when his glass wasn't even half way empty.

sae could feel a vine running through his head when the high heels sound was lifted to his side. his personal space was getting tackled when the woman bend over with her breath that reeked of unhidden smoke and alcohol was tickling his ear.

"Oh? you must be a new one. we got specials for those." she breath out, her hand running down sae's arm. he had to stop himself from getting defensive at her sharp nails stabbing him through the fabric of his clothes. "you can request anything you please, even these lewd things going on your head."

her flirting was on death ears, he didn't even take a glimpse at her. nudging that man was like trying to punch a wall. sae told himself to ignore and she'll get the message and leave him alone already.

"c'mon now, whatever little sweetheart you clinging onto doesn't have to know."

and that hits a nerve, "anything you say? than I request you to step the fuck back you good for nothing tart creature." as soon as these harsh words come out, a loud gasp was heard. and sae couldn't find it in himself to stop the next words of coming out. "I came here for someone, not some harlot woman wiggling over me. go throw yourself on some pimp maybe you'll find a purpose inside their pants or something."

soon, it turns into a crying mess. and sae remains stiff. the only reaction he could give was sipping on his drink, he saw aiku trying to stop the women from running before stroking the bridge of his nose is disbelief.

"what the hell man.. you could've just told her to leave you alone."

"I don't like pushy people."

he hears a scoff, then aiku swaying after the other woman. sae could feel the eyes of strangers staring him down, not that he cares, not even about that woman who he sent crying, she can collect what's left from her dignity, if there was any in the first place. he was too busy rethinking why did he speak those words.

and why did was your face the first thing to pop up his mind when he said that.

it's been years, and he couldn't believe that he agreed to aiku's request, yet he'll never admit that he wanted any reason to step here again. any reason to see you again, he never thought he still had it in his heart to miss you. to be eager for you, he found himself bubbling with excitement like a little kid again.

sae can't figure why are you suddenly so heavy on his mind, was it the years of pushing you to the corner of his mind was paying off? even the tiniest things were enough to makeshift you in a way. it felt like he couldn't escape you, you were in everything and everyone. in the side planted flowers, in the little kids laughs, in the bright colours of the sun.

he wondered if you still think of him, if you still hold on him after seven years of being absent in every way possible. you turned eighteen without him, you probably had much more friends by now, maybe even changed your haircut, he remembers you rambling about how your grandma wouldn't let you change the same haircut for years now. sae himself doesn't notice the smile forming on his lips.

"wash that sappy face off, doesn't suit you." a firm voice stated, he didn't even have to turn around and see when he knew this tone like the back of his hand. lo and behold, his younger brother standing there.

"rin."

"shitty brother."

rin walked up to the table, his hands deep in his pockets. standing in such a filthy place made shift disgustingly. not even trying to hide his displeasure staring at both his brother and whoever walks by like a walking foul trash bags. or maybe that's just his natural face.

he didn't take the obvious abandon seat, instead he stood like he just needed a minute before taking his leave. "didn't expect you to be back, though you called this place unworthy of your presence." said rin, his eyes doesn't held them loathing anymore. but still a hint of unbearableness was there, that'll take some time to wash away.

"i have my reasons." he simply replied, he was never releasing his feelings.

"plus, what the hell are you doing here? and don't lie to me when you look like seconds away from throwing up." sae question,

"you need to get a assertive manager next time." rin shrugged, he wasn't planning on lying. the guy almost shat himself at the sight of rin alone. maybe he should work in his face expression.

"well, I know you aren't here for a heartwarming family reunion. so spit it out already." rude as ever, but the younger itoshi learned to not raise his hopes too much when it came to his brother.

rin doesn't reply to that, instead he reaches for his black coat pocket. lifting out some designed letter, leaned it carefully over the table for him to take. so sae does, playing around with the object, he sided eye his brother.

"a wedding invitation." rin answered before he could question.

"yours?" he asked in disbelief, that was not a face of a man getting married.

his younger brother started at him like he grew another head, "no?" he almost gagged, narrowing his eyes.

"then i have no interest in wasting my time."

"just read it you damn slacker." rin demand, he did not come all the way here for his older brother to act like a spoiled brat. he swore he's gonna shove that letter down his throat if don't stop yapping.

finally sae let out a dramatic sigh before opening the letter, whatever name it was, it better be worth it. and part of him wished he never opened it.

because his eyes uncontrollably traveled to your name, not even that he read the start nor the beginning. he wished it was a mistake, maybe someone else's name and it was all pure coincidence. his eyelids flicker open, he read it once, twice, and the world felt like it stopped.

"..it's in two days by the way.. and stop looking at the letter like that, your gonna burn it." rin words went from ear to ear. but sae managed to catch something in the lines 'in two days'

"two days?.. why am i getting an invitation now?" words came out mindlessly, he wanted to ask more, who, how and when. his mind was on track. sae never wished for something to be a sick joke like now.

"are you serious? be grateful you were even in the list." nevertheless, rin didn't like his question. is that really what he asked? not even about you? however, his brother colourless face spoke more.

sae didn't reply, he looked at the letter in his hand like it was his worst enemy. rin wished his brother wasn't a damn block headed maybe then he'll get his fingers on what's running inside his mind. so rin takes his leave, letting his brother handle the news by himself.

"woah, man. that girl just wouldn't stop crying. I'm starting to believe you're truly heartless." aiku let out breathlessly, but he was met of a new face of sae, it was the first time he say any other expression on his face. especially something..this emotional..

"dude, you okay? looks like you've seen a ghost."

maybe even someone as cold as sae could carry a fragile heart.

2021 February 18

it felt like the universe was laughing at him.

fate was truly the cruelest, out of any other day. it had to day, the day that was meant for you and him, just fir another guy to snatch his place like a piece of candy. he wished it was him, he wished he didn't come here in the first place. yet he was, surrounded with unfamiliar faces chit chatting around.

sae regrets stepping in here, he wanted to leave. to runaway. he doesn't want to face it, to face you walking down with another man that is not him. but he wanted to see you so bad, why did this feel like this is his only chance to see you ever again?

he felt aimless, and the people talking wasn't helping him either.

"did you hear? they're gonna rent a house on a beach!"

"oh my, they're so lucky. wished mine would have the same mindset."

fucking kill him.

"you actually came? thought you'd leave like the spineless coward you are." the voice of rin was merciless. and most of all brutally honest.

"shut up. I don't wanna hear it." sae waved him off, he didn't wanna hear it. especially his little brother berating him senselessly. deep down, he knew he deserved it. he was the one that stepped over your heart when he promised to take care of it. maybe he is a coward.

after he followed after rin, which took to long for his liking, he had to complain. "fuck you taking me to?" he spat out.

"be patient, don't you wanna talk to them?"

that somehow shuts down any chance of any other objection, it felt like ages before they got to the meant room. and for some reason, sae doesn't enter yet, he doesn't find the guts to.

"why did you even invite me to this?"

"me? invite you? you wish." rin jeered, his brother was definitely not in the right mindset to think such thing. "they invited you, if anything i thought it was better not to."

"I didn't even think you'd come, looks like you still got something in that frigid heart of yours. but it's already too late to come over your fears."

a ghost smile form on sae's face, at his own stupidity, at rin's truthful manner. at himself,

"i know that."

he closed the door behind, and slowly walked into the room. his steps were heavy they kept on echoing through the walls. announcing to the world what he was doing. it was a miracle he didn't fumble his feet on the way, and more of a miracle when he didn't faint at how beautifully you shone.

you quickly stood up, the white dress mimicking your movements. he was right, you did change your hairstyle after all, and oh, how you good you made it look.

"sae? you actually came.." you exclaimed. examining him from head to toe, he did change, more like he grew. he wasn't the same height as you anymore, his bangs were long gone. and he refused to meet your eyes. looking at everything but your gaze.

"yeah." he pushed out his lips.

it was strange, seeing the one he promised to marry get married to another one. his first crush, first crush, his first heartbreak, the first heart he shattered. all the memories of childhood came like a rush wave of air, and what lingered was your face at the airport, the day you said goodbye. the day he heard you sniffing behind him, yet he didn't turn.

perhaps because he knew out everyone, he would've gave up everything just to not see you a tear run down your face. or it would be him crying with and be a couple of crying mess. yes you got him warped your finger like that.

sae only knew a world with you, and he knew his soul stayed with you the day he left.

"it's been a while,"

"seven years, it's been seven years." the male corrected

"i know." you giggle bitterly. he knew you knew. you both knew but none spoke or mentioned anything.

"how have you been?" he had now idea of what to say or ask of you, that was your fucking weeding of course you're happy. damn, even his younger self wasn't that clueless.

"I'm good. you?"

I'm missing you terribly.

"good."

"that's good.." you shifted awkwardly, like you wanted to hide from him. was he making you that uncomfortable?

"can i?" stretching out his arms slightly, he was ready for you reject it, to punch him, to scream at him. but you nodded instead.

you lean right on his chest, his hesitate arm on the small of your back. when was the last he hugged someone? it was much easier when you two were kids. it sure felt warm, your cologne taking over his senses. he just didn't feel like fits the puzzle anymore. and it fucking hurt.

it didn't last long sadly, taking yourself out of his embrace. he doesn't want to let go, if he let go, you'll disappear. despite that he looked into your eyes, and suddenly he doesn't feel only half alive. you still got him warped around your finger like that.

"i need to go, it was nice seeing you again, sae."

he could only nodded, every step he took away from you felt like the world was draining it colors again, the universe was punishing him, because seeing you not sparing a glance back was truly painful.

the evening felt timeless, it skips to where he sat looking heedlessly at the ground. he didn't want to meant anyone's face nor attention. he bet that his was gloomy enough to scare off anyone who walks by.

one's begs to differ.

"well, well. if that ain't a face I haven't seen in a long time." an elderly woman said, the same old sly smile still glued to her face. she takes a seat beside sae, fearlessly nudging him to look at her.

"it's you."

"it's me, that old granny you used to call a hag." your grandma said.

"That was one time, and you spanked me for it."

"i sure did, always been a badass." she laughed, and sae found the invisible beam draw in it way to her face.

"look at you, you grew to a fine young man." he hissed when she pinched his cheek, almost as if she meant for it to hurt. he had rub the spot with a grunt.

"despite that, it's sad to say you disappointed me, itoshi sae." she spoke in a straightforward manner. almost like she was scolding him. and when say nothing she continues.

"I would've given you another spank but my grandchild would be mad, they still cares for you. always been." the lady sighed, "they never gave up on you, four years is a real challenge. every day they kept on writing to you, did you perhaps read them."

"every singer night."

"but you didn't respond to a single one?"

he doesn't replay to that.

"don't prove me wrong again. that girl you put your mouth on, why?"

sae's hand travel down his neck, trying to find the right answer. as if there was one. "i wanted them to give up on me. i just felt pushing them and everyone away was the right thing."

"so you became a selfish bastard that kills everything he touches? i knew you were dumb but not that dumb." she shook her head, he had concerned her swinging her cane over his head.

"it doesn't matter, it was already done." lies sliding down his throat. and he knew even a strong face wasn't enough to hide the truth. she could see him bare.

"maybe if you weren't that stupid, you'd have managed to keep the only person that could handle you. but I'm never wrong so i guess you two did end up together in another lifetime."

"but i wanted them in this one."

"too bad, too late." it felt like a sucker punch, he wished for her to actually beat him with that cane at least it'd be less hurtful and heavy. again the urge to leave was strong. and it was getting stronger when that man stood there, and when you walked he couldn't take his eyes off, he couldn't even blink. you never looked so breathtaking. and there he knew that his place didn't get stolen, but earned by someone else. someone better than him. someone that could make you happy and wouldn't make you hold on to a forsaken promise.

yesterday it was him proposing to you with his dead grandparents ring, today it was another one warping it around your finger. the image will hunt him to his death.

the him that promised, the him who kisses you injures, the him who saw you in sunset above the sea. was still there, that version was still swirling within him somehow. and it only shon with your light only. the light that will never be his anymore.

to sae you'll forever be his everlasting one in the stars.

"goodbye." he hopped he chose you in another life.

lmao this is trash mb yall

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Fake-Dating Pairs That Could "Plausibly" Happen

As requested by @room-temperature-orange-juice :)

Sanderson doesn't seem to go for fake dating all that much. But here are some scenarios that could TOTALLY happen if he did want to incorporate some fake-dating comedy into his books...

1. MeLaan & Marasi

The Scenario: Well, they obviously need to go undercover to solve a case, perhaps to a ball or a party or a wedding where it makes the most sense to pretend to be a couple

MeLaan (currently in a woman's body): All right. Let's do this! Marasi: U-Uh, MeLaan? Are you sure that's the...best body for this operation? MeLaan: Shit, you're right. Hang on! MeLaan: [Returns as a much more voluptuous woman] MeLaan: Now everyone will know that you can pull. Marasi (deeply red): T-THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT

2. Kaladin & Szeth [Rhythm of War spoilers but NO WAT preview spoilers]

The Scenario: Well, we know that Kaladin and Szeth will be going to Shinovar on a mission. Let's say Szeth needs to explain why he's brought a stone-walker into his homeland. The obvious explanation is that they're dating!

