#there’s just so much knowledge out there

[littlcdarlin]

Event Horizon

summary: When you start university to do your master’s in physics, you are more than surprised to meet your professor: Joel Miller, an old friend of your parents' who moved away years ago. word–count: 15k warnings: professor kink, power imbalance due to Joel being reader's professor, illegal relationship (overage & consenting), dbf!Joel, big fat age gap (unspecified but written with early 20s & mid 50s in mind), unprotected piv, just overall daddy issues (no use of the word daddy)

note: Okay, time to tell you I am a big nerd and studied physics in uni. Truth is, I quit to pursue a career in the arts, so my knowledge of masters level physics is...a little rusty. Please be lenient with me if I messed anything up. Also, I know most people hate physics, but I promise Joel makes it hot. Warning: explanation of the Dirac equation as foreplay. Also, I'm European and have no fucking clue how the American education system works but I don't care enough to do research. Enjoy <3333

event horizon noun ASTRONOMY a notional boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. a point of no return.

Uni felt different at eighteen, when everything was about moving out, drinking beer at frat parties, and kissing boys who didn’t grow up in the same town you did. It was an exciting time, the degree itself fading into the background of all sorts of new experiences, but now that you’re doing your masters, you plan on focusing on your your grades more than on partying.

You enrolled in a new university, farther away from home, with a better physics program, and although you’ve grown up considerably, you still feel that tingle of anxiety you did when you first walked to your dorm, fresh out of high school. This time you won’t have to share with another student, spending your saved money on a bit of privacy that is a single dorm room, but still, you wonder if you’ll make friends here, or if you’ll spend your night hauled up alone, watching trash TV and crying because you’re lonely.

The room is small, blank, but functional with a bathroom you share with another student and a small kitchenette, and immediately you dream of all the ways you could decorate it. You didn’t bring much, just a big suitcase and a few boxes your Dad dropped off earlier. You feel slightly guilty for leaving your parents behind, but the relief outweighs the guilt – you won’t have to come home every Sunday for dinner, visits will be scarce. You love you parents, but the distance is much needed.

You get to unpacking your clothes, reveling in the fact that you can listen to music without headphones in your very own space. You could do it in your underwear, or naked, you could sing and dance along, and nobody would be bothered by it. It’s going to be a tough two years, the program you chose more than challenging, but a childish sort of giddiness fills you – no roommate to be considerate of, no parents to visit and take care of every week. This time in your life is about you, and only you – your career, but also your well-being. You promise yourself to do what makes you happy, instead of looking out for everyone else all of the time, and you’ll start by ordering Thai food and watching the trashiest movie with the hottest actors you can find on the little flatscreen you brought with you.

***

Your first lecture is Computational Physics – the one you’re looking forward to the least. The reason you decided to study physics at all was the predictable logic behind each problem, but the more you studied, the more complex the problems got, until they were impossible to solve analytically. Now you get to solve fluid dynamic equations and simulate quantum systems on a Monday morning instead of having a peaceful cup of coffee and taking a walk around campus.

The lecture hall is big, and you pick a seat that is neither too far away to be able to read the professor’s notes, nor close enough to immediately be pinned as an over-eager teacher’s pet. In the end, you plop down next to a girl who’s sitting alone, something about her shaved head and countless earrings making you think she wouldn’t make fun of you even if you didn’t understand a single thing all lecture.

"Okay if I sit here?", you ask somewhat timidly, trying hard not to sound too much like an eleven year old Ron Weasley boarding the train to Hogwarts.

"Please," the girl answers, "I don’t know anybody here."

"Did you move here, too?"

"Yeah, I’m from New York."

"You look it," you say with a smile, eyes drifting over her clothes and jewelry.

"Thanks…I guess?", she answers, her grin revealing a charming gap between her front teeth. "I’m Alva."

You introduce yourself, thankful to have found someone you can stick to already. Throughout the lecture you find out that apart from being much cooler than everyone else in the room, Alva has a biting sense of humor, and a near endless knowledge of computational physics. You make a mental note to ask her to study together, her explanations much easier to understand than the professor’s.

The two of you spend your lunch break together, and you tell her a little bit about yourself, but way too soon it’s time to go already – you have Advanced Quantum Mechanics in a different lecture hall. This you find way more interesting, basic quantum mechanics was one of your favorite lectures during your bachelor’s degree. As Alva and you sit down, you find yourself hoping you’ll be able to help her out this time, or you’d feel like a leech for making her help you with Computational. She doesn’t seem bothered, though, and keeps babbling happily about a band she recently discovered.

"– Britpop, but they only put out two albums. I think they were like a student band or something? They’re wildly underrated, I’ll send you a song, their debut is called The Sun Is Often Out."

Your thoughts start to wander off a little, eyes drifting over the old-fashioned chalkboards, when the door at the front of the lecture hall opens, and a tall man walks in – a man you recognize.

"Holy shit," you whisper, interrupting Alva’s rant about the Longpigs, and she turns her head to look at what you’re staring at.

"Damn," she says with a grin, "if I wasn’t gay, I’d want a piece of that."

"No," you snort, "I know him. He’s my Dad’s friend."

Alva opens her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Joel Miller steps forward, checking to see if the microphone is working, and introduces himself to the hundreds of students in front of him. His voice is deep, and as warm as you remember it, but that’s where the accuracy of your memories ends – your childish brain failed to register the tanned forearms and rolled up sleeves, the carelessly styled curls, the perfect side-profile. He’s got grey streaks in his hair now, which should send you into a crisis about time passing and your own little life being finite, but instead it makes your stomach swirl with something dangerous. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller, who organized backyard barbecues with your father and bought your favorite vegan sausages when your Dad rolled his eyes at you, who made strawberry lemonade instead of lemon, because he knew you preferred it, who helped you with your physics homework when you were graduating high school and didn’t rat you out when he caught you smoking at seventeen – he’s handsome.

There’s still a familiarity about him, the way he moves and talks, although it’s unsettling to see him in such a different environment. You’re used to band-tee-Joel, beer bottle and tongs in his hands, a breezy smile on his face. He looks different here, in a white button-down, with a stern expression on his face, as he’s reading the names on his list to check attendance. When he calls Alva’s name and she raises her hand, his eyes flicker upwards, but he doesn’t look at you. Still, your stomach lurches. If you listen carefully, you can detect that southern twang in his voice you’re sure most people would miss, and it fills you with satisfaction to know you’re the one who knows him best in this room – you’re sure half the lecture hall must see how attractive he is.

When he reads out your name, there’s a surprised lilt to his tone, and your heart threatens to skip a beat.

"Here."

Your eyes meet, and although his expression doesn’t change, he holds your eyecontact for a second too long. Alva nudges your side and grins.

Your plans about outshining Alva and returning the favor of helping with a lecture are quickly buried by Joel Miller’s beautiful hands – thick fingers holding a piece of chalk almost tenderly, twirling it around when he isn’t writing on the chalkboard. You vaguely register him introducing the Dirac equation, but as interesting as you would normally find it, your thoughts are stuck between memories of barbecues and the realization that you will have to call the man who taught you to drive Professor Miller.

If Alva notices your wandering mind, she doesn’t comment on it, which you’re thankful for. You do notice her throwing you a couple of knowing glances, as you copy down what Joel is writing down, mixing up gamma, delta, and the Dirac spinor.

"Alright, so you all know how Schrödinger’s equation works great for quantum mechanics, but it doesn’t play nicely with Einstein’s relativity, right? That’s a problem because electrons move fast, sometimes close to the speed of light, so we need an equation that respects both quantum mechanics and special relativity. That’s where Dirac steps in."

He’s still got that warm way of explaining things your Dad never managed when you needed help in high school, like he enjoys clearing things up for people. He’s a born teacher, patient when you panicked in the car because you confused the clutch and the break, persistent when you wanted to throw your physics book against a wall. Look, kid, think of it this way: Push harder, it moves faster. Make it heavier, it’s harder to move. If you apply a force F to an object with mass m, it will accelerate a. That’s why your Dad’s car takes longer to stop than your bike. Even now, he manages to make a far more complex equation than Newton’s second law tangible.

"Dirac's equation is like the grown-up version of Schrödinger’s equation. It explains how particles with spin-half, like electrons, behave when they move at relativistic speeds. The gamma mu matrices make sure the equation works in four-dimensional spacetime, meaning three space dimensions plus time. The psi is a spinor, which is just a fancy way of saying that an electron isn’t just a simple wave function, it actually has spin built into its nature. Now, can anyone think of a situation where we would need to use this equation instead of the regular Schrödinger equation?"

Nobody raises their hand, most people still busy with writing down Joel’s complicated notes, and as if on cue, his eyes are on yours when you look up from your notebook. He raises an eyebrow, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. Then, he calls your last name, a formal Miss dripping off his tongue as if he hasn’t called you kiddo for most of your life. It’s almost like he’s making a joke only the two of you are able to understand, and the thought thrills you to your bone. Two can play this game – you smile back.

"Sure, Professor Miller. You’d use it for studying high-energy particles, like electrons in particle accelerators, because it accounts for relativistic speeds. It’s also needed for situations where particles are created or destroyed, which Schrödinger’s equation doesn’t cover."

Again, his eyes linger on yours, and his slightly amused smile turns into a more genuine one at your answer. You let out a relieved sigh.

"Exactly," Joel answers, his attention on the rest of the class again, "Someone payed attention during Basic Quantum Mechanics. Now, here’s where it gets wild. When Dirac wrote this down, he realized it naturally predicts antiparticles, meaning for every electron, there should be a mirror-image particle with opposite charge, which we now call the positron. That was a huge deal because it wasn’t something people were expecting, it just fell out of the math."

For the rest of the class, Joel doesn’t continue that little game between the two of you, but whenever he asks a question, his gaze flickers over you, and your stomach gives an embarrassing little jump. Alva grins whenever this happens, but for most of the class she’s busy following Joel’s explanations.

"I want you to read up on today’s lecture," Joel says at the end of the lecture, and writes down a few page numbers on the chalkboard, "and solve the problems I mentioned earlier. Attendance isn’t mandatory, we’re all adults here, but I urge you to come if you’re interested in graduating in the next three years. Trust me, it’s easier to just do the work here than in your dorms. Now, enjoy the weather, see you Monday."

You and Alva pack up your things, and before she can ask you which class you have next, you pick up your backpack.

"I’m gonna say hi to him," you tell her, nodding in Joel’s direction, "my Dad and him go way back."

"Sure," Alva says, a cheeky smile on her face, "it’d be rude not to."

"Meet you outside?"

"I’ll be at the vending machine. Go get him," she jokes, and you snort.

Joel is packing up his course materials when you make your way down the steps and to his desk, but he looks up when he hears you coming towards him, and immediately his face splits into a smile. If you were anywhere else and ten years younger, he’d probably ruffle your hair.

"Good lecture," you say, "Dad didn’t tell me you’re teaching again."

Joel puts his piece of chalk into a tin box and nods.

"I don’t think he knows. You know how it is, we never get around to callin’ and I haven’t been home in a while."

So this is a new development, perhaps even Joel’s first semester back at university, too.

"What about the contracting? Don’t you miss the…pipes?"

He chuckles at your lack in basic contracting knowledge, his eyes not moving from yours.

"Ah, that was always Tommy, he just needed a little help. Company’s doin’ well now, though, so he’ll manage without me."

You think you remember Tommy – a man good-naturedly chasing you and the rest of the giggling neighborhood kids with a harden hose – but the memory is too vague to be sure it’s really him.

"You’ve grown up," Joel says, almost accusingly, and you shrug and smile. "Doin’ your master’s already. How come you’re familiar with Dirac?"

His accent is much thicker now that it’s only the two of you, and you notice a hint of pride when he asks about your correct answer to his question during the lecture. The satisfied feeling it gives you is still the same as when he high-fived you after your drivers test, or when he patted your back after you solved a problem for school without his help.

"Summer reading," you admit, trying hard not to sound like a nerd, "Basic Quantum Mechanics was my favorite lecture as an undergrad."

Joel smiles at you, and puts his notes into his leather bag. He slings it across his shoulder, and nods towards the door.

"How would you like to grab a coffee and tell me all about what’s been goin’ on with you and your old man?"

Your eyes flicker briefly over his hand, gripping the strap of his bag, and you raise an eyebrow.

"What’s the policy for staff having coffee with their students, Professor?"

Joel holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I’m actually not sure, Miss, I’ve never had to check before."

He’s playing along, and it feels dangerously blurry – yes, he’s your Dad’s old friend, your childhood neighbor, but it feels like more than just joking around.

"Does that mean I’m your first, then?", you ask, voice sweet and close to flirting now. The smile freezes on Joel’s face, and his gaze becomes almost calculating.

"Am I yours?" he asks you softly, and the double-meaning behind his question isn’t lost on you. You feel a thrilling pang in your stomach – Joel Miller is flirting with you.

***

You do end up getting coffee after you tell Alva you’ll meet her later, Joel reassuring you it won’t get him into trouble, and you’re fascinated to see he still drinks it black. What fascinates you even more is that you remember how he takes his coffee, and you wonder why your brain filed this fact away as important, not to be forgotten.

"So, when did you graduate? Sorry I missed it."

There’s honest regret in his voice, which surprises you. Joel was always a warm person, but you figured he cared for you as much as he would have for any kid living across the street.

"Last June," you tell him, dropping a sugar cube into your cappuccino. "I spent the summer working, and now I’m here."

"How d’you like it so far?"

You give a nervous chuckle, torn between the honest truth and pleasant small talk. You opt for the former – this is Joel, after all, not some stranger.

"To be honest with you, I oscillate between enjoying my freedom away from Mom and Dad, and being scared shitless by starting over somewhere new," you admit, looking at your coffee. You haven’t told people about your fear, and it feels good to finally admit it – the grip your parents have had on you makes your newfound freedom almost uncomfortable.

"What d’you mean, startin’ over?", Joel asks, his voice strikingly gentle. You sigh, and shrug.

"I know the distance is good for me, but it was comfortable, just doing what my parents expected of me. I had good grades, nice friends, and just the right amount of drunken nights for them not to worry about my social life too much," you explain, "and now it’s like…there’s so much room to be someone else, cause they won’t see it anyway."

You look up, embarrassed to have spilt your guts like this, but Joel looks thoughtful, his thumb moving along the handle of his coffee cup.

"Sorry," you mutter, "I know they’re your friends, but they can be…"

"Overbearing?"

You smile at him gratefully and he smiles back.