Shinovar authority figure: D-Dating?! Why would you date a stone-walker?! Szeth (expressionless): I like tall men. Kaladin (equally expressionless): He likes it when I hit my head on things. Szeth (still expressionless): Though I love him deeply, I do enjoy a good instance of head trauma. Shinovar authority figure (muttering): Is double "Truthless" a thing?

3. Charlie & one of those princesses

The Scenario: Rather than driving off all of the eligible princesses by being as boring & gross as possible, Charlie finds one who is willing to play along.

Charlie: T-The truth is, I already have a woman I love. The Princess: Really? Charlie: Yeah, but my dad doesn't approve of her... The Princess: I know how you feel. My father also doesn't approve of the woman I love... Charlie: ... The Princess: ... Charlie: ... The Princess: ... Charlie: Five-year engagement? The Princess: At least!

4. Lyn & Renarin

The Scenario: Fed up with her parents being all judgmental because she dumped Kaladin Stormblessed, Lyn decides that she HAS to bring an awesome date to her family dinner--and who better than a Brightlord, a Radiant, AND the king's son?

Lyn: Don't forget to bring up that you joined the 4v1 duel before Kaladin. Lyn: And how you took down a Thunderclast! Lyn: Storms, if you just smile occasionally, I bet that'll make them forget about Kaladin... Lyn: ... Lyn: Honestly, I think you might just be a better catch than Kaladin. Renarin: I'm gay, though. Lyn: Heh, well I didn't say you're a better catch for me...

5. Kaladin & Elhokar

The Scenario: Imagine that, during the infiltration of Kholinar, that part of their disguises involve Elhokar (disguised as a lighteyed woman) being the wife of Kaladin (disguised as an ugly old man).

Elhokar: Mmmm...I don't feel that I would go for a man with eyebrows like that. Shallan: Brightlady, please! Surely you can pretend that beneath his rough exterior, he has a good heart. Kaladin: ...pretend? Elhokar: No, no. I definitely would have insisted that he at least groom better. Can you make his eyebrows at least a bit neater? To sell the illusion? Or, do we have time to stop for nose-hair trimmers? Shallan: What if I just make his cheekbones a bit sharper? Elhokar: Mmmm...okay, yes. I could see myself marrying him. Kaladin: CAN WE PLEASE GET GOING

6. Wayne and Ranette

The Scenario: Wayne begs Ranette to fake-marry him.

Ranette: [looking at Wayne with a mixture of horror and pity] You said you weren't gonna do this anymore, Wayne. Wayne: No, no! Don't you get the wrong idea here! I need you to marry me and then divorce me horribly so you get half of my money in court! Wayne: Please understand--I've tried everything to get rid of this money. I'm desperate here! Wayne: Please! Ranette: ... Ranette: I get to divorce you horribly? Wayne: You better eviscerate me in court! Ranette: ... Ranette: Might be right therapeutic, actually. Wayne: You're such a good friend!

Moash & Kelsier

The Scenario: Moash realizes he's going to be reunited with his former Bridge 4 friends and makes plans accordingly.

Moash: Yup. This is my old Bridge 4 uniform, but now it's dyed black, because I'm new & evil now. Moash: And this is my new boyfriend Kelsier, who's just like you, Kaladin, only he survives MORE and actually FOLLOWS THROUGH on killing the king. Kelsier: Lord Ruler. Moash: Whatever. Moash: So as you can see, I don't even miss you guys AT ALL. Moash: ... Moash: What do you think? Will this make them jealous? Kelsier: ...I think we need to practice your speech a bit more.

[miiserableee]

( 𖤘 ) ▸ tumbling the tumbled : scaramouche x fem! reader !

scaramouche have always found you to be a pill he can't seem to swallow . you were always too hard to ignore , too easy to wish for . he spent his whole highschool thinking you'd remain being nothing as he so desperately hopes , but is now oftentimes sleeping with dreams of you and how you've tumbled his existence .

(!!!) mentions of reader being a cutie patootie ! tsundere to the highest level scara ! cuddly reader & scara ! modern!highschool! au again cause that's all i can ever write AHAHAHAHAHA lmao :D ooc characters ! 1.5k words !

"Oi , wake up ." scaramouche was never the most decent , but he's long since learnt to mind his own business . so , why does he bother with you ? sleeping so leisurely by the far corner of this massive library .

well , maybe it's because , it's been more than half an hour since the bell rung . it's way past lunch break . you ought to be in class . just as him . he isn't quite sure if you're as uncaring of being late or absent for a period or two . he's seen you wake up on time countless of times like clockwork , like a bot programmed to be up and about at the most appropriate of timestamps .

scaramouche , aggravated , scratches at his scalp and messes up his own bedhead . he had also just woken up from his nap . fuck , this really itches him the wrong way for some reason .

he can't seem to walk out , trust him , he's tried .

he glares at you , like that'll do anything while you're playing sleeping beauty . perhaps looking for a needle to prick you with will give him the best outcome , and ability to sweep his meaningless frustrations under rugs .

"Wake up , L/n ." he rearranges his words for the , god knows who time . you remain with no showing of signs of being the least bit disrupted by this , attempt of being awoken . and that's on the said attempts not being in the gentle side either .

one more glare and he'd probably have digging knives for eyes . he clicks at his tongue and took his phone out . it seems it's been 35 minutes , well , it doesn't really matter if he goes to class or not . his classmates were raring in the groupchat , about how their teacher was busy attending on a sick student to practice any lectures .

the vibrations of the notifications having been what awoke him . he looks at the sleeping you again and wonders if he could set his phone vibrating and wake the hell out of you too .

he chose against it as he remembers your close bond with one of his friends . a nagging fit from two chatterboxes will have to grate at his ears for a long while . heizou and kazuha really have a knack at befriending odd people . you setting the best example yet .

there's venti too . that guy really loves your every atom .

right , xiao is kind of way past just knowing you too so he'd really have to go through it if he did something atrocious to you , or at least that's what kazuha will word anything of what he does as a teasing to you would be in the aftermath .

aether would probably join the nagging crew .

he sighs and sits himself on the seat by the right to you . you didn't budge despite all the noise his intentional display of being inconsiderate have played too near you .

cupping a hand to a cheek , he rests on his elbow and ponders over nonsensical things . what else to do when you have almost an hour to waste until the next period begins ?

he looks at your face .

he's seen that face multiple times this year . it's a bit annoying how often , but he's gotten used to it .

you came from the same reading club as the five guys he hangs out with . he was ushered to join said club too but he'd rather do other things .

you didn't have much going on for you . plain and quiet , always on your heels and never at all looking directly at him . well , at least until the formal introductions done by venti was laid ahead .

your e/c eyes really struck at him that time . your eyes feeling oddly perfect being on line as his . it's a shame that your eyes are closed now , as you sleep .

seeing you sleeping so deeply he wonders if your sleeping position is really any that seemingly comfy . he copies you and dives more into pondering .

there were moments wherein you two only had each other as company , excluding this one . the majorities of these was when you two slept hours in the library , reasons and spots utterly different but that's besides the point .

there was a moment when he had to aid you with a wounded arm from an incident in class , he even had to attend to your wound himself . there was that time he gave you a handkerchief of his own when he walked in on you crying in class , at dawn , the class yet to begin , the classroom empty , you with a book and weeping silently .

you two were also paired for a project once .

all those moments together , vulnerabilities and opportunities leading doors of creaking opening , yet you never felt all that special to him , he never felt the need to pry those doors open fully . since to him you were ,

just , some girl his friends are all sheeshaw-sheesh over .

saying you were the most responsible , strong and capable person they know .

scaramouche could only scoff in mind . if only they knew how much of a vulnerable , naive and careless of an existence you truly can be at times .

helping someone from falling badly and hurting yourself in the process . crying just because a character wanted to buy his mother's favorite croissants but couldn't . staring aimlessly at everything the moment you're left alone . saying the most unnecessary things with just a whiff of awkward silence .

he stares at your braided hair .

that was one of those rare acts of yours , you were never one to tie your hair .

he feels sleepy again . he didn't even feel his eyes close . thinking of you is so tiring , it drags on for too long . at times , it even comes to points where he just thinks about you all day long .

"Scara ?"

scaramouche blinks , hearing your voice . he blinks again and again , in a daze . "You dozed off ." you were sitting between his legs , his arms around you .

oh right , you slept here last night and you both woke up past afternoon and decided to have food delivered and watch movies while , eating .

the delivery must have taken so long that he fell asleep . what a deep dream , he almost forgot all his rage in his stream last night .

"Sorry . Is the food here ?" he asks and you shake your head , leaning back after and landing said head on his shoulder . that's good , he didn't want you to eat alone .

your phone back on the table as you reach for his cheeks and squish at them . "Not yet , a few more minutes , the driver said ."

instead of his brows twitching at what you said , he only asks you to sit the other way around and face him .

that , you did . so different from how you would've flinched before at every touch on you he did .

you sit with your legs rested on his thighs and your hands on his shoulders . you tilt your head to the side a bit and smiles .

"You haven't had enough cuddles ?"

"I just , want more ." he kisses your cheek before he pulls you closer to him . arms around you and massaging your back . he leans on the couch and sighs .

"Are you hungry ?" he sounds a bit worried . "For cuddles ? Now that you're being all clingy , yeah , yeah I am ."

"I was asking if you were famished for food , but that's good to know ." scaramouche was never at all near to thinking that your relationship of just being too-far-to-be-friends would now be , this intimate .

"What did you dream about , anyways ? You kept grumbling ."

"I dreamt of that time we slept in the library until it was time to go home ."

"Oh ? High school , right ? When we were 2nd years ?"

"Yeah ,"

"I was wondering why you were beside me when Venti woke us up . They wondered too and asked why you were there and was sure you were awake because you had seen-ed in the gc hours before . Then you said you didn't leave , just because . But like , why really ?" what a detailed recollection , nothing beats your memory after all .

"I don't know . I must've been attracted to you some way even in those moments , despite not being completely aware yet ."

you pull back from him with your brows meeting and he laughs before you say a thing . "Didn't you ask me out before we graduated High School ? You mean , you've liked me since we were in our 2nd years ?!"

"Why are you so shocked ?" the two of you now were 3rd years in college . struggling to even be 4th years next semester , or maybe just you .

"Because ," you trail off and pause completely . "Because ?"

his thumb press a bit on your sides , his hands on either side of your waist . keeping you there , he feels you want to just stand and walk out .

"Because , oh ! The delivery's here ! I'll get it !"

he watches you hurry your way to the door and stays there for a bit . smirking to himself . seems to be stuck in the memory train today , he remembers one thing one of the guys said after a month or two of you two being introduced to each other .

"You know , Y/n seems interested in you ."

perhaps , heizou is worth believing sometimes .

SCARA-LiNE / WORK NAVi !

[divine-crows]

🎨✨️Art Magic✨️🎨

Uses, Forms of it, and Why I Think Everyone Should Try it at Least Once.

Foreword

Right before the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I had been trying and failing to rekindle my flame for magic work. No matter what I tried to do I just couldn't get back into my studies and I was reaching a point where I was convinced I lost my spark and was doomed to live an empty life. Then it all changed when a YouTube Channel challenged how I thought about everything: Molly Roberts. That's when I was opened to the possibility of art magic, and I'll now share my love of it with anyone willing to read on.

What Is Art Magic?

A means to utilize art for spellwork, raising magical energy, or for exploring your magical subconscious. It encapsulates multiple different types of art and is generally not confined by conventional expectation (unless that's what you prefer).

You can utilize art magic by. . .

Using traditional art methods

Digital art methods

Collages

Music composition

Jewelry making

Embroidery

And much more!

How do I know if Art Magic is Suitable for Me?

There isn't a specific thing that'll indicate this form of magic is perfect for you, however I have some anecdotes from my personal experience as both a witch, and a regular artist that form a sort of idea on what could denote this being perfect for you!

First off, craving freedom from personal restraints was a big factor that pushed me towards blending my craft with my passion for art. If you want to run from the monotony of life, if you feel trapped by the social construction of boxes, or if you simply want to challenge your own mental restraints... then this idea might resonate with you.

Challenging yourself with a new form of magic, similarly, can also be a good enough reason to try. I'm the type of person who loves to constantly learn new things and I unfortunately get bored really quickly if I can't get new source materials. Using Art Magic has proven a fun challenge for me that allows me to explore a lot more topics you can't just open a book to find.

For those that may not be able to safely perform a lot of traditional style spells, this form of magic provides a discreet way to practice witchcraft. Most people wouldn't really question someone if they picked up the hobby of making art, and even if they did there's plenty of reasonable excuses out there.

How you prefer your spells to manifest themselves can also affect if this journey is a good idea or not. I find that Art Magic is really good when it comes to subtle spellwork that is more longform (though depending on how you construct them you can definitely create a spell that's the opposite).

Catalog aspects of your magical journey. Imagine a grimoire filled with pages of drawings, each one telling a story of something you experienced or learned as a witch. This especially may be more beneficial for visual learners.

You could use it as a means of meditation, sometimes art can be calming and it can open the door to your mind (so-to-speak). Especially if you're like me and struggle with staying completely still while trying to clear your mind, this may be helpful for you.

Trying to better understand archetypes, deities, types of entities, or even your own self can also be a big part of this. I've used art magic as a way to embody the "energy" of something before so I could better understand it. Especially when you're trying to seek knowledge that isn't often written on, it can provide a great way to explore more.

How Can I perform an Art Spell?

I have a step-by-step process that can give you some insight on how you may approach it:

1) Think of the intention you want. I like to close my eyes and meditate on it for about a minute then I write down if my mind wandered to any specific imagery or ideas.

2) Think of visual symbolism and colors that can help you capture the mood you want. Perhaps you need a warm color palette to invoke positive feelings, or maybe there are specific objects or animals you can include on the composition that represent something.

3) If you feel it fits your composition, you can include sigils, symbols of significance, and include shapes that have certain associations. It doesn't even have to be obvious either. You can use a circular composition to convey something endless for example, or a triangular composition to show priority over something.

4) In general follow what your heart tells you. This is a little cliche, but ultimately follow what seems best to you. Art isn't about boxing yourself in and my guidelines are just general ideas for anyone who's lost!

Why do I think that everyone should try it at least once?

From my experiences as a witch, I find that a lot of paths to be followed are quite rigid. By no means am I implying that a rigid structure is bad-- it creates a foundation from which we can work upon. I myself am exploring rigid, 'traditional' (for lack of a better term) ways of working magic. Art magic pushes you out of your comfort zone in a safe way. It makes you consider how you associate things. It makes you create new sigils and makes you research new symbols you previously wouldn't have used.

So next time you're lost on a spell, or you've lost your way in your Craft and you don't know what to do, think about maybe giving Art Magic a try. I hope my guide was a helpful starting point for anyone interested in the topic!

[hello-there]

Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

[avatar-anna]

Unknown Number, Part 3

italics: y/n (unknown number)

bold: harry

(four weeks ago)

J: guess what?

HS: What?

J: no you actually have to guess!

HS: Why?

J: i wouldn't have said guess what if i didn't want you to actually guess. i would've just told you

J: so guess!

HS: Uh...you went on a date with a decent guy?

J: normally i would say RUDE but you're correct!

J: still...RUDE

(ten minutes later)

HS: Wow.

J: wow? just wow? i'm making real progress here!

J: college graduate, good head of hair, sense of humor that isn't misogynistic, and he's stupid hot

J: i think i'm in love

HS: After just one date? Don't you think it's a little too soon to tell?

J: who knew you were such debbie downer

J: i think you need to go on a date. maybe that'll make you believe in the power of love and a beautiful smile

HS: Ha ha

HS: I already told you I'm too busy.

J: no one's too busy for love h

(present day)

Y/n had never felt more nervous in her life.

Here she was sitting across from the person she'd spent countless days and weeks and months texting. There was never a moment where she didn't have anything to say to him, but now her mind was completely blank.

She wasn't supposed to see him again. The tour buses were typically a ghost town as it got closer and closer to show time, so she figured she could wait there before she had to leave for the airport.

When Y/n saw Harry outside the tour bus, she thought he'd come to yell at her some more; part of her thought she was about to be sent to jail for stalking. But all he wanted to do was talk.

And now they were on a couch not saying a word.

There was too much that needed to be said, but Y/n didn't know how to start, and she assumed Harry didn't either because he was just as quiet. But since the silence was almost as unbearable as when he yelled at her, she mustered the courage to say something.

"I...I don't know how to convince you that I'm not a stalker," she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Then she laughed a little.

"What?"

Her eyes flicked up to Harry's, and when he wasn't laughing or smiling with her, she stopped. "We, uh, we had the same conversation, only in reverse, remember?"

Y/n had gone through many emotions that day—mortification, terror. She'd gone out on a limb by texting so soon after a date, and to find out that said date had given her a fake phone number was not the best feeling in the world. And then realizing that she'd sent a picture of herself half-naked...not her proudest moment.

"I—It was a risk for me too, you know," she said quietly. "I didn't know who you were, either, and I—I don't know what else you want me to say. I wasn't lying. You were the one who asked to talk, so talk."

Harry didn't talk, at least not at first. Y/n wasn't going to say anything else until he did, though. He'd yelled at her, called her sick, assumed the absolute worst without about her before stopping to ask for an explanation. And she understood, but then why not just let her be? Why drag this out?

"I want to believe you. I'm trying to believe you," Harry said. "You just—You have to understand how alarming this was for me. This isn't the first time my phone number has gotten leaked."

"I'm sorry." It was all Y/n could think of to say.

"And so hearing you say my name when I'd never told you...I got scared, and—and angry that it'd happened again."

Y/n understood where Harry was coming from, and she didn't blame him for not believing her, but this all seemed redundant. She already forgave him in her note. Perhaps she could try a different approach.

"I didn't know who One Direction was when we first started talking," she said. "I didn't even know who One Direction was until I got this job."

Harry's brows raised. "Really?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You're popular, but not that popular."

To her surprise, Harry laughed. It was small and weak, but it was a laugh. "Fair enough."

"I swear I didn't know who you were until this tour. I saw the first couple shows on the road, I saw just how many fans you guys have, and so maybe I did a little research, but I didn't know it was Harry Styles, beloved by millions of teenage girls around the world, that I was texting."

Harry scooted closer to her, and with wide eyes, Y/n scooted away. She didn't know what that meant, or why he did it, but she wasn't ready for it. They'd been friends, were friends, she didn't know what they were. He was close enough for now.

Harry was...very gorgeous. Y/n was well aware of that after seeing pictures of him online and in passing during the day. Now that they were up close, she was suddenly aware of his pretty green eyes and hair that curled down to his shoulders. And the tattoos. God, how many times had she told Harry that she loved a guy with tattoos?

"So...You really only found out a few days ago?" he asked.

"I only know what you've said over text," Y/n said with a nod. "And some of your discography, obviously. And the names of your fellow boy band members."

Y/n watched as Harry took in what she said, hoping he would believe her, or at the very least not be angry with her anymore. She knew they would probably never be friends, but maybe she could go back home knowing he didn't hate her or think she was crazy.

"I...believe you. I think," he said after a couple long minutes.

"Don't say that if you don't—"

"No, I—I told you a few days ago that I know you, and I meant that," he insisted. "I jumped to conclusions because of past circumstances, but thinking clearly and reading your letter...those instances and this aren't the same. I'm sorry for exploding on you like that."

Y/n shook her head. "You said it yourself. This wasn't the first time something like this has happened. You had a right to be angry."

"I just—This wasn't how I wanted this to go."

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted—I wanted the first time we met to be...I don't know what I wanted but I didn't want it to be like this."

Eyes blinking in surprise, Y/n said, "Well, I'm glad you believe me. Maybe we can still be frie—Oh."

Before Y/n could finish what she was saying, her phone went off. Her alarm.

"What's that?"

Y/n looked down at her phone, then up at Harry. Things seemed to be mended for the most part, but she didn't want to press her luck. If she left now, maybe they could go back to the way things were before their identities were more or less revealed.

"I set an alarm so I would make it to the airport on time," she said, standing up from the couch. "My flight isn't for another two hours, but I like to get there early because of security and all that."

"You're leaving?" Harry asked, sounding incredulous, though you weren't sure why.

"I told you I was. You threatened to call the police on me, remember?"

"But—But we fixed everything. I thought...This is still your foot in the door, June. I don't want to take that away from you."

It was sweet that he was still thinking about her career, Y/n thought. But... "I appreciate that you're taking my career into account, but I think I need some time to digest the fact that the...friend that I've been texting for the last couple months is—is—"

The truth was Y/n needed to get over the fact that she couldn't actually be with her perfect stranger. When she could hide behind her phone, it was easier to fantasize and come back down to earth, but now the reality of their situation was slapping her in the face. This wasn't going to end with the two of them together.

"Is what? Not who you thought I was?"

"I was taken by surprise too, you know. I thought, or I'd hoped for—"

"What?

"Nothing. I have to catch my flight," Y/n said. She stood up from the couch, or tried to, anyway. Harry reached for her wrist, keeping her there. She knew she could easily pull away and stand up, but she didn't. "Maybe I should've let you believe I was crazy," she said with a laugh. "It would've made leaving easier."

"You don't have to go," Harry insisted. "You're my friend, and I—"

"But I don't want to just be your friend, Harry!" She said, finally pulling her hand from his. "Maybe that makes me crazy for developing feelings for someone before I ever met them, but I'm not sure I could sit around and pretend that I don't want to take your face in my hands and—"

Y/n didn't even register that Harry had moved closer to her. Couldn't make a single noise before they were nose and his lips were on hers. She could only stare, nearly cross-eyed, so surprised she could hardly register how soft his lips were. And then, for just a moment, Y/n closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the kiss. Her hands found themselves in his hair, pulling him closer, pulling him over her, but before they could get any further her senses took over.

"H—Wha—What are you doing—"

"Do you know how hard it was to watch you go on and on about going out with complete dickheads?" he asked, not trying to kiss Y/n, but not moving away either. "To know that some undeserving idiot was taking you out and treating you so wrong when I could've—when I knew I could be better than that, be someone you deserved."

"You never—I don't understand." She did, she just didn't want to.

"June," Harry said. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek so gently, yet it sent chills throughout her whole body. "I want—I want y—"

Y/n didn't let him finish as she pressed her lips to his again. A hum rumbled from Harry's chest, clearly pleased by her reaction. She let herself savor every feeling—from the hand that cradled her face and laid her back across the couch to hair that created a curtain over the both of them and his persistent mouth that wanted more, more, more. The leather sofa was cool against her back and she whimpered, but Harry only took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, slotting a leg between hers while her arms threaded around his neck.

"Tell me you'll stay," he said, breathing only slightly shallow. Y/n had only kissed Harry twice, but she was aching to do it again. She leaned forward, but he moved just out of reach, his fingers holding her chin in place. "I'm sorry for yelling and immediately assuming the worst, but please don't go. Not yet."

He looked so sincere, Y/n thought. The way Harry stared at her was intense but endearing. His lips were a little swollen from all the kissing, and some of his hair was hanging in his face. She could understand why so many people were attracted to him, even outside the realm of physical beauty. If Y/n didn't know him the way she did and he still looked at her like that, she would do nothing short of eating out of the palm of his hand. His energy was hypnotizing, his intentions were good, and he had a decent heart to match. Y/n wasn't sure she'd be able to leave even if she wanted to.

"I won't. I promise."

If him pleading with her hadn't done the trick, his smile would have. It was full of hope rounded out by deep dimples and charm. "Really?"

"I know it probably won't be easy, but I want this too. I want you."

She spent so much of her time on guys who didn't care, who weren't after what she was after. Recently, Y/n had only gone out on dates because she thought she was crazy for developing feelings for someone she'd never met, but now...

She didn't even think it was possible, but Harry's grin widened, and when she leaned in again, he let her. They only kissed for a few minutes before Y/n pulled back with a start. "Wait!"

"What?"

She giggled, then smoothed the corner of his mouth where there was a little lip gloss. "You don't even know my name."

Realization dawned on Harry, as if he'd never even thought about calling her anything other than June, which was fine by her, but she figured he at least needed to know her real name.

"Oh right. I guess we should do this properly. I'm Harry, and I would very much like to take you out sometime."

Y/n grinned and awkwardly shook his hand while Harry was still on top of her. "Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Y/n, but you can call me June. Almost everyone does."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the point of nicknames," she said, looking at him oddly. "Why?"

"I want a name that's just mine," Harry said.

Running a hand through his hair, she said, "Well, can we kiss while you figure something out."

"Absolutely."

Twelve uninterrupted minutes. That's what Y/n and Harry got. He supposed they could've spent it talking, but they had plenty of time to talk. Harry just wanted to be close to her, and Y/n wanted the same.

It was weird to see her, to know she was June, and associate her with a different name. But not too bad that he needed a minute to think about it.

In twelve minutes, Harry was out of his shirt and Y/n was working on getting hers off. They knew better than to do anything more than that, but he liked seeing her in a way he never thought he would, and he could only imagine she felt the same. When Y/n finally managed to get her shirt over her head, Harry felt a bit like an ass for staring, but he couldn't help it. He was taking every inch of her in. Every curve, freckle and scar. Y/n squirmed a little under his gaze and attempted to cross her arms over herself, which was when he finally looked back up at her lovely face.