"Look, I know your parents pretty well. They love you to bits, but as an adult I imagine it must be stiflin’.“

"Yeah," you sigh, grateful for his understanding, "I feel like I don’t know who I am when I’m not…their kid."

Joel nods, and sips his coffee, apparently pondering what you said.

"I promised myself I would only do what makes me happy while I’m here," you tell him sheepishly, as if it’s a secret, and Joel laughs.

"Well, I’m not expectin’ you to hand in any homework, then."

You grin, too, and shake your head. It’s surreal, Joel being your professor, and you wearing your heart on your sleeve for him.

"Don’t worry, Professor Miller, I’m not dropping your class."

"You’d better not, it’d really hurt my feelings," Joel says, eyes trained on yours. Again, that blurriness set in motion by the change of his role in your life: neighbor to professor to – what?

"What about you, though? This your first semester here?"

"Second," he tells you, "but I still don’t feel at home. Once a Texan, always a Texan, I guess."

You cock your head and watch him drain the last of his coffee, the cup tiny in his hands.

"What?" he asks you, curiosity evident in his voice.

"You look so different," you say, and Joel scoffs.

"Well, that’s real nice. Know I’m not thirty anymore, but geez–"

"No," you say with a grin, "it’s not that. I don’t know, I’ve just never seen you teach before. Or dressed this nice – I remember you mowing the lawn in a Fleetwood Mac shirt, not checking attendance in a button down."

Joel’s cheeks go slightly pink, and he scoffs again.

"Well, I can’t show up here in a band tee, can I? Gotta dress the part," he mutters.

"I get it. You suit it," you tell him, if only to see that blush appear on his face again. He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head.

"What were the odds of us meetin’ like this, huh? I gotta call your father and tell him."

Something about that bothers you, you’d prefer for your parents not to know. You like sitting here with Joel, reminiscing the old times, without anybody getting a peek in.

"Or not," he says gently, seeing the expression on your face.

"Sorry," you say, "course you can tell him."

"You apologize a lot," he tells you, and you fight the urge to say sorry once again. "It’s okay, I’m not tellin’ anyone, kid. ’S just you n me."

That pang in your stomach again, and you nod.

"Alright," you answer, "just us."

You get a refill for the two of you, and a blueberry muffin to split, which feels strangely intimate, but Joel pats his stomach and jokes about keeping an eye on his figure, so you grin, and ask the barista to cut it in half. Joel asks you about your friends, and you tell him about Alva.

"Oh yes," he says and swallows a bite of the muffin, "that punky lookin’ kid who sits next to you?"

"Yeah, she’s nice. Haven’t really met anyone else."

"Geez, I’m not keepin’ you from findin’ frat boys to hook up with, am I?"

You laugh, the idea of sitting here with a twenty-something year old kid named Cole or Josh instead of him so absurd, you can’t help it.

"No," you tell him, "I’m honestly enjoying the fact that I don’t have to have someone else in my dorm anymore."

"Well, that’s a relief to hear," Joel says, "they’re all dipshits."

You remember him telling you something similar about the boys in high school, and it makes you smile. He’s still got that protective streak, then.

"To tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re here," you say quietly, "if I’m not making any friends, I can come crying to you."

Joel watches you for a couple of seconds, not laughing as you intended, but taking your words seriously.

"Course you’ll make friends. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll have forgotten all about physics cause you’ll be skippin’ classes left and right to hang out with people."

You don’t tell him, but you think it’s very unlikely you’ll skip any of his classes. Still, you appreciate his words and how confident he seems to be in your ability to open up to people.

"Well, will you give me the answers to your exams if I skip your class?"

"No way," he says with a cheeky smile, the crinkles around his eyes prominent. "I don’t do preferential treatment. You wanna split another blueberry muffin?"

You grin.

"Thought you were watching your waistline."

"I am, that’s why I’m only eating halves."

***

Your afternoon with Joel leaves you on a high for the rest of the day, feeling much less lonely now that you’ve had a conversation beyond the usual so how many siblings do you have? and where did you do your undergrad?

You start spending your lunch breaks with Alva and some friends she made in another lecture, all of whom are very nice. In the evenings you all go to see a movie or have dinner together in any of your dorm rooms, and although you walk around campus holding out one eye for Joel, you don’t see him for the rest of the week. There is always a nudge of disappointment in your stomach, when you glance in the direction of his office, and the door is closed, but you’re so busy, you don’t dwell on it too much. The days pass in a blur of new lectures, swapping music with Alva, and evenings spent as a group of six, and suddenly it’s Sunday again. You aren’t too sad the weekend is already over, and you know exactly why you’re looking forward to Monday, but you don’t allow yourself to think about Joel any more than you can help.

In the afternoon, while you’re doing Joel’s assignment for the next class, your mother calls, and you answer the phone with a mixture of feelings.

Hi, my darling, how are you doing?

"Hi, Mom. I’m good, just doing my work for tomorrow. How are you?"

Good, good. How was your first week? Did you meet anyone nice?

Hah, if she only knew. It feels deceptive, not telling her about Joel, but you like that for now, he’s just yours.

"Yes, this girl called Alva. We and some guys hang out a lot, there’s a cinema near by, but the lectures are pretty hard, so we only have the evenings off."

Well, I’m glad you found some nice people! Dad says hi, he’s making dinner. Anyway, baby, we miss you terribly. Do you know when you’ll be coming home?

"I just got here, Mom."

You sigh so quietly your mother can’t hear it, guilt already nagging at your heart. Sunday is the day you would usually be coming home for dinner, and you know it’s no coincidence your parents called you now.

Of course, you’re right. It’s just not easy for your Dad and me, you know? You’ve never been this far from home, and you’re our baby.

Yeah, you think, your adult baby. You sigh again.

"I don’t know if I’ll come this month, I’m still sort of settling in. But I’ll let you know if there’s a free weekend next month, alright?"

Sure, that sounds great. Will you send us some pictures of your friends, and your room?

"Sure," you say, but it bugs you that you’re giving in. Already, you’re breaking the promise you made yourself, and letting your parents further into your life here than you’re comfortable with.

"Mom, I gotta go, I’ve still got some problems to solve and I’m meeting Alva for dinner soon."

Okay, darling, enjoy your night! And make yourself heard. I love you!

"Love you, too! Talk soon."

Your kind, clingy mother, whose greatest pain is not knowing if you’re safe. In a way you miss her, and you feel guilty for being annoyed. Still, you know you have to gently nudge her away from you, or she’ll suffocate you one day. It makes you angry with yourself, because you know your Mom would have liked nothing more than to hear all about your week, but as soon as she asked you a question, you felt like your seventeen year old self again, getting yelled at because you stayed up past your curfew, and your parents didn’t know where you were.

Tears of frustration spring to your eyes – the mix of feelings too much for you to handle. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, breathe in shakily, and try to focus on your assignment again, but now you’re riled up, and the tears won’t stop.

It’s hard for you to deal with disappointing your parents, forcing them away when they would like nothing more than to know everything that’s going on in your life. So, instead of preparing for Joel’s lecture, you cry on your bed, feeling lonely and angry with yourself for hurting them. You know your reaction is disproportionate, but everything you kept buried while you lived close to your parents comes bubbling out of you.

You call Alva, tell her you have cramps because of your period and just want to stay in bed. She’s understanding, asks you if there’s anything she can do, even offers to bring you takeout or a hot water bottle, which makes you feel all the worse for lying to her. You decline her offer, tell her you’ll meet her Monday morning. In the evening, you regret not letting her bring over a real meal, eating cold pasta in your underwear, tears still running down your face and making your head pound.

***

On Monday, you feel slightly better, your headache is gone and your face isn’t as puffy as you expected it to be. Still, you’re in a solitary mood, and are glad to find Alva is able to keep up an entire conversation virtually by herself – you just grunt from time to time, or give noncommittal movements of your head in vague agreement. You hope if she notices your bad mood, she just thinks it has to do with your period.

Computational Physics is hell – you dislike it on the best of days, but guilt ridden and tired, you’re barely able to pay attention at all, and the professor’s handwriting is so bad, you end up copying down Alva’s notes instead. She’s kind about it, slides over her notebook at an angle that makes it easy to read, and you make a mental note to thank her for being so kind to you while you’re offering nothing but a scowling expression all day. Maybe you’ll cook for her, or make a mixtape of your favorite songs, just to show her you’re interested in being actual good friends.

Lunch passes easily, as always you sit with Alva and the guys, and there’s enough people for you to stare at your mashed potatoes and repeatedly stab them with your fork instead of eating them. They taste like flour mixed up with water, and you dream up your father’s Sunday dinner instead, but it does little to help with the taste.

"So, you lookin’ forward to flirting with Miller in front of the whole lecture hall again?" Alva asks you, as you’re making your way to said room. You glare at her, but can’t help the corners of your mouth twitching.

"Wasn’t flirting with him," you answer, kicking a pebble, "I grew up across the street from him, I’ve known him practically my whole life."

"Whatever you say, grumpy," Alva teases, nudging your shoulder with hers. You’re overcome with a rush of gratitude for the way she treats you, persistently kind and humorous. You chuckle, your mood lifting slightly.

"He’s probably been waiting for you to turn legal," she continues, and you groan.

"Gross, Alva, he’s not a creep."

"I’m just saying, if your little connection gets you the answers to his tests, you could sell them and become rich."

"I already asked him, he said no," you say darkly, thinking of the nights you’ll have to spend studying to pass his exam. This makes Alva laugh her brilliant laugh, and you can’t help but smile, too.

"Damn," she grins, "I’d try if he wasn’t a guy."

You snort.

"You try with Mrs. Carter, I need the answers to Computational," you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

"You’re joking, but I bet once you get her out of her frumpy cardigans, she’s a real–"

"Okay, stop," you grown, the image of Mrs Carter taking off her cardigans worse than her keeping them on – if possible. Alva giggles.

"I’ll help you with Computational," she says, "if you help me with Quantum Mechanics."

"You’re good at both," you argue, and Alva shrugs.

"Not like you, though. I spent like four hours doing Miller’s assignment last night."

You want to tell her you didn’t do it at all, but before you can open your mouth, she spots a friend in the crowd, grabs your arm and drags you over to him.

The three of you sit down together, closer to the front than the week before, which gives you a direct line of sight to Joel’s desk. When he walks in, your stomach jumps – he’s wearing a tie today, a dark burgundy or blue, you aren’t sure from this distance, flecked with specks of white. Again, his hair is styled in that carelessly disheveled look you like so much, and the image of him putting gel in it makes you smile. He gets out his materials for the lecture, and looks up, his eyes finding yours – you smile and he gives a small nod. Again you’re struck by how different he acts in front of the class, how serious he seems. You think of his laid back manner when you had coffee, and struggle to make the images align. Joel clears his throat, and the chatter around you stops.

"Quiet, please, everyone. Thank you. So, last week, we found out that Dirac’s equation predicts the existence of antiparticles. But instead of just accepting that, let’s think deeper—mathematically, what feature of the equation forces this conclusion?"

Joel jumps right into the lecture, and just like last week, nobody raises their hands – you curse the people around you for their lethargy, because sure enough, Joel’s eyes land on you. Before you can shake your head to signal to him not to ask you, he calls your name.

"If I remember correctly, you were already familiar with Dirac’s equation last week. What would you say, what does the existence of negative-energy solutions tell us, and why couldn’t we just ignore them?"

You wish you could answer him, know he asked you because he was sure you’d know the answer, perhaps hoped your enthusiasm for the subject would get the rest of the students to participate more, but you didn’t do the assignment, and you’ve already half forgotten his question. You swallow.

"Um…I…I’m not sure, Sir," you say, watching the way his brows furrow, and looking down at your notes. Alva shoots you a curious look, and when she sees your expression, she raises her hand. You’re thankful to have Joel’s attention diverted, feeling like a fool in front of hundreds of students you’re trying to make friends with.

"Dirac’s equation gives positive and negative energy solutions, and at first, the negative ones didn’t make sense. Dirac suggested they represent antiparticles, like the positron, which he predicted. The idea was that electrons could, like, jump into these negative-energy states, creating a hole that looks like a positron, which was later confirmed experimentally," Alva explains instead of you.

"You're close, but electrons don’t actually 'jump into' negative-energy states. Instead, Dirac proposed that these states are already filled, forming what he called the Dirac Sea. A positron isn’t an electron jumping down, it’s actually a 'hole' left when a negative-energy electron gets excited to a positive-energy state. That distinction is important because it explains why positrons have the opposite charge. Good answer, though, thank you Ms. Bennet."

Joel’s eyes flicker over to you again, but you show no reaction, and he continues with his lecture without asking you another question. Alva glances at you inquiringly, and you sigh.

"I wanted to do the assignment yesterday, but my cramps were really bad," you explain quietly, and she nods sympathetically.

"Call me next time, I’ll send you my answers," she whispers, and you smile gratefully. It seems you really hit the jackpot in friendship when you sat down next to Alva.

***

After Joel’s lecture, you and Alva make your way over to the vending machine, because it has the sour patches she likes, and in her own words she’ll combust if she doesn’t eat some right fucking now.

"Shit," she curses, "they’re stuck."

"Let me," a voice comes from a behind you, and when you turn around, Joel is smiling at the two of you. "Took me a while to figure this thing out, too."

Alva steps aside, and Joel bangs his palm against the side of machine. You jump, but the sour patches make their tumbling way down to the dispenser.

"Great! Thanks, Professor Miller," Alva says, ripping the bag open and offering it to the two of you. To your surprise, Joel takes her up on it, and Alva grins at you.

"You were quiet during today’s lecture," Joel says tentatively, when he’s swallowed his sour patch "everything alright?"

You glance at your shoes.

"Um, yeah. I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, and I left your assignment for last, so…I didn’t do it."

Joel’s expression grows worried, and Alva glances between the two of you.

"Hey, I’m meeting Max for coffee," she tells you, "see you later?"

"Yeah," you answer, grateful she’s granting you this time alone with Joel, "see you, Alva."

When she’s gone, Joel is still looking at you with that worried look on his face, and you sigh.

"Sorry about the assignment," you say, "won’t happen again."

"I’m not worried about the assignment," Joel says earnestly, but then he turns his head, and you know he doesn’t want someone listening in. Sure, you can be seen chatting in the university cafe, but this conversation is rapidly blurring the lines between scholarly and – something else.

"I…have some materials in my office that might make it easier for you to catch up with the lectures again," Joel tells you, and you understand the underlying meaning. Let’s talk in my office.

"Thank you," you say, relieved, and Joel nods, eyes still glued to yours, brows still furrowed. You walk to his office making smalltalk about the lecture, which to anyone listening in would seem like a normal conversation between a professor and an interested student.