"Sorry. You're quite beautiful."

That wasn't a dick thing to say, right? He avoided stating the obvious, which was he wanted to put his mouth everywhere and didn't quite know where to start, but something crossed Y/n's face. Harry didn't quite know what it meant, but he would.

Though he did get a little worried he said the wrong thing, but before he could ask she pulled him down to her again.

All of that in twelve minutes. Harry wanted more, would've maybe gotten more, but the door to the tour bus flew open, and a voice drew nearer before either of them could separate.

"Harry? You in here? People are losing their minds because—Woah."

Harry was quick to maneuver himself in front of June as Niall's eyes fell on the two of them. He reached down and grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on. "Everyone can keep their pants on. I'm coming."

"Can you?"

"Niall!" Harry said, but June just giggled behind him. He looked back at her to see her smiling.

"It was a little funny."

Shaking his head, Harry leaned forward and kissed the top of hers. "I have to go—Can you give us a minute?" he asked, throwing a look over his shoulder at Niall.

"Yeah," he said, though most of it was covered up by laughter at having caught his friend. "Yeah, I'll—Wait a minute. Is that June?"

She peeked out behind Harry's shoulder. "Hello."

Harry's mind was alphabet soup for a moment while he tried to make sense of what was essentially his two worlds colliding. It would make sense that Niall knew June because he was always hanging out with the 5SOS boys.

"But what about that girl you've been moping about—"

"Niall."

"I'm going! I'm going! I gotta go tell Calum and the boys."

"Niall, no—And he's gone." Y/n sighed and rested her head on Harry's shoulder. Then she playfully pinched his side. "Moping?"

"Oh hush."

J: where are you?

HS: Radio interview. I'll be back soon.

HS: Why?

J: i was gonna do a little shopping. thought you might wanna join

J: BUT i will just go by myself

HS: Sorry. I'll see you after?

J: fiiine

HS: Okay I'm back. Where are you?

J: still shopping!

HS: All you buy are t-shirts. How does that take so long?

J: um...RUDE i guess i'll just put the super sexy panties away

HS: ...please don't hurry

J: that's what i thought

HS: I miss you :((

J: you saw me twenty minutes ago

HS: I want you in my bunk

J: a little late seeing as we're already on the road!

HS: :(((

J: everyone is going to hate me, but do you want me to call you?

HS: No it's fine.

HS: Can you switch buses at the next stop for gas?

J: you're unbelievable

J: yes of course

HS: :)))

HS: Louis wants you to know we're disgusting!

J: tell louis he can kiss my ass

HS: I will do no such thing. Your ass is mine

HS: Louis is right

J: we are disgusting

HS: So... I'll see you in a couple hours

J: can't wait xx

J: but until then (download image here)

and that's a wrap! i hope y'all enjoy the last part! thanks for all the love on this fic, everyone has been so sweet💕💕

tags:

@cookielovesbook-akie @sucker4angstt @l0v3e1i @bellesmith628 @marigold-morelli @obsessedmaggiemay @voniikg @onecrazydirectioner @unabashedcolorfrienddreamer @austinsvlrslut @iheartharlow @jessitpwk @fictionalmenloversblog @onceagainace @zucchinimalfoy @sqrxndipity @indierockgirrl @drwho06 @shakiraa-a @nomyeyebrowsarentreal @sleutherclaw @yeehawbrothers @harryspirate

[itsnothingofinterest]

I think the thing that ultimately gets me about how Deku has supposedly inspired away everything that'd lead to more Tenkos turning into Tomuras is...just "why?" Like, why did this:

Happen differently this time? I mean that's a fair question to ask, isn't it? The Walk was effectively the true inciting incident for Tomura, leader of the League, to hate hero society; you'd want a really solid answer as to why that won't happen again I would think.

The narration from Hawks and accompanying imagery implies it's because Deku inspired folks to not sit on the sidelines anymore, further implied to be a Hero Society-wide effect Deku has had that'll supposedly eliminate the bystander effect that led us here and give heroes more free time.

But like...Why is that different from what we've seen of heroes before now? All Might was around for 40 years and Deku, in the end, didn't really do anything AM didn't do; he punched out the big bad for the world to see. And All Might did also inspire people like the origin trio to action...by becoming heroes. Yet civilians like the old lady were inspired to go about her day because a hero would handle it, while Deku inspired her to reach out a hand herself. Why?

I've heard some suggest it's because Deku was less independent, had more of a teamwork focus in his big moment. But I’ve said this before, I think those people assume All Might was a lot more independent than he really was, and Deku a lot less. I mean a lot of Deku's fight was broadcast, including big portions where he was fighting the big bad solo just like All Might in Kamino. And then both fights ended with more heroes coming in to lend support.

So I'm just not seeing why public effect is so radically different.

And it's just that, I have been waiting to see what would prevent more Tomuras from crawling out of the woodworks to destroy even more since MVA; what measures would be taken to prevent that? Perhaps Tomura would destroy hero society, not just its buildings but its corrupt ideals, leadership, & figureheads; and maybe when he was beaten there would be room to rebuild it better from scratch? No, he didn't really destroy much at all actually, and things are being rebuilt just as they were. Would Deku and Tomura perhaps team up going forward after he's saved; with the latter's eyes for what's wrong in the world and the former's ability to fix it without violence? No, Deku kills Tomura because he was just too unforgivable, it's implied he was just after a tasteful way to do that the whole fight. Well, would Deku at least listen to what drove Tomura to villainy and do something about any of that? Nope, if it wasn't his final words to Spinner or their talk about hand holding, it was in one ear and out the other for Deku; and there's no sign he's told many people what little he did learn.

So what saves the Teknos of the world? Well Deku kills the big bad on live TV and it's really inspiring. Why is that different from the past 40 years? ...Horikoshi is to burnt out to answer. That's the ultimate answer to the question I've been asking for nearly 200 chapters.

Well I guess I always knew that if Deku couldn't save Tomura, it'd mean he couldn't save anyone like him. And well, he didn't save Tomura. It's why this plot point of "but they get saved anyway" rings so hollow; it's unearned, unfair, unrealistic, and outright contrived & unbelievable as things have been set-up. I just cannot believe it would work out this way; it is honestly 100 times more believable to suppose the old lady was a guilt-fuelled one-off and most Tenkos will die in the streets or turn to villainy. Especially once this "the villain is dead" high has passed. Because as it is; this resolution as-presented feels as reasonable as our finale in chapter 430 suggesting Deku was so inspirational that no one was ever a villain again either.

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 07/09

Anonymous asked: also, thats pretty distinctly not vriskas handwriting (page 2196). the hell is terezi even talking about?

Terezi, for god's sake.

@manorinthewoods asked: I'd like to note that Pyralspite's eyes are either an eighth the brightness of Alternia's sun, or Pyralspite has the ability to psychically burn out people's eyes just by wanting to. Probably the former. ~LOSS (30/8/24)

I should have guessed that Vriska's cruel and unusual punishment for Terezi was yet another case of Mindfang Roleplay.

I think it's likely that Pyralspite does have some sort of ocular ability. After all, Terezi's lusus had a vision-based power, and she's probably Pyralspite's direct descendant.

@gogogoat495 asked: Say, what do you think of the reuse/mix of animation and music from Dave: Ascend to Seer: Ascend? Is it a simple callback or are there deeper parallels between the characters and story beats?

Well, they are both lead-ups to a climactic fight between 'siblings'. Other than that, though, I'm not really sure. Dave and Terezi have always got on very well, but I can't really see any direct parallels in their personal arcs.

@manorinthewoods asked: Mindfang's classism is ridiculous. This woman straight up said 'one of such middling 8lood' about someone literally one step below her on the ladder. If she were Tavros, she would be oppressing Aradia so hard. ~LOSS (29/8/24)

In Terezi's own words, she's 'a little too teal' to be considered a true highblood. I think there's a hard line of separation here, where anyone below Vriska's caste is considered a midblood at best.

In other words: to be a blueblood, you really need to be a blue-blood.

@manorinthewoods asked: Nepeta, whose handle is arsenicCatnip, uses arsenic's atomic number as a significant element of her quirk. This implies that arsenic has the same atomic number in Alternia as on Earth, which in turn means that, at the very least, the two universes likely share a periodic table. Odd, given how one has widespread psychic abilities and the other doesn't. ~LOSS (29/8/24)

I think it makes sense that Earth inherited some of its scientific concepts from Alternia. It wouldn't be the first thing we inherited!

@heliotropopause asked: TG: maybe if you kill her at least we can finally stop obsessing over her Hah! homestuck's been over for over for almost eight years now, and people are still doing vriscourse to this day. There is no escape, i'm afraid.

'Vriscourse' is kind of killing me. I'm kind of disappointed that this is my first time hearing the term, because I'd probably have been using it this whole time.

@probablyapineapple asked: im not completely caught up on reading this liveblog yet (currently up to s67) but i think youre on track to understanding these characters better than literally anyone

Well, thank you! I have, admittedly, posted some rather hot takes in the past, though. If I recall correctly, my Act 5 shipping chart was my most controversial post to date.

@bladekindeyewear asked: Back during these times in the comic, there were broad theoryposting camps advocating for both narrower and broader interpretations of Aspect domains/powers. I know you're avoiding as much outside influence as you can, but I'm wondering if maybe after the end of this Act, you could accept some community Theorydiving from around this time that could unlock more tools for you to understand hidden evidence for Aspect Stuff you might have missed? […]

I'm definitely considering something like that. Specifically, I'd love to take a look at some of the comic's early theories - ones that had already been disproven by this point in the comic. That'll allow me to get into the headspace of Homestuck's earliest theorists, without influencing my own as-yet-unproved theories.

@manorinthewoods asked: Perhaps an older Legislacerator's job is less actually trying to pursue justice, and more going through cargo cult-esque rhythms of justice, taking its trappings and trying to bring it about while having no understanding of what they're actually doing and what the meaning of their actions is. Maybe, like the Subjugglators, they're an entire social class/blood color based around a single cult? ~LOSS (28/8/24)

I think Dave was pretty on the mark when he described early legislacerators as bounty hunters. Maybe they assumed something marginally closer to an attorney's role in Alternia's modern age - but in Redglare's era, the ideal legislacerator was a violent thrill-seeker, more concerned with bloody combat than courtroom paperwork.

@violetsquare111 asked: I do wonder how big, exactly, is the multiverse in Homestuck. I guess that's a bit of a weird question if there are "infinite universes"… but infinite potential doesn't mean infinite already-existing universes, does it? For some reason I always thought of the amount of Sburb sessions/universes being fairly small, in the grand scheme of things. Less than a million, maybe. I really don't know where I got that from, and there's probably some throwaway line in the comic contradicting it, but if applicable then it's another possible explanation for how Perfect Jack would be one-of-a-kind.

It's not impossible. That would imply that the overwhelming majority of sessions are doomed to fail - but, honestly, they might be! After all, neither of the sessions we've seen so far have been unambiguously successful.

@iris-in-the-dark-world asked: i had a dream that you went from page 3703 to page 7053 in one day

You dreamt of Sally on Adderall.

@spiddermen asked: hihi i just caught up with your liveblog and im so happy to have a chance to reread hs along with you, the first time i read it was when i was like… twelve? so nine years ago? and pretty much all of it went over my head. but now im finally getting to appreciate this masterpiece and your observations are making a lot of stuff click for me as well. so its cool to finally get to understand how freaking good this story is and i cant wait to see you react to some of the crazy later stuff also i hope this doesnt trip the spoiler sensor but some of the answers to the questions you're asking are only answered in sequel material so i do really hope you'll read those, they're ignored by a lot of the fans but they're honestly really really good and i feel like you're the kind of person who would get the intended experience out of them. and psycholonials as well! everyone ignores it but it practically is homestuck (2) to me

Thank you! And yeah, we've talked a bit about this before. Cat and I had a discussion about the subject back in Act 3, and I'm well aware that this comic isn't going to answer all of my questions. Honestly, it would be pretty surprising if it did - I've been digging really deep into aspects of the comic that are clearly just meant to be background details.

As for whether I'll be dipping into Hussie's other projects, or Homestuck's non-canon material - I'm certainly going to check them out, but only time will tell whether they get the full liveblogging treatment. That said, if it addresses questions of mine that Homestuck itself doesn't elaborate on, consider my interests piqued.

@manorinthewoods submitted: I sorta skimmed Homestuck, and missed out on basically all of the Flashes going through, so I totally missed the fact that WQ wrote a romantic fanfic about herself, which is really funny. It does have a serious aspect, though - it implies something about her relationship with WK, no? I suspect they may be friendly with one another, but fate gives their relationship a bit of tragedy - as well as a bit of 'we are simultaneously both forced to be in a romantic relationship and also only being co-rulers'. Is WQ<3WK a thing? Doesn't have to be. I suspect it may be something like WQ<>WK […]

Plus, Carapacians are clones, so it's not like the Royals need to make any heirs. Really, they only need to be co-workers - but the idea that they might have a moirail-adjacent relationship is very cute.

Anonymous asked: Grimdark Rose: "Vengeance and rage are all I live for now, seeing my dead mother makes me feel nothing, I will-" John: Exists Rose: "OMG bestie hiiiiii" ~DJ

First Vriska, now Rose. It seems like John's the perfect calming influence for any out-of-control Light Player.

Anonymous asked: Not sure if you noticed, the tapestries about the kids' quests are all referencing the [S] pages with misattributed quotes associated with each kid (pages 82, 307, 444, and 2988). The quotes are, respectively, from Maxims by Francois de La Rochefoucauld, The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot, Drop It Like It's Hot by Snoop Dogg, and possibly an original piece by Hussie ending with a line from Hamlet. I don't think any of them mean anything.

The quotes might not be Hussie originals, but they definitely seem to evoke the kids' respective Quests. Dave's quote is a bit of an exception, though...

Anonymous asked: "They wait for he who would drop it while it's hot whilst the pimp's in the crib." I mean, you laugh NOW, but knowing Andrew and this comic, can you honestly say this won't end up having an incredibly important and literal meaning? @walkerbehindyou asked: Is there a quest more suited for Dave than to show up at his denizen’s (certainly the pimp of LOHAC) palace in the past and drop straight fire?

...but perhaps that means it's foreshadowing something we haven't seen yet. If Dave ends up making a Choice, I wouldn't put it past him to rap an answer to his Denizen.

@iris-in-the-dark-world asked: the soundtrack of the grimdark rose segment really gets to me. i'd highly recommend the first few songs of that album

Black Rose/Green Sun was a great song. It evoked a very different feeling than anything we've heard before, and really highlighted how alien Rose has become, now that she's been fully submerged in darkness.

@manorinthewoods asked: Ooh, here's an idea - when you do the Sahlee-and-Sally Let's Play, set it in an alternate Sburb that's based on all of your incorrect theories. Every Land has a God Tier Moon orbiting it, for instance. Would be really cool - your theoretical Sburb has a lot of super fun stuff in it. ~LOSS (12/8/24)

Oh, I like that idea. It means I can finally bring back the anti-Skaia, which is probably my favourite since-disproven theory.

Anonymous asked: I never realised that the pillow that Rose uses then is the one from her mum - well spotted :,(

A mother will do whatever is best for her children.

And a daughter will remember what was best about her mother.

Anonymous asked: So. Do you think that a Horrorterror-Boosted Rose has any chance against a First Guardian Prototyped Jack Noir? We've seen that if left alone Jack can destroy Entire Worlds and his teleporting is Nigh Instant, plus who knows how far he can go in a single teleport! […]

Dark Rose is arguably a God-Tier level threat, but we've just seen Jack one-shot a God Tier. I don't think she has a hope - there's only so many bullet-time stabbings she can take!

Anonymous asked: its really interesting to see you say that rose saying she felt mom was a sister and a mother at once made u feel like there must have been camraderie. for me, it reinforced the idea that moms parenting forced rose to act like a peer to mom when it came to her alcoholism? in the sense that moms alcoholism took her out of commission, and made it so that rose had to take care of herself in a lot of ways that a parent would, putting them on similar levels. So its interesting to see a different interpretation!

It's not impossible. To me, Rose's monologue reads as if she's trying to express her admiration of her mother. This is the first time she's admitted to having positive feelings for her guardian, and I think she's regretting that she never voiced these feelings to the woman herself, before it was too late.

That's just one reading of her words, though. I think her monologue here is meant to be ambiguous, just like the Lalonde mother-daughter relationship always was.

@manorinthewoods asked: Ooh, you're thinking of a Carapacian player, huh? That would be interesting - imagine if they go in with, like, complete knowledge of how Sburb works, so they prototype something super strong in order to buff the Ring that they then steal and equip. ~LOSS (12/8/24)

That would be interesting. Carapacians are the only species where the game can't fully compensate for the power of your race by buffing Underlings, since buffing the Underlings would also buff the Ring I'm abusing!

@skelekingfeddy asked: re: troll romance: i generally lean towards xenopsychology, mixed in with a secret 4th thing (humans can also feel troll romance), with a little dose of propaganda, and also an undercurrent of parody (because Hussie. everything has an undercurrent of parody (e.g. pretty much all the trolls are based on internet stereotypes). i COMPLETELY disagree with the notion that the quadrants are made up unhealthy bullshit. i think theres a genuine evolutionary biological origin for the quadrants if matespritship is all about Companionship, then kismesissitude is all about Competition, Rivalry, a drive to push yourself and make yourself better. both are generally healthy and beneficial in their own ways. the evolutionary basis for moirallegiance and auspisticism is the need for pacification, a better half, to prop up matespritships and kismesissitudes and keep them from being interfered with (as described in-comic). each quadrant is the result of a genuine primal, biological urge

I don't necessarily think the quadrants are fabricated, but I do think that the version of them that exists on Alternia are unhealthy more often than not, particularly when it comes to black romance. Monogamous auspisticism requires an overwhelming amount of emotional labor, all the kismesissitudes we've seen have been toxic at best, and there has to be a better way to do this.

Anonymous asked: My brother's been going through your liveblog recently and it's been fun getting to re-experience it through him, especially being reminded of all the theories you have that are shockingly accurate in very inaccurate ways. The two that come to mind are your theory that Jade was engineered in a lab (which, she kinda was, but that's not unique to her) and that John's version of Sburb is bugged (the meteors, it turns out, were a part of the game as it's meant to be played, but this whole 'tumour' thing sure isn't). Also, while I'm here, going to recommend checking out Temporal Shenanigans by Rachel Rose Mitchell, which is a gorgeous fansong about Aradia that shouldn't have any spoilsies at this point. I would also rec PhemieC's music with the caveat that many of their songs are spoilery - while most of the troll-specific ones should be alright, I'd definitely say to get someone else to go through them first to be certain. Hope you're doing well!! And I look forward to seeing more of your liveblog if and when you return to it! -Megido

Oh yeah, I was talking about how Jade was made in a lab! I'd totally forgotten about that theory.

You know, her Dreambot is actually interesting in retrospect. The bed that controls it looks suspiciously like a Quest Bed, which makes me wonder just how much Grandpa knew about Sburb's lore, and what exactly he was trying to do here.

Anonymous asked: I find it a bit funny (in good way) how aspects of your troll and human sona are kinda opposites, like life and death type of thing, sweet

Really, it's mostly just me hedging on my own Aspect. Plus, having two 'sonas lets me explore twice as much Sburb lore, allowing me to come up with two weapons, Lands, Title powers, and the like.

Within the hypothetical context of the fic, I've been thinking a lot about why there'd be two Sallys. Like, was one 'sona partially cloned from the other? If so, who was the original? Technically, the Alternian version would have existed 'first', but the existence of time travel ensures that that doesn't mean much.

@manorinthewoods asked: Rather appropriate that Rose's weapon is her Thorns. ~LOSS (10/8/24)

Ayyy!

@ipunchvampires asked: "You should understand [Rose has] been corrupted by various entities with some rather questionable motives," says Entity with Rather Questionable Motives corrupting her. Kind of the perfect Doc Scratch line, honestly.

Doc Scratch is an awful person, but he's still a funny fuck.

@heliotropopause asked: wait. is that *Guybrush Threepwood* in the boat there??? @elkian asked: At the risk of being the 88th person to say something, the troll in the dinghy is a Guybrush Threepwood cameo (using the more cartoony style from Curse Of Monkey Island etc.). Man's truly unfortunate, or maybe he's lucky for not being a focal character? XD Anonymous asked: that 'one random motherfucker on a little dinghy' is in fact, guybrush threepwood from the monkey island series, thrown in as an easter egg by one of the artists who made assets for the flash @sanctferum asked: the troll on the dinghy is Troll Gybrush Threepwood. the guest artist for that scene confirmed this on the now-defunct MSPA forums IIRC

Ahahaha. Mystery solved, I guess!

I've been wanting to play Monkey Island for some time - and now I need to, so that I can understand the true backstory of of GY'BRSH TRPWUD.

Anonymous asked: I love this section, because I think it really shows something about Dave (and Rose). Because Dave just says whatever pops into his head, when he's getting command prompts, he just repeats them uncritically. (That also supports that when he said he didn't love his Bro, it was his honest reaction) @ben-guy asked: David "Zero Filter" Strider was absolutely not ready to have thoughts beamed directly into his head by an exile lmao @krixwell asked: It's so funny to me how when thoughts are incepted into Dave's subconscious mind, they just come falling right back out his mouth at the first opportunity. Filter, what filter? Those sunglasses don't hide shit.

Reminds me of his stress-rambles from early on in the comic. The reason he wears those shades is, I think, because he is a naturally expressive person - he just doesn't want to be.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 6.2k words]

"Yes, well, where's this Imelda now?" "Playing professionally, that witch." He laughs to himself. "It's all right, bar girl. Kath, Imelda... they don't matter. I've only got eyes for you." You roll your eyes, sweeping all the crumbs onto your hand. "You're a right flirt, Sallow." "I mean it," he murmurs. "You're beautiful."

You do a favour for Sebastian... and meet an unfriendly figure from his past.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, coarse language, gendered language, blood/ injury, violence.

4. terms of endearment

One mild October morning, the delivery gets dropped off before scheduled time, and the carriage driver doesn't bother to knock.

You stand at the threshold of the pub's entrance, clutching the note of paper with a scrunched fist. Five barrels of beer left outside at nine o'clock in the morning. How the hell are you meant to carry them inside? Lazy gits. Without Cook you'll have to roll them in yourself, and that'll take some muscle strength, let alone time.

You tip the first barrel over gently, grumbling to yourself.

"Struggling, bar girl?"

Your least-turned-most favourite customer strolls over from across the street, hands stuffed in pockets. You don't spare him a second glance – this time of year you're wrapped up in a coat and liveries, but he's only wearing a pair of leather bracers over a linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up. God, he looks good. There's only so much of the sight you can handle without getting flustered.

The barrel wobbles to a stop. "I'm fine. Don't want to accept a customer's help."

He rests his hand on the barrel's rim.

"How about a friend's?"

When you stand to give him space, you catch a hint of his scent, for once a change from stale beer, an enticing concoction of dusting powder and musk. You take him in proper, his handsome face, gorgeous freckles and that half-smile, pretty enough to run your tongue over. Friend. Lately he's started to feel less like an innocent companion and more like someone you want to spend a long night with, every night. Why's he here? To see me? Your heart beats wildly, but you feign annoyance.

"Fine, but you better not drop it."

In one smooth motion, Sebastian sweeps the barrel onto his shoulder. His head tilts to adjust to the girth, and you notice his arm, strained and bulging – the snake tattoo has nothing on the wide rivulet of a vein that contours the muscle.

"My eyes are over here, bar girl."

You snap to his face. That grinning, obnoxious bastard—

"Just can't quit it with my arms, huh?"

"Get the barrel inside, Sallow."

You stomp into the back room, trying to excavate the blush on your cheeks. Just fantastic. As if this ridiculous school girl's fancy can't get any worse. Sebastian saunters behind like the barrel weighs no more than a handful of pennies and sets it by the cellar door.

"I was hoping to catch you, actually. I was wondering if you'd do me a favour."

The disappointment makes your heart shrivel.

"What sort?"

"I'm seeing a... friend." He says it delicately, like he's handling the thinnest sheet of glass. "Haven't spoken to her in a long time."

Her. "Okay..."

"Asked to meet her tonight."

"Right..."

"Was wondering if we could do it here."

"Don't need my permission to meet someone, Sallow."

"I want you to keep an eye. We didn't exactly part on good terms."

"Why?" Once you never would've pried, but you feel compelled to ask now because you're comfortable – and perhaps something else. "The bad terms, I mean."

"We went to school together. Something happened during my fifth year. Something," his wince is slightly bashful, "I can't tell you."

"Because you'll have to kill me?"

For once he doesn't rise to the joke. "It's a story for another day."

You acquiesce, because you don't think he'll tell no matter how many times you bat your eyelashes. "Bring 'er 'ere, then. Want me to get her drunk?"

"I want you to make sure I don't get drunk," he says instead. "Last thing I need is to make an arse of myself. A few drinks to be social, but no more."

"All right, can do."

He brushes his hand with yours. "Thank you."

You have to pull away before you let the touch linger. "You can thank me by bringing the rest of the stock in."

"Fair payment, is it? You watch over me while I meet my friend, and I let you ogle my arms?"

He winks. You decide not to dignify that with an answer.

Sebastian's friend is certainly – grudgingly – pretty. Draped in satin that skims her hips and cinches to her figure, her bronze complexion is richly painted, smoothing all blemishes and spots, and her hair bun, a deep, ash black, is laced with a string of dewdrop pearls. It makes you think she comes from money, but when she greets you at the bar, her accent strafes with northern twang, and her grin is too boisterous to be moulded from upper-class rearing.