Joel opens the door to his office for you, and lets you step in first. It’s small, cramped bookshelves on the walls and a sturdy desk in the middle that is littered with notes, pencils, books, and a couple of old coffee mugs. You notice he put part of his books sideways onto the shelves, which you find weirdly endearing. This is the Joel you know – clutter and warmth.

He closes the door behind you, and you turn around to watch him drop his bag and walk over to the kettle in the corner of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Please," you sigh, "if you don’t have anything stronger."

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, just turns on the already filled kettle, and gets two clean cups for the two of you.

"I only have drip coffee," he tells you, "I don’t drink that crap the machines brew up."

"That’s fine, I enjoy the medieval feel of it."

"Watch it," he answers, a smile tugging on his lips, "don’t insult my coffee filter in front of me."

You grin, and walk over to his bookshelf to have a look.

"So, what’s going on?" he asks you while pouring the boiling hot water over the coffee grounds. Again, the Joel you remember – empathetic, but unusually direct. You sigh, turn around and shrug.

"Mom and Dad called yesterday, and I could tell they missed me, but I just…I cut them off after two minutes."

Joel places the cups on his desk, and leans against it. His sleeves are rolled up again, and when he crosses his arms, you feel that familiar pang in your stomach.

"And now I…I don’t know, I feel so guilty, Joel. They’re not even being dicks about it, but I just know they’d prefer for me to check in with them more…and the worst thing is, I know it’s not a big deal. They’ll get over it, they’ve got a good life without me constantly in it, so I don’t know why my stupid brain can’t just let this go, you know? One I miss you, darling, and I’m reduced to this pathetic mess, instead of just, I don’t know, getting my shit together."

You shake your head and clench your teeth, once again embarrassed to come crying to Joel about your parental issues, but he’s the only one you can tell. Sure, Alva would probably listen, but you don’t feel like explaining your family to a near stranger. Joel just gets it. Joel knows you.

He’s looking at you, arms still crossed, and for a second you worry he might not want to hear about your little breakdown, but then he sighs.

"You have your shit together all of the fuckin’ time, kid, I think that might be the problem," he tells you quietly. "You’ve always been so hard on yourself."

He’s right, once again he sees what you struggle to show the world, and his words make tears spring to your eyes. You will your eyeballs to suck them back in, but of course, Joel sees.

"Hey now," he says, taking a tentative step towards you. One tear drops from the end of your lashes and down your cheek, and the dam is broken again – they come spilling in floods. Joel crosses the room in a second, and there is a slight moment of hesitation between the two of you, before you bury your face in his chest, and let your restraint fall. You cry quietly, feel him wrap his arms around you, as he rocks you back and forth.

"You’re alright," he tells you, "Shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright."

"S-s-sorry about the assignment," you manage, and Joel’s hand starts stroking your back.

"Jesus, kid, stop worryin’ about the fucking assignment," he tells you, voice low and worried. "You don’t gotta be so strict with yourself. You’re doin’ just fine."

He smells so much like home, you think you might never stop crying.

"I don’t know what’s wrong with me," you hiccup, "One week here and I’m a mess already."

You feel Joel rest his chin on your head, and his arms tighten around you.

"There’s nothin’ wrong with you, you hear me? You hold yourself to high standards. Creates pressure, kid."

As always, he’s right of course – you want to excel academically, you don’t want to hurt your parents, you want to stay true to yourself and do what makes you happy, you want to make friends without compromising your grades. It’s impossible.

You breathe in shakily, your eyes closed, face buried in Joel’s chest, and for a second he is all that exists – just Joel, all around you, pulling you to the earth. Slowly, your breathing calms, Joel still rocking you soothingly, holding you close.

"There we go," he mutters, when your chest stops shaking, "that’s good."

When you pull away from him, he puts his hands on your shoulders to really look at you, and although you’re embarrassed by your outburst, you’re glad he doesn’t shy away from you.

"I want you to start being a little more lenient with yourself, alright? You don’t need to worry about an assignment on top of everything."

His hands are rubbing your shoulders, his eyes are kind and warm.

"Maybe not about yours, but I have like five other lectures –"

"Okay, so try to stop worrying about my assignments, just mine. Won’t bite your head off if you don’t do them, and I’ll only ask you questions when you raise your hand, alright? In fact, for the rest of the term, I want you to hand them in late."

Despite yourself, your lips pull up in a small smile.

"That’s silly, Joel," you say softly, but he shakes his head.

"It’s not silly, it’s practice to get you out of your comfort zone."

You consider his words for a moment. You do keep a pretty tight reign on yourself, and just the thought of doing every assignment late makes your skin crawl with anxiety. But when will you get another chance to step out of your comfort zone as safely as now, with Joel? He’s offering you a way to try it without actually risking your grades. And who knows, perhaps it actually will take a little bit of pressure off of you.

"Okay," you answer, staring up at Joel with puffy cheeks and teary eyes. "Alright."

He smiles at you, but he still looks worried and you wish he’d pull you close to him again. It’s such a relief to have this sort of human contact with someone who really knows you.

"Feel better?"

You sigh, and nod.

"It’s just a lot, you know, uni and my parents, and every social interaction feels like such a chore, cause I don’t know people yet. I feel like I’m not even relaxed when I’m asleep."

Joel hesitates for a moment, before he speaks, but when he does, he sounds determined.

"Come over tonight, I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, and you don’t have to worry about talkin’ to anyone. We’ll watch whatever you’d like. You still enjoy those crappy horror movies?"

You smile at the shared memory – Joel letting you use his living room to watch slashers your parents didn’t want you to see. One summer, when the heat was so stifling you barely went outside, you practically lived at his place, and when you’d seen all the DVDs he owned, he got you more from the video store.

"I do," you say quietly, the fact that Joel remembers more important to you than his proposal to spend the evening together. You feel significantly less alone, all of a sudden.

"Alright, then. Be over at seven,“ Joel tells you, and you nod, wiping your wet face with the back of your hand.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, and hug him again, because you don’t know how to tell him in words what you’re feeling, and his big, warm body against yours feels more than soothing.

"Course, kid. Just don’t tell Alva, or they’ll fire me."

You smile, your arms still wrapped around his neck, as he holds you.

"But I don’t wanna get you in trouble, what if–"

"No," Joel interrupts you, "no what ifs. No worryin’. I forbid it."

And you accept it, leave it to Joel, because he tells you to – because you don’t have any room in your head for more worries, and because you trust Joel not to do anything reckless. You trust him, period.

***

You text Alva you’re having dinner alone, that your cramps are still acting up, and you do feel slightly bad for lying, but you would never risk Joel’s job. The idea of having dinner with him at his place should make you nervous after your change in feelings about him, but you’re just looking forward to having a meal with someone who knows you, and lets you be yourself.

Joel asked you to be there at seven, so you spend the rest of the afternoon in your dorm room, wondering if you should change your outfit or if it would seem desperate – in the end, you keep the jeans but change into a blouse instead of a sweater. The part of you that stares at Joel’s forearms during class now wants to look pretty for him, so that he’ll ask you over again. You know you’re being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop you from putting on your nicest perfume.