"A scotch, please?"

You wonder if Sebastian ever liked her how you wish he liked you.

"Two pence."

She hesitates, staring at the coinage in her hand, before sliding the right ones over.

"You're here for Sebastian?"

Her brow tightens. That bodes well.

"You know him?"

"Not much. He's a bit of a puzzle to me."

"Really?" she snorts. "I haven't seen him in years. Can't imagine he's been up to any good."

Your temper hatches into being. How can she say that? He's shrouded in more mysteries than a penny dreadful, yeah, but after everything you've been through together, Bonny, your parents... you trust his process. You trust that though he struggles, pushed and pulled by the tide of his inner demons, he'll do the right thing in the end.

"Save some of your charm for me, Kath?"

You didn't notice Sebastian come in – neither does the girl, Kath. She flinches backwards.

"Merlin, Sallow—" He clears his throat, gaze flickering briefly to you. She fixes you a quick glance as well, clearly embarrassed. "That's really the first thing you say after all these years?"

"Considering the last things we said, I think this is a vast improvement."

You nod once to Sebastian and pour drinks as the pair get settled on a reserved table, high on the balcony overlooking the hall. The table seats ten, but it's the most private one in the pub. Something feels off about it all, you think, when you sort a tray of nibbles. He seems blasé, flippant, his usual vain self – but the way her face darkened, thick with some unresolved tension... she doesn't know him anymore. Doesn't want to be there. Whether they were close before, now they're so different the space between them might as well be a chasm. You'd think he committed murder for how high her walls appear to be.

They're exchanging small talk when you walk up with a plate of warm bread, goat's butter and complimentary nuts. Sebastian looks grateful when you put the food down – he's already finished half his stout. They mumble their thanks and wait for you to go before their conversation resumes, and you linger by the stairs.

"— and here, of all the places. I know you picked it for a reason."

"I like the drinks here."

"You like the anonymity," Kath retorts. "Or I suppose you did before you decided to come crawling back—"

"I haven't crawled, Kath. I asked for your help because you, most of all, know what they're capable of."

"So I'm only here when I'm useful to you?"

"Please stop twisting my words." You've never heard him so injured. "You know why I haven't been in contact."

"Anne was eight months ago."

"And I'm still recovering."

"And that's exactly the problem. What happened to her was tragic, I cried over her too, but look at yourself. You're a bloody mess."

"I... I'm getting better."

You back down the stairs, stiff with mortification and shame. You have a job to do, tables to clean, customers to serve... but that was so unnecessarily cruel. Isn't it good enough that he's trying? You wish you could sit with him, hold his hand, show that someone cares. Your shoulder is there for him to lean on; Kath's shoulder is cold.

You serve a few more drinks before Bonny tugs your sleeve.

"What you doin', Miss? Go keep watch!"

"I can't," you say, flushing. "It's real private, their talk."

"How'd you know that fancy lady won't make a move on your man?"

"He's not my man," you grouse. "And I really don't think we have anything to worry about—"

"Tosh and balderdash." She flutters a hand. "If she gets all in a tizzy, you have to swoop in there and remind him who's the lady of the house. Off you pop. Go on!"

She practically shoves you towards the stairs – she can be quite pushy when she wants. There's some truth to it. You're not worried Kath will make a move, but you are worried they'll go to a place from which they can never return. Sebastian doesn't seem to have more friends beyond Ominis and the Garreth fellow, and you don't want him to lose out because he couldn't control his tongue.

Curiosity winning out, you take a cloth and sneak up the next few steps, pinching your skirt so the fabric doesn't rustle. Their voices are sharper now, harsher but quieter. You poke your head up to see Sebastian on his feet. His drink is drained, hers is untouched.

"It must be doable," Sebastian's voice is as resolute as his clenched fists. "It must."

"Think how this looks for me. I go after a man without due reason, I look like I'm acting rogue. Then what happens to me?"

"It's not without due reason, though." The first shade of annoyance – of distress. "A fucking psychopath is coming after not just me, but my other friends too. Your other friends. Ominis. Garreth. He might even get the Muggle bar girl involved."

"Which is your fault! If you hadn't goaded him—"

"Goaded, she says, after what happened to Anne! How many people do I have to beg for someone to pull a finger out their arse? Listen to me, Kath. People like him don't miraculously change. He's going to strike again, and if he lays a finger on any of our friends, or my bar girl—"

"His record is clean," Kath cuts across swiftly. "I looked into it before I came."

Sebastian hesitates. "All right, but—"

"I need an official warrant or my job is at risk. There's nothing I can do." The chair scrapes back. "Take some time off. Go to the countryside, get a hobby, wet your wick if you need a real distraction. But you won't drag me back to whatever hell you've created for yourself, no matter how hard you try."

The floorboards creak. You scramble back downstairs and slap the cloth to a table before Kath lands primly on the last step. She passes you a wordless, narrowed look, suspicion mixed with unease, before she leaves without another word.

You give Sebastian five minutes, but when he doesn't come down, you go up. Both drinks are drained, and he's moved the chair to the window, staring listlessly outside where he no doubt watched Kath disappear out of sight.

"She sounded like a bag of kittens."

He grunts, not bothering to look up. "Figured she wouldn't help much, just didn't think it would be nothing. I know I fucked up during school, but I really hoped..." A hysterical laugh bubbles out of him. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck."

"Wanna' talk about it?"

"Can't. Personal business I'm handling, don't worry."

You might, when your name is being thrown around.

He fishes into his pocket, taking out two pence and wordlessly flicking them to you.

"Can you get me a stout, please?"

You frown. "Sebastian..."

"Bad day," he chokes out, turning back to the window. "I just... I can't today."

There's nothing you can do. When all is said and done, he's a customer and you're a barmaid, helpless to watch him overindulge until he's collapsed on the table giggling to himself. You bring him more bread with the drinks, hoping it will soak up the alcohol and keep him sober for longer, but eventually he stops eating it.

The conversation replays in your head. A psychopath? During the brief pauses in service you scour the latest issues of The Daily Mail for clues, a newly-released convict, or someone on bail, but no one fits the bill. Local gossip turns nothing up either, when you ask the regulars Squiffy Joe and Beer-Belly Boris if they've heard anything.

You don't want to give Kath any credence, but it's like Sebastian invented a man out of thin air. How can there be such a dangerous fugitive without anyone's knowledge? Wouldn't Kath care if it was true? Would Sebastian care if it wasn't?

My bar girl. You didn't miss that either. From anyone else the possessiveness would unsettle you, but from him it drives up your blood pressure, sending it pulsing in places it shouldn't.

"Can you stay?" he asks on the fourth beer, fifth drink. The table is littered with used glasses, and he flops forwards, head turned to face you. "Please."

His smile is so soft for someone hurt so deeply.

"I'm working, Sebastian," you say gently.

He takes your hand anyway. The way he holds a beer glass and the way he holds you are oceans apart.

"Five minutes? Just so... I'm not alone with my thoughts."

You haven't felt pity for him in so long, yet it rears up like it never left. Cautiously you sit, scrubbing and tidying the table as you do, and he watches, tracing every movement with almost beguiling interest. Leant down on the table, the muscles in his neck are pronounced, thick and strong.

"Kath gave you a nickname," you say, hoping to distract him. "Wanna' explain that to me?"

"A nickname?"

"She called you Merlin."

He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Hah, well... it's just an old joke."

"And you called me muggle."

He goes rigid. "You heard that?"

"You asked me to keep an eye, can hardly do that without keeping an ear. What's muggle? Some sort of insult?"

The rigidness melts, and he traces you fondly.

"It's not an insult, bar girl."

"Then what is it?"

"Call it... a term of endearment."

"Oh please, term of endearment..." When he smiles, you bite out, "You're muggle," which only makes Sebastian smile wider.

On his sixth drink, he's still lying half on the table, only this time he faces the ceiling, and his speech is slurred.

"I should start guessing your name. So many to try, you know. Have to get on top of it."

"Eat some bread, Sebastian."

"Is it Jessica? Evie? Stephanie? Or something unique and exotic? Graven? Venus? Aura?" Each name he pays individual attention to, a unique jewel his to cherish alone. "I'd like you no matter what you were called."

It flutters down your spine, and you have to fight the shiver. "We're closing soon."

"When I used to play Qui— sports, I was real popular with the ladies."

I bet. "Rugby?"

"More like... rounders."

"You do not look like a rounders type."

"I swing a bat good. So good sometimes I knocked out the opposing players... used to be Imelda's favourite."

Imelda. Another woman in his life. "Mmhmm."

"You should be thankful. Without it I wouldn't have such nice arms for you to stare at."

Just to prove his point, he flexes, showing off the muscle. Good God. You flush deeply and spin away.

"Yes, well, where's this Imelda now?"

"Playing professionally, that witch." He laughs to himself. "It's all right, bar girl. Kath, Imelda... they don't matter. I've only got eyes for you."

You roll your eyes, sweeping all the crumbs onto your hand. "You're a right flirt, Sallow."

"I mean it," he murmurs. "You're beautiful."

The air parches. You try to look for some hint of a lie – a wink, crossed fingers, or a tongue eking out from his lips, but not even the alcohol seems to work against him, making his pupils in those coffee eyes round and engulfing. You could topple in and never regret a thing.

Is that true that he thinks you're beautiful?

Or is it simply the stout talking?

"Don't drink anymore, Sebastian," you say gently. "Try to sober up."

Those eyes never leave you when you head back downstairs.

Two hours later, Sebastian breaks his record for most drinks consumed.

He's lying across three chairs, belting shanties so off-tune you don't recognise them when you reach the top step. "Pub's closing, Sebastian!" you yell over him. "Time to pack up!"

"My favourite Muggle!" he cheers instead, sitting up and sloshing his seventh beer over himself. "Sit and sing with me!"

Definitely an insult. "You have to go home."

"Only if I get to take you with me."

He starts to sing again. Cook and Helene have sometimes thrown out a few of the rowdier sorts, but you don't want to manhandle Sebastian, not when his heart is so fragile.

Then you remember a little scrap of parchment in your apron.

"I'm going to call Ominis if you don't move it!"

"Tell him to bring Garreth!" Sebastian hiccoughs. "We can start a band!"

That's as good as permission as you'll get, so you send the rest of the staff home and lock the doors, then head to the telephone installed in the stockroom. Sebastian's ear-splitting shrieks still drum against the door as you dial the number and press the receiver to your ear.

It rings once, twice—

A loud thump on the line make you flinch back, followed by a shrill, "Shit, fuck, balls!"

You tentatively put the phone back to your ear. "Er, hello?"

"HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"God above—" You yank the phone away. "Yes, I can hear you!"

"GREAT! HELLO! WOW. I LOVE THIS TECHNOLOGY."

"Why are you yelling?"

"WHY— oh. Sorry. Can you still hear me?"

"Yes."

"I've never used one of these before, you see. New device. DARLING!" he bellows again and you wince. "IT WAS THE PHELETONE RINGING! I GOT IT TO WORK!"

If you went through this entire ordeal for it to be the wrong number, heads will roll. "Sorry about the late hour, but I was told to ring by Mr Gaunt...?"

"Yes! Yes. That's right. Wait. Oh." The speaker makes a sad noise. "Then this is about Seb, isn't it?"

"Yes. Is Mr Gaunt present? Can I speak to him?"

"'Course!" You manage to pull the phone away in time before he yells, "IT'S THE LADY FROM THE TAVERN! ABOUT SEB! Say, I really should pay a visit, he says you've got the best stout this side of the—"

The phone fumbles again, accompanied with an "Oi!" before someone, Ominis, clears his throat down the line.

"My deepest apologies, madam. You rang about Sebastian?"

"Yeah." You take a deep breath. "Got drunk, refuses to leave."

"For the love of—" He lets out an aggravated sigh. "I apologise. We will come pick him up immediately."

Ominis doesn't kid about immediate. Ten minutes later there's a knock at the door. He's about as impeccably dressed as last time, full suit, waistcoat and breeches, tidy to the nth degree – and just as irritated.

His companion, however, slouches with hands tucked in pockets, stands shorter but stouter, and wears a ragged linen shirt and typical work trousers, both singed with scorch marks. Ginger hair tickles his shoulders, left bedraggled and uncombed. His only mark of opulence is a gold band on his ring finger. Even his expression is distractingly boyish – it's like he's never seen a pub before, the way he looks around, oohing and aahing.

"Pardon the late intrusion." Ominis steps inside. "Where—?"

"HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS, HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS, TEACH US SOMETHING PLEEEEEASE!"

"Never mind." Ominis sighs and taps his companion with his walking stick. "Mr Weasley, if you could lead the rescue."

"Nice to meet you properly!" Instead, Mr Weasley clasps your hand and shakes enthusiastically. "Ominis told me all about you. Name's Garreth. I'm his partner."

"Business partner," Ominis says quickly, with that practiced smile. "At work."

"Oh, er, yes, right. Business partner."

You extract your grip. Jesus, he could take your arm off. "Nice to meet you as well. Sorry to interrupt your police duties so late."

Garreth turns to Ominis; his smile looks rather crooked. "Yes, we were so busy with our police work, weren't we, colleague?"

"Forgive my work partner," Ominis says smoothly. "He despises his role as my assistant."

"Your—!"

"You'd better fetch him, Weasley. As I am blind, I cannot help you."

There's an insufferable quality to Ominis' expression. Garreth sticks out his tongue as you head upstairs, where Sebastian is now rolling on the floor yelling the unfamiliar shanty at unbearable levels.

"JUST DO YOUR BEST, WE'LL DO THE REST, AND LEARN UNTIL OUR BRAINS ALL— Garreth!"

"Galloping gargoyles, Seb." Garreth pads forwards like his friend is an easily-spooked mouse. "Look at the state of you!"

"You know this one! Sing with me! HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS—"

"Okay, that's not winning any awards." He gracelessly hooks Sebastian's arm over his shoulder, hauling him upright. "You're so heavy."

"And you're so... ginger."

When Garreth eventually manages to drag Sebastian to the front door, you tidy him up until he's somewhat presentable. "Will you be all right?" you address Ominis. "You don't have a carriage. Did you walk?"

Ominis seems momentarily put-out. "I— yes. We... do like a walk."

At two in the morning? They've hardly dressed for outdoor weather. This time of year the nights are less forgiving. "You're going to struggle carrying him between you."

"It's a short walk to our— my office."

"There might be a train running? Or a bus?"

"Let's take a bus, Ominis!" Garreth bounces so excitedly Sebastian's head bobs. "I've always wanted—"

"That won't be necessary," Ominis says. "We'll be fine."

Sebastian and Garreth get a head start into the street, though not before Sebastian blows you a terribly sloppy air kiss. He might find that embarrassing once he sobers up.

"Mr Gaunt."

Ominis pauses at the door – just as Garreth lists precariously to his left, treading on Sebastian's foot. Sebastian yelps, "Ow, you great troll!" as Garreth laughs.

"Did he forget to settle the bill? I apologise—"

"No, no, I wanted to ask about... something Sebastian said earlier. Someone's coming after him?"

His jaw clenches. He knows too. "How much did he tell you?"

"What's going on?" you pointedly ignore the question. "Is it a fugitive?"

"Of a sort," he hedges. "I wouldn't fret. You aren't the target."

Target. Like a fox shirking the hunt.

"Your friend Kath turned him away," you say, haunches rising. "Said there was nothing you could do. Sebastian was really worried about me, and you and Garreth."

This must be news to Ominis; he scowls. "Katherine is part of a... unique division of our department. She would certainly help if she were amenable, which I knew she wouldn't be. Sebastian is on leave. It's not his job to meddle." He lifts his chin, putting it all behind him. "I can assure you, the situation is under control, madam. There's nothing to worry about."

The market streets are busy so late in the afternoon. You despise it – normally, if you have to make a trip, you pay Ada to watch your parents early and go at the crack of dawn. Most of the good stock will be gone before midday, and now, by the riverside and crammed with paupers and beggars, the place reeks of body odour, brine and fetid meat.

Inventory was off this morning, whole crates of vegetables missing. There was no sign of break-in, the back door intact and locked, and Cook reassured he'd received and secured the stock in the iceboxes yesterday. It's a very strange situation, but without the veg, he can't make stew for the evening rush, so you put it aside for now and brave the crowd, clutching your purse close and blotting out the vendors hawking their wares. Expedited delivery won't come cheap.

You find the stall in the centre of the street, its contents ransacked by previous customers. Only the worst bits are left, spotted sheaves of dried herbs, fruit blackened with age and dense cuts of shoulder and shank. You wait for the grocer to appear, but he's nowhere to be seen.

"Bit dangerous to be out all alone, ain't it?"

Your eyes dart left to the man, twice your height and weight, in his mid-fifties. He looms over you sheathed in leather and broadcloth, neither of which disguise how thick his arms are, like sewage pipes, and a face gnarled, sneering and unpleasant to look at for too long. Tattoos creep up his neck and hands, dark and precisely rendered like knifepoint.

"It's three o'clock in a busy market," you reply. "I'll be fine."

"Brave girl. Mouthy, maybe."

"And proud. Please excuse me."

"Hold on now," he says, stepping closer, too close. "We was just getting acquainted." He tips his bowler hat. "You're the bar girl."

Coming from him, it's not a term of endearment. It's a threat.

"I think you know a good friend of mine," he continues, voice slick like fatty oil. "Fairly tall bloke. Annoying grin. Freckles."

Sebastian. "You know how many customers I get through the door?" you say, even when your heart threatens to burst.

"Stout's his favourite. That's your least popular beer, I know. You get your shipments same time every week, and for the past four, you only got the mahogany barrel in twice." He leans forwards; his breath stinks worse than the market. "Pretty impressive he drinks enough to make it worth stockin'."

You glance furtively to your left: half a dozen set of eyes watch the exchange, all burly, menacing henchmen. Your feet itch to move, but there's no way you can outrun them all.

You force the fear back down your throat. "Don't have a clue who you're on about."

"You'll remember fast. See, bar girl, there's bigger things at work than your little pub." He reaches into the produce and plucks an old, shrivelled grape clean from the stem. "Things he'll never tell you."

"Thrilling stuff. You should write for the paper."

"Sebastian Sallow ain't the pretty, innocent boy he pretends to be. He got his hands dirty then played victim when the rot came. It don't work that way. There's always consequences. Like this grape, you see? Delicate thing. One wrong move, and you might cut it." He slices across with his nail, breaking the skin. "Peel it." He pinches the skin and rips it down, exposing the flesh beneath. "Or, my personal favourite..."

He closes his hand, and the juice dribbles down his wrist.

"Crush it."

Your heart thunders.

"In the end," says the man, "I'm the almighty fist, and the weak grape is just a weak little grape."

"Cute metaphor," you mutter. "Still don't see the relevance."

"Just pass on the message. You tell him when he comes back – eight o'clock, right? You tell 'im his ol' mate Harlow says hello." He makes a flicking gesture, recalling his dogs. "Shame about your stock. Hope it weren't stolen."

You don't look away until they eventually melt into the crowd, when you finally grasp the hem of your dress, trying to stop trembling.

The moment Sebastian comes shouldering through the door that evening, you snatch his arm and drag him to the stockroom.

"In public, bar girl?" He laughs. "I didn't know you were so frisky."

His grin drowns when you glare at him.

"I got a visit at the market today. Some bloke called Harlow."

"Fuck." It hisses out, like a short burst of steam from a loose pipe. "Fuck. I knew it. I knew it."

"Who the hell is he, Sebastian? Is this the psychopath you were worried about?"

His jaw clenches. "Yeah. We've got a history."

"And the Pope's Catholic, well done."

He manages to look guilty. "He got involved with my business, and I... in a word, retaliated. We've been at each other's throats since."

"Well that's just brilliant," you snap, that fear morphing into anger. "As if I haven't got enough to deal with, now I have to worry about a bloody crime syndicate. I'm already walking tightrope here with— my parents," you whisper the words. "Can't you get Ominis to sort it?"

"He can't do anything either."

"What if I lodge a complaint? As a respected member of the community they might listen to me—"

"They won't do anything, bar girl. The woman I was with, Kath? She's high up and can't do squat either, not until there's unquestionable evidence."

"I'm the unquestionable evidence! He all but admitted to theft. And he made some bloody grape analogy at me!"

"They won't listen to you."

"Why not?"

He sighs. "Because you're Muggle, that's why."

"This stupid term of endearment—"

"Because I care about you. Because they'll assume you're compromised, because of me."

Out of everything, you weren't expecting him to say that. He's so battle-scarred and jaded that the admission is jarringly soft. All your frustration near-dissolves, replaced with that honey-warm longing that won't leave you alone.

His eyes sweep you down, and hesitantly he reaches forwards, cupping your shoulders. "Did he hurt you?"

The touch warms your cheeks. "No."

"Did he touch you?"

"No."

"But he ambushed you?"

You're silent. His eyes darken.

"I'll sort this."

"You said that last time." He heads to the door, and you hurry to catch him. "Sebastian—"

"I'll be careful." His voice is hard and unforgiving. "And I'll make sure he never goes near you again."

You wake to a door clattering.

It's true when they say a city never sleeps. There's always something moving outside, making noise, an errant drunk lost on his way home, a fox howling for its pups, the hum of gas lamps or the churn of smoke in the far distance. It's never quiet, not so quiet that one noise breaks your slumber.

Sebastian hasn't been in for the last few days. His face crosses your mind, as it always does in the morning, when you groggily spill out of bed, lighting a candle to retrieve a shawl. Truth be told, you've been antsy. Sebastian's retaliation, whatever it is, will likely dunk you in hot water with the gang, and you can't risk it with your parents, and your pub, on the line. You pad downstairs to check them, but they're fast asleep. If that gang wants to beat you to bloody pulp, fine, but they can't take the people you love.

The clattering resumes.

You douse the candle and tiptoe to the ground floor. A draught cleaves at your bare skin, and dread sluices through you. The back door's open. That doesn't make sense. You locked it, you're sure, but when you check it there's no sign of forced entry again – like someone simply willed it open by mind alone.

Gooseflesh prickles down your arms. You snatch a pan from the side, gently nudging the door closed with your foot, then crouch and sneak into the main hall. If there is an intruder, you can catch them unawares—

A sudden spasm in your hand makes the pan fly away. You flinch backwards just as someone seizes you, hauling you up. One of Harlow's gang.

"Unhand me," you snarl when he drags you into the back alley. "I don't want any part in your pathetic spat—"

"Too late for that. Sallow pissed us off, and now Harlow wants you taken in."

Behind you, you hear a strange popping noise, but you don't dare turn around.

"The police will investigate. People will report me missing."

"No one's gonna' remember who you are," Harlow's voice behind makes you shudder, betraying your true feelings. "So you'd better hope he comes, bar girl... or else it's you who's payin' the price."

You swing around to the sight of him and three others – how the hell did they sneak up so fast? – closing in and reaching for something in their pockets. Batons, maybe. Your fight-or-flight kicks in, and without another thought, you shirk the henchman's grip, swing back and punch him in the nose. He mustn't have been expecting it because he staggers back, and blood spurts outwards in an arc.

"Bitch," he snarls, as his henchman grabs you again, digging dirty nails into your skin. "I'll fucking—"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, don’t you know there’s better ways to address a lady?”

Everyone looks up. Sebastian hangs off the metal stairwell zigzagging up the side of the adjacent wall. Dressed in all black, he's drumming something on his thigh, but it's too dark to see. Your heart leaps into your throat.

"Sebastian, you have to run—"

"Really risking everything to settle the score? Wouldn't have thought you'd want to dirty your pristine hands, Theo."

Harlow recovers quickly, grabbing you and pulling you close. "You're really testing me, you little shit. The fuck you think blowing up our stores was going to do? Come down 'ere or your Muggle cunt gets it."

"Let her go first. You want me, not her."

"Nah." Harlow sneers. "I'll keep her close so you don't get too big for your broom."

"Boots," you correct tersely.

"Shut up." Harlow rattles you hard, making your joints ache. "What'll it be, boy?"

Sebastian uses the fence to break the drop between the stairwell and the ground. "You realise if you do anything to her, you'll have the entire Ministry on your arse? You can't wipe everyone this side of town. I know you're a couple of Knuts short of a Sickle, Theo, but breaking the Statute is the worst offence of all."

You have no idea what he's talking about it, but after a second of mulling, Harlow shoves you forwards, right into Sebastian's arms. He pulls you close, and you're wrapped in all of him, his scent, his muscle, his safety. The bubble of calm pops once his hands slide around your waist, and his head finds the crook between your shoulder and neck. You don't realise why until everything hits you, all at once. Harlow hurt you. He almost did worse. You wrap your arms around Sebastian, trying to anchor to his predatory stillness, but the tremors don't stop once they start.

"It's all right," he soothes. "I've got you."

"Don't let go," you whisper. "Please."

Pulling back, he smooths the strands of hair from your forehead and the tears trailing down your cheeks. Coffee eyes. It's a substance that wakes you up, grounds you in the passage of time, but now you feel almost weightless, a feather in the infinite, ephemeral void. Is this what it means to feel his love? To feel like he would let the world burn around you, if it would grant him the gift of your smile?

"I have to let go," he says, never once looking away. "Do me another favour? Turn around, face the wall, and close your eyes."

When did he represent the beacon of comfort that makes you cling harder at the thought of letting go? When did his orbit begin to arc so perfectly in time with yours?

"What are you going to do?"

"Finish it."