You’re ten minutes early, so you sit in your little second hand car and try not to panic. You know Joel is merely trying to be a good…friend? Ex-neighbor, Dad’s best friend turned professor? There’s no real etiquette to cling to in this situation, for either of you, and although you’re positive Joel doesn’t have any ulterior motives with you despite his flirting, you know he could lose his job if someone finds out you went to his house. Even if you just watch slashers together the way you did ten years ago. It makes you anxious to know he’d risk something clearly important to him for just that – he moved to a different state, quit his old job, started over completely, and is now willing to endanger that new life just because you’re stressed. At the same time it seems ridiculous anyone could forbid the two of you to spend time together after having known each other your entire life. The thought is absurd, and still, you need to be careful.

You get out of the car before you start to hyperventilate, and ring Joel’s doorbell – it feels strange for him to live in a new house. He opens the door with a smile, and absurd relief floods your veins when you realize he’s wearing an old Led Zeppelin shirt and a pair of worn jeans. This is your Joel.

"I come bearing gifts," you announce, stepping into the house.

“Christ, where did you get this?”, Joel asks, taking the six pack of beer from you, so you can take off your jacket. “I didn’t know they sold Shiner Bock outside of Texas, I’ve been survivin’ on Bud”.

“Brought it with me,” you explain, “figured it’d help if I got homesick, you know, in multiple ways.”

You grin, and Joel shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Old enough to drink, well I’ll be damned. I remember when you begged your Dad to let you have a coke and he asked me if I thought the caffeine would stunt your growth.”

“Did it?”

“It might’ve,” Joel says with a chuckle, “but he didn’t let you have it.”

“Well, he isn’t here now, so let’s put those in the fridge.”

“No," Joel mutters, “no, he ain’t.”

While Joel puts the beer away, you take a look around his living room – despite your reservations about the new house, it reminds you of his old place. It’s got the same masculine and warm feel to it, dark wood, books all over the place, no bells and whistles. Joel is a practical man, and it’s charmingly etched into every part of his life – except for his new work-look. The room isn’t as cluttered as you remember Joel’s old house back in Texas, but you assume he hasn’t had time to accumulate clutter yet. No old newspapers are lying around, no birthday cards stacking up. You wonder if he’s lonely here, teaching all by himself, hundreds of miles away from the place he last grew roots in.

“Do you miss home?” you ask him, when he comes back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands. He looks at ease, much more himself than back at university. His jeans are faded, his shirt a little too big on his already broad frame, and his hair is clean and curly the way you like it – no gel twisting it into all sorts of un-Joel-like styles. Warmth floods your chest at the sight of him taking a swig of his beer. His crowfeet are a little more pronounced, and his hair has more grey strands than it did back home, but he’s still got that distinctly warm, no-nonsense feel to him.

“Sometimes,” he answers, offering you the second bottle. Your hand brushes his when you take it from him. “But I’m pretty busy here, you know, got a whole lotta lectures to plan, papers to grade and that sort of stuff.”

You nod, and sip at your beer.

“Have you…you know, met people? Made friends here?”

Joel plops down on the couch, and smiles up at you.

“You worried about my social life?”

You shrug, and smile almost timidly.

“You know me, kid, I like bein’ by myself.”

That’s true, for as long as you’ve known Joel, he’s been alone. You know he has nieces and nephews who adore him, and your Dad mentioned a woman once, but it must have been at least twenty years since they were together. You wonder why Joel doesn’t seem to want that sort of a domestic life, surely many women would be happy to let him put a ring on them.

You walk over to the window, and watch a blackbird tug at a writhing worm.

“Have you met someone at uni you wanna be by yourself with?” you ask with a small grin, turning back to find Joel already watching you. “I heard Mrs. Carter’s still single.”

“She’s very intelligent,” Joel says earnestly. You give him credit for not laughing about his colleague, and suddenly you feel bad for calling her frumpy with Alva. “But I think I’ll leave her to her simulations. Why am I bein’ interrogated?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, and glance out of the window again, “just making conversation.”

“Your turn, then,” Joel answers, and takes another swig of beer. “Any frat boys catch your eye? Or frat girls?”

You glance at him, a smile on your lips, and raise your eyebrows.

“Hey, I don’t discriminate. I thought, maybe Alva…”

“No,” you answer, feeling fond of him for considering the possibility. “Alva’s a friend. The guys are…well, they’re frat boys.”

 Your voice carries enough disgust for Joel to laugh.

“Right,” he says, and his eyes are warm when they meet yours again. “Just us two loners, then."

“Cheers,” you say with a smile.

“Cheers.”

***

Joel’s cooking is a mystery to you – he loves to eat, and when he does cook, it’s always delicious, but he only ever makes one of five dishes. Again, that practicality shining through. Why try something new if you’ve perfected your routine? He made pasta for you, wasn’t sure if you’re still vegetarian and makin’ your Dad’s hair fall out, and you smile into the neck of your beer bottle, when you watch him drizzle dressing onto a carefully arranged side-salad. Throughout dinner, you tell him how much you love it at least five times, because you can tell he put effort into the meal. You know it’s not technically a date, but having a dinner he made just for you, in his home – it feels like one.

You steer the conversation away from heavy topics like your parents. Although Joel offered you this evening to make you feel better, you want to spend it with him rather than in your head, so you ask him about books and music, about his lectures, about Tommy and the kids. You like watching how his face lights up whenever he talks about something he particularly loves. Joel is a quiet man, but you found out years ago it isn’t shyness, but a disinterest in most mundane topics – he doesn’t like gossip or superficial small talk. When he tells you Tommy made him godfather of all of his children, the pride is evident in his voice, and you don’t have to fake your enthusiasm, although it amuses you, too – Tommy loving his big brother enough not to consider anyone else.

"She calls me uncle Joe," he tells you with a chuckle, "Can’t pronounce her Ls yet, but I’ve considered legally changing my name."

When you’re done eating, you help him clear the table, but when you reach for the sponge to do the dishes, Joel shakes his head.

"Let me do that later, kid. You wanna watch a movie?"

So the two of you plop down on the couch with a bag of M&Ms and another round of beer, and Joel hands you the remote.

"Go wild," he says, chuckling when you excitedly turn on he TV to open Netflix.

"Wow, a streaming service? I thought you’d just hoard DVDs for the rest of your life."

Joel huffs, and instead of answering, he leans forward, and reaches for something under his couch table. When he turns his head, he’s got glasses on his face, thick-rimmed and black, and so startlingly sexy, you almost drop the remote.

"You…you’ve got glasses?"

"Yeah," he answers, his eyes meeting yours, and you swallow. "When your eyesight deteriorates, that’s when you know you’re gettin’ old."

You hum but don’t answer, just hold his gaze for a second and look back to the screen. You try to ignore the familiar pang in your stomach at the sight of Joel in his new glasses, and skip through movie after movie, mumbling seen it, seen it, that one sucks, seen it, until Joel reaches over and snatches the remote from you.

"Hey–"

"I can’t read anything if you skip through them that quickly."

"You’re not supposed to read, you’re supposed to go with the vibe of the cover."

He glances at you with furrowed brows.

"Okay, sorry, didn’t know you’re a filmbro," you grumble, but it’s almost entirely fake – you couldn’t be annoyed with him, not when he pushes his glasses up his nose, and carefully considers which button to press on the remote.

"I don’t know what that means," he answers, and starts reading the description of a romantic comedy about Christmas.

"I’m not watching that."

"You don’t even know what it’s about."

"It’s September, Joel."