"Sebastian—"

"I'll be all right." He winks. "Be a lot easier if you believed in me."

"I do," you say, no hesitation.

He steps back. Casting a wary look to Harlow and his goons, you face the strip of wooden stakes that separate the alley from the garden.

"Close them, love," Sebastian says.

Love, you ruminate as you shut your eyes. As far as terms of endearment go, that one might be your favourite.

Everything seems to happen at once. Sebastian and Harlow both yell something unintelligible, but you don't hear knuckles cracking or bones crunching, just bursts and pops and odd grunts. You keep your promise, squeeze your eyes until you can't possibly shut them anymore, but the noise of the mayhem confuses you. You can't make sense of what's going on – fist fights don't normally sound so... volcanic.

Harlow makes a grunt. "You little shit—"

Something bursts again. Sebastian laughs, Harlow curses. Without warning a hand seizes your arm. Your eyes fly open, panicked – but it's Sebastian, panting hard, alive.

Covered in blood.

"We have to go. Hold onto me, quickly."

In your peripheral, Harlow's men are scattered on the ground, injuries numerous. Harlow's teeth shine red. You do as instructed before he can get to his feet, and hold tightly to Sebastian's arms.

"C-Can you run?"

"Don't need to." He smirks. "Hold me tightly."

So you do, and he cups the back of your head, bringing you close to his chest. Blood, dirt, sweat, musk. It combines into a seducing cocktail that stirs your longing. Crushed against him, you only see darkness, and inadvertently you shut your eyes again, lost in the safety of his embrace.

Suddenly everything twists. The sensation feels like your body is being stretched and contracted at the same time, pushed and pulled, beaten and reshaped like dough in a baker's hands. By the time you think to open your eyes, the world is still again, and you clutch Sebastian tighter.

"Safe." A beat. "You can let go now."

When you pull away, dizzy and nauseous – what the hell was that? – your face is wet with blood. There, just above where you rested your head is a giant gash weeping through his shirt.

"You're injured!"

He grins – face pale and teeth full of blood. "I'm all right, bar girl. Barely... a scratch."

He takes one step away, then collapses into your arms.

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[reinedeslys-central]

kotlc things that I keep thinking about that are never really addressed by canon

there is a complete replica of sophie's bedroom and perhaps countless other rooms just. somewhere in a building in mysterium that the councillors just know about.

alden and other telepaths were instructed to monitor the citizens' minds for signs of dissent around the time the prentice thing was going down

they regularly torture prisoners and dissenters into literal insanity that they can't come back from

they also have a super weird prison only accessible by quicksand (????) to house said prisoners

there is an ENTIRE DUNGEON OF WEIRD LAB EXPERIMENTS DOWN BY THE VACKER HOUSE?

okay. how - how big is havenfield?

the entire thing with - is their name twix? the person dex was working with for something. why do we not get to see that more. why is dex the criminally underrated goated character and WE DON'T GET FLESHED OUT CHARACTER ARCS FOR EVERYONE

linh flooded. atlantis. linh song FLOODED ATLANTIS hello what do people think about that?????????? do they see her on the street and whisper? what's up with "The Girl Of Many Floods"? Where else did she flood?

What is up with the song family (tong? their name changed after their grandmother or smth got famous with their music right?) that both their children not only have two very powerful elemental abilities, but are also crazy skilled with said Talents.

why are music, art, and culture not a bigger thing? like yeah, plot, obviously, but that's just worldbuilding!!! I wanna see!!!! art hanging on the walls! Defying gravity! more sculptures! more music playing in the shopping centres!! If they have imparters why don't they have long distance radio? are there mandatory dance lessons? what's the etiquette like besides what we already know?

more animal husbandry at schools. speaking of schools: we KNOW foxfire and exilium aren't the only schools. are smaller schools more specialised? are their community colleges or academies dedicated to specific career paths? universities?

okay but the polyglot ability is SO COOL???? tell me about the archaic variants of the enlightened language. there's no way that's just the elves' one language and the other species picked it up due to their 'superiority' or wtv. the goblins have cities of gold and metal and the trolls age backwards, you're not convincing me of anything.

secret societies in the other species. that has to exist right?

.....is squall dex's mom or not? I genuinely can't remember.

anyway remember when she froze gethen's fingernails off, yeah that happened (I think)

so instead of rehabilitating teenagers who have dangerous abilities and not much control over their powers, we just do....whatever the council did with gethen, ruy, and linh ig

hey, um...are we just not going to talk about dex casually HACKING INTO A GOV DATABASE WITH SOME RANDOM BITS OF ROCK AND TWINE? he can just do that. okay. okay. that's - yeah, okay.

did he match a frequency or something? how does the signal network even work in kotlc when everyone is technically all over the world in unplottable locations and they get around by LIGHT LEAPING???

ON THAT NOTE. light leaping. yeah haha funny let's just teach our kids to casually break down their very particles and hold onto their consciousness to travel at the speed of light using quantum mechanics and crystals that are specifically cut to project light in such a way that'll take you only to a specific location nvm im not thinking more about it.

flickering? is apparently a skill you can learn even if you're not a vanisher? remember in book two when fitz got prissy at sophie for knowing how to do it apparently b4 we figured out that she's a teleporter

keefe is a fun loveable goofball and I've always been on the sokeefe train but now the more I think about it he's really um.... yeah, uh, sophie? darling, please just don't date any of these people. obv you can make your own decisions but at least not now, okay. take care of yourself hon

the fitz hate is kinda weird ngl. wdym you don't want your problematic traitor brother to move back in to living literally with your family after supposedly losing his memories and that's a bad thing? wdym your close friend/crush is hiding things from you when yall are supposed to be cognates and she's kinda gaslighting you since, forever? wdym your father's been shadily telling you to stalk this girl in the human world since you were a kid? yeah definitely he does pull some weird stints throughout the series. but the bigger things i see ppl hating on him for are. hmmmmm

the council themselves choose to lock away the government secrets and wipe them from their memories. hey, um - recordkeeping is great, obvious, but - wiping those secrets from your minds isn't gonna help you lead while accounting for those parts of history, is it? nevermind how dangerous it is when there are huge species-wide secrets that NO ONE remembers. society-threatening incident waiting to happen.

the concept of vociferators. that's just kinda funny lol even if it is weird

are their schoold for diff abilities?

what's the genetics of talent inheritance? why are 'stronger' abilities rarer? In my opinion, p much every talent is goated, I don't see why more characters aren't more creative about it.

banning talents is just a bad move. like. are you serious? how is that going to make it better? that's how you get brant. brant was a pyrokinetic, without getting into the primary issue of the whole talentless/talented discrimination discourse, the secondary issue is he wouldve been able to marry jolie as two talented elves. would he have cracked if his ability was just a bit better handled by society?

grady is a mesmer. how - that's a really powerful ability???? how do you even train to use that? what do you even use it for?

same with whatever that lady councillor is that tried to seduce alden during his own wedding. fun times, yall.

rainbow fire??? cool????

so we have the sanctuary, do we also have a gigantic library of alexandria-esque thing? a botanical garden?

according to jolie's wiki she died at twenty as a level 8 at foxfire. so... hang on a minute. okay, sure, numerically that could make sense since sophie, at 12, became a level one - but are you telling me she went through the whole matchmaking process and was planning to get married that young????

hey, here's an idea - in a relatively stable society where economy is great, trust funds exist, people work to have something to do with their lives, birth rate is generally low (now through prejudice as well as societal comfort and ease/cost of living), why are they marrying so young? WHY ARE THE KIDS STARTING THE MATCHMAKING PROCESS IN THEIR TEENS???? the elven society has p much every mark of a stage 5 developed country? help? middle-high school human geography??

if they apparently live so long, show me the funny messy family trees with couples having children generations apart.

so, trust funds of lusters??? lustres?? (which we barely ever see. why is there little-to-no use of money?) which equate to roughly one trillion USD (in value? are you. are you - um. are you....serious?) exist. but I guess inflation and relative currency value from mass money printing doesn't count in this world, as well as the fact that there's only one currency for all the elves.

I wanna see a divorced elven couple now. how does divorce law work??????

if there's such a low BR and low population and people are yet still encouraged to have less kids to 'not dilute the genes' (that's my next point btw), I'm guessing matchmaking is encouraged younger to make sure population stays stable/growing? obv you need it to ensure genetic diversity and no incest, but if it's heavily encouraged for elves to have children like this, are queer elves mandated to have children with a surrogate/other couple even if they have a same-sex marriage?

i'll probably edit this or reblog it to include more stuff (character limit lol) as i remember the books bc it's been a hot minute since i read them.

[wellsbering]

i've been going through prismatic-bell's blog to try to piece together exactly what happened to make xir think that reporting someone to the FBI for terrorism with zero evidence was a logical course of action, and i came across something i felt like i just had to pick apart here. i thought about responding to the post directly, but i don't want my notifications to get overrun by zionists (i mean, that'll probably happen anyways, but...fingers crossed)

if you don't wanna read this whole long thing where i explain why this specific gofundme is indeed trustworthy, at least share & donate to muhammad's campaign here

first, what kind of fucking racist brain worms do you have to have to see an arab man asking for help and think that it's "threatening"?

what, exactly, is threatening about this screenshot? saying the honest truth, that being unable to afford medical care for a serious injury could make an amputation necessary??? asking someone to share a link on other social media to increase reach??? using ALL CAPS, LIKE A LOT OF PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET DO FOR EMPHASIS?? please explain it to me.

and then, of course, we have Zionist of the Year prismatic-bell's response.

most of these grammatical inconsistencies that prismatic-bell seems to think of as damning proof (mixing up 1st & 3rd-person pronouns, mixing up "hand" and "arm") are probably not things that someone who doesn't speak english would catch. tell me, tumblr: which of these do you think are "he" and "his", and which do you think are "i" and "me"?

if you're unfamiliar with the arabic writing system, you have zero clues to go on, right?

some of the people sending these asks are copying & pasting english text they see other people using to ask for donations (this is what led to that other scam controversy with bassel). learning a new language is fucking hard. trying to proofread their own messages in not just a foreign language, but a foreign ALPHABET, is not a good use of their time when they're in a warzone and desperately trying to ask anyone they can for help. also to elaborate on the hand/arm thing, it's not that fucking hard to find his gofundme, which contains photos of his actual x-rays.

you can see the shrapnel in his arm. reverse image search only brings up 5 results, 4 of which are tumblr posts linking to this gofundme, and one of which is the gofundme itself.

the bullet is in his arm. as you may imagine, having a bullet strike and break your arm is going to impact your ability to use your fucking hand. muhammad has nerve damage as a result of this injury. so yes, surgery is necessary. you can't really fix nerve damage with a simple round of antibiotics.

"ALSO also also: has nobody in Gaza heard of antibiotics? Why are we going straight for surgery?" is so fucking patronizing. yes, everyone in gaza has heard of antibiotics. unfortunately, antibiotics don't randomly spawn in hospitals like a fucking video game, they need to be TRANSPORTED there, which impossible to do when israel is blocking nearly all humanitarian aid from entering the gaza strip. this is why there are so many amputations being performed in gaza right now. they are running out - or in some locations, have already completely run out - of basic medical supplies.

also, by reading the gofundme description, the "rebuild" vs "evacuate" bit becomes clear: his family needs to rebuild their home, and he has to leave gaza to get adequate medical care. in other words, he has to leave a dangerous place that is being bombed to get to somewhere safe where he can receive medical treatment. if only there was a word for that. perhaps one that starts in evac- and ends in -uate. if only!

regarding the emojis: personally, i don't use a ton of emojis in my writing. but again, considering the aforementioned language barrier, is it surprising to see a lot of emojis? those are at least something that make sense in every language. they also serve to break up a big wall of text that people might otherwise scroll by. i have adhd, so sometimes if a long post is broken up with an occasional ❗ then my eyes will be drawn to that, and i will actually read that sentence and get put back on track.

i don't think i need to get into the "outed as a scammer" bit, since that's been thoroughly debunked. even blogs dedicated to identifying scams on tumblr, like kyra45, consider el-shab-hussein and 90-ghost's vetting process to be reliable and share their lists of vetted fundraisers.

and finally: "People can be bought. Accounts can be hacked. Maybe they used to be honest. They’re not now." this wording seems to imply that all blogs dedicated to palestinian gofundmes are dishonest? it's just as ridiculous to say "every single ask you get is a scam" as it is to say "every single ask you receive is legitimate". a blanket statement like this only serves to continue to undermine the legitimacy of the many REAL GAZANS who are asking for help to rebuild their lives.

i hope this clears some things up if anyone was confused about the legitimacy of some of these asks. the long and short of it is, it's not that hard to just look up a person's blog and see if a trusted person, who actually knows what they're doing (unlike prismatic-bell), has verified the legitimacy of their campagin or not. to be honest, i think that automatically assuming every ask related to gaza is a scam says something about the way you view palestinians. and it's not pretty.