He huffs again, but finally reaches the horror movies. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take the two of you long to pick one, and the thought of two hours of brainless, scary entertainment on a couch with Joel makes you practically melt into his couch.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you during the opening credits, so you glance over and he smiles.

"Comfy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from relaxation.

"Yeah," you answer, and smile when hands you a blanket. He’s not exactly close to you, but it still feels a little intimate when you spread the blanket out and offer him the other end. He moves over a little, so that the blanket covers his legs, and when you concentrate you can feel his body heat next to you, so you try hard not to – and instead get lost in the movie.

It’s not particularly good, but the story does get under your skin a little, and when there’s an unexpected shriek, you violently jump and instinctively move closer to Joel. He chuckles, but doesn’t give any reaction to your arm suddenly pressing against his. He doesn’t move away, either, so you don’t, fear suddenly not being the only thing bubbling up in your stomach.

"Jesus," you mumble, the creeping music making you anticipate another jumpscare. You’re right, it does come, but prepared though you are, you still wince, and turn away from the screen slightly. Out of sight, out of mind. Joel turns around, too, and when he sees your widened eyes, he grins.

"How’s that Christmas movie lookin’ now?"

"I’m not scared," you say, and there is some truth to it, "I’m just not good with jumpscares."

When the next one comes, you can’t help it, you clutch his arm next to you, your nails digging into his firm muscle, and Joel glances at you again.

"Sorry," you say quickly, letting go of his forearm now marked with five tiny crescent shapes. "Jesus, Joel, sorry."

"It’s fine," he says, and the amusement is evident in his voice, "you sure you’re into this? There might be some cartoons–"

He stops talking when you glare at him, but his mouth is twitching under his beard. You’re determined to watch the entire movie, and you try not to let any reaction show, wanting to prove Joel wrong.

There is one particularly scary scene – it’s not necessarily violent, but the music and shaky camera movements make your pulse race, and you turn your head slightly, so as to look at something else. Joel glances at you again, but he doesn’t laugh this time, just puts a heavy hand on your shoulder. It’s grounding, the warmth of it, how his thumb digs into your muscle and his fingers spread out over your back and neck.

"You don’t gotta force yourself to watch this, kid," Joel says gently, all teasing humor gone.

"No," you say stubbornly, but move even closer to him. His touch is a welcome distraction from the movie, and although you know it’s stupid and reckless, you lean into him, and Joel puts his arm around you. It’s closer than you’ve been to him except for hugging, and your heartbeat starts to quicken for all the wrong, non-horror reasons. When you flinch, Joel tugs you against his side, and it feels natural to hide your face in his shoulder.

He was never touchy with you, or anyone for that matter, so something must have changed. You wonder if he’s trying to comfort you, or if you might not be the only one who can feel that strange pull between the two of you.

When the movie ends, Joel regrettably removes his arm from around your shoulders to switch off the TV, and although you’re slightly disappointed, you scold yourself for expecting something else.

"Not bad," Joel says with a small smile, and pushes his glasses up his nose. "Very brave."

You scoff, but feel the corners of your mouth twitching, too.

"I used to be less of a wimp, but I guess you soften with age."

"You’re twenty-three," Joel argues, "that’s young."

Yeah, too young. Too young to lean over and kiss him, or climb into his lap, or expect anything other than paternal care when he’s got his arm around you. You look at your lap, all of a sudden feeling stupid and silly for having dreamed up an absurd fantasy about the man in front of you.

"Hey," Joel says gently, "what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, "nothing, I had a really great evening. Thanks, Joel."

You can tell you’ve confused him, but he nods, doesn’t question your sudden change of mood, and stands when you get up from the couch.

"Anytime, kid. You call me if you’re havin’ a bad time, alright? My door’s always open."

He’s so kind, so recklessly, stupidly, lovingly kind, and all of it is directed at you. You curse yourself for it, but again you feel that familiar burn in your eyes. Joel reaches out and easily pulls you towards his big body, hugging you the way he did in his office just this afternoon. He doesn’t ask you what brought on your tears, just lets you cry into his Led Zeppelin shirt that smells so much like home, like a childhood you won’t get back to. You remember whiffs of that smell when you were watching movies on his couch while he was at work, too pissed off at your parents to spend the summer at home. This scent was there when you attended a neighborhood barbecue after fighting with your father and Joel grilled some vegan sausages for you without comment or question. He’s always looked out for you like this, quietly, without demanding an explanation, just a solid, comforting presence in your life.

Your tears stop after a couple of minutes, and you take a step away from Joel, wiping your face. He looks so worried again, brows all furrowed and arms hanging limply at his side. Didn’t he flirt with you, though? Didn’t he prepare dinner for you the way a date would, ask you about your dating life, ask you to coffee? You don’t think you would be able to handle another evening like this one not knowing what Joel really thinks, so in a moment of hazy recklessness, you lean up.

His eyes meet yours, all warm and strangely unguarded, but before your lips brush his, a hand on your shoulder stops you. Without saying something, you move away from him, and nod to yourself, his reaction all the information you needed.

"Sorry," you say very quietly, not managing much else now that you’ve humiliated yourself in front of the only person you really know in a six hundred mile radius. Joel runs a hand through his soft hair, and inhales deeply.

"No," he says, his voice a little strained, "no, don’t be. I just…Jesus, kid."

He rubs his palm over his beard in such a familiar way, your chest aches a little. It’s ridiculous how much you want to touch his face, to feel him again, skin on skin. So you don’t turn and run the way your embarrassed heart is telling you to, just watch him collect his thoughts, standing in front of him like a wet and beaten dog.

"Look," he begins, "I won’t say I’m not flattered, but that’s…it’s a bad fuckin’ idea. It’s…it’s chaos, and on top of that most people would argue it’s wrong."

You swallow. You know all of this, have turned it over in your head ever since you stared at Joel’s rolled up sleeves for two hours on that first Monday, but hearing him say it makes your stomach churn.

"Yeah," you mutter, and trace Joel’s shadow with the very tip of your foot, "yeah, of course. Sorry I put you in that position, wasn’t right."

Your face still feels puffy, and you know you’re probably all red and pathetic looking, begging Joel for scraps of his attention, but all of a sudden, he lifts his hand up to your face, and cups it in his broad palm. His thumb strokes your cheek, and when you meet his eye, the expression on his face is tender.

"It’s alright," he tells you softly, "I can see you worryin’ at the speed of light in that pretty head of yours."

Something in your chest flutters at his words, at the rough and warm cadence of his voice. He reads you so easily, one turn of your head and he knows you’re lost to your thoughts.

"I shouldn’t have let myself toy with this idea," he continues, and your stomach flips. "I should’ve realized you’d pick up on it. It’s on me, alright? It’s on me not to start anythin’."

You can hear the implication – I’m the adult here. It’s not what you want to hear, but just the mention of Joel toying with this idea, as he put it, is enough to lift your spirits. So you weren’t crazy.

"I’m an adult," you say weakly, never having felt more like a child. Joel nods.

"You are, but I’m still in a position of power here. Be wrong, to abuse that."

His thumb is still moving over your cheek slowly, making it hard to think straight.

"So dinner and a movie doesn’t abuse it?"

You don’t want to argue, you don’t know why you keep disagreeing with him, and the way his face falls, you wish you hadn’t said it.

"No, it…it does, you’re right. Jesus, of course it does. I don’t blame ya for bein’ ang-"

"I’m not angry," you say softly, and tentatively turn your head in Joel’s hand. You press a kiss to his palm, his warm skin pressed right against your mouth. "I’m not your student, Joel. I mean, of course I am, but I know you. It’s different."

Joel’s eyes are glued to your face, and he looks so conflicted you wish he’d just throw you out of his house, if only to solve his dilemma.

"It’s still wrong," Joel mutters, his eyes glued to your lips since they brushed his skin "even if you take away the fact that I’m your fuckin’ professor. Your Dad…"

"My Dad is half a continent away and finds a way to be unhappy with whatever choices I make, so I might as well make the ones I want to."

The very first day, before you even met Joel, you decided to do what makes you happy while in university, and although this certainly wasn’t what you had in mind, you know it’s what you want. The only thing you want, in fact.

Joel sighs, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Joel, I’m not trying to…look, if I’m wrong about this, just tell me, but I feel…I just wanna be close to you all of the fucking time," you say quietly, "and it’s okay if you don’t, really. I just…I want you to know it’s not nothing to me."

Saying I don’t just want to hook up with you would feel too straight forward or crass, but you think Joel gets the gist of what you’re trying to say, and he closes his eyes briefly. You study his face behind his glasses, the wrinkles and freckles from years in the sun. You do feel anxious about his answer, but whatever it is, you’re glad you told him. It’s out in the world now, the way you feel when he holds you, and he can do with it what he pleases – you’ve handed him the reigns.

"I…I know what you mean. Me too," he says very quietly after a beat, his eyes open and looking directly into yours again.

A triumphant pang of affection pulses through you, and you put your hand over Joel’s, which is still resting on your cheek. He looks conflicted, but his other hand holds your waist now, and tugs your smaller body closer to his again. He’s solid as a brick wall in front of you, and you figure you’re allowed to touch, so you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Joel mutters, and strokes your lower lip with his thumb. If you had more guts, you’d let it slip into your mouth, but you’re still afraid he’ll pull back if you make a wrong move, so you just let him caress your mouth tenderly.

"Whatever you’d like," you answer just as quietly, and you know it sounds sexual, but you mean it in every way – if Joel wants to be nothing but your professor, you’d take it, and if he wants to keep you here in his house indefinitely, you’d let him. Joel keeps looking at you, taking you in as if he’s considering whether the risks outweigh whatever magnetic or gravitational pull the two of you have between you.

"Stay," he say after a while, and although his face looks slightly regretful, his voice is determined, "just…sleep here tonight. I like havin’ you here."

You want him to kiss you, to pull you onto his lap on the couch, to take you upstairs right now, but Joel seems to be restraining himself, so you just nod.

"Me too," you whisper, echoing his words back to him, and for just a second, his thumb digs into your lip a little harder, but then he pulls away.

"Testin’ my goddamn restraint," he mutters, and takes a step away from you. "I’ll get you something to sleep in."

***

Joel gets you one of his band tees you love so dearly, and just the idea of being enveloped by something that smells like him all night makes it a little easier when Joel tells you he’ll take the couch instead of inviting you to sleep with him in his bed.

"No," you say softly, "it’s fine, you just sleep in your bed, Joel. I’ll take the couch."

He looks critical, so you offer him a soft smile.

"I don’t know if your back could take it," you tease, and he seems torn up between laughing and frowning. In the end, he just shakes his head, mutters something that sounds a lot like bad fuckin’ idea, and gets you a blanket and pillow.

He brings you a clean toothbrush and towel, let’s you use his bathroom (you look at the shower the entire time you’re brushing your teeth, trying hard not to think about what Joel looks like using it in the mornings), and when you’re done changing, you unlock the door again.

He’s there, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing over your form in his much too big shirt. It’s long as a dress on you, coming down to your naked thighs. Joel visibly swallows and gets up from the bed.

"You got everythin’ you need?"

"Yes. Thank you, Joel."

There’s a beat of silence and you almost think Joel’s about to cross the room, but he just runs his palm over his beard the way he always does, and nods.

"Alright. Just shout if there’s…well, you know. I’ll be here."

"I will."

"Alright. Okay…goodnight, kid."

"Night," you almost whisper, voice soft, and right before you reach the door, Joel clears his throat.

"I…you were right about dinner and the movie. I wasn’t just tryin’ to be friendly," he says quietly, and your stomach swirls. Before you can walk over to Joel and do something about it, he sighs.

"Sleep tight, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.

***

You wake to the sound of something dripping, and when your eyes flutter open, you can see Joel’s back from the kitchen. He’s wearing his work outfit again, a white button down and dark pants, sleeves rolled up. It smells like coffee, and with a smile you realize he must be brewing his beloved coffee – no machine, just a filter. He looks broad, even from your spot on the couch, and you enjoy peeking in on him. You study his movements, the way he reaches for a cup, how his fingers absentmindedly drum on the kitchen counter while he waits.

When he turns around, his eyes find yours, and he smiles.

"Mornin’. Did I wake ya?"

"’S fine," you yawn, pulling the blanket up to your chin, not yet ready to get up. "I have classes at ten anyway."

"’S eight," Joel tells you, "Coffee?"

"Yes please," you answer, and stretch your limbs under the blanket.

Joel brings you a cup, complete with a little bit of milk and sugar, and you move your feet so he can sit down on the couch.

"Sleep well?"

You sip your coffee, let it burn your tongue and close your eyes at the taste. When you open them, Joel’s gaze lingers on your face.

"Yeah," you answer, "thank you for…you know."

He nods, takes a sip of his coffee, and looks at his lap. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s very quiet, and you feel anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

"Joel, do you want me to leave? It’s fine if you do," you ask him softly, not wanting to make things awkward for him. It would be rational of him to ask you to leave, the smart and ethical thing to do.

"No," he answers quietly, still not looking at you, "I want you to stay."

Stay? On a Tuesday morning, after you almost kissed him and he told you he couldn’t do that, after you spent the night on his couch? When you have classes in two hours, haven’t showered yet, are half naked and wearing his clothes, on his couch under his blanket? When you’ve got friends wondering where you are and probably ten unanswered messages from Alva?

"Alright," you say, agreeing as easy as breathing.

Finally, he looks up, and his expression is so conflicted you reach out for him. Your hand finds his and you squeeze it. He keeps looking at you, his hand limp in your grasp, as if any movement of his muscles would incriminate him.

"You shouldn’t," he tells you earnestly. "Stay, I mean. You shouldn’t stay."

"I know."

You don’t let go of his hand. He doesn’t move his away.

"It’s a really, really bad idea," he adds, and you’re not sure who he is trying to talk out of whatever this is. "It’s risky. Could blow up both our lives."

"Yeah," you say, and watch him sip his coffee, "okay."

Then, a tentative flex of his fingers against yours, and finally, he’s squeezing your hand just as tightly, and before you can process what that means, Joel is leaning over you, dangerously close. Your breathing quickens, you register how soft his hair looks, how strong his hand is. He leans in further and you sit up a little, still cocooned in his blanket. His face is close to yours, his eyes fiery with something you can’t pinpoint, and you sigh, when he closes the gap between you.

He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, and you wish you’d gotten the chance to shower, but the thought disappears almost immediately when you hear Joel groan. His kisses you languidly, deeply, and your fingers come up to his beautiful arm, barely wrapping around half of his biceps. He cradles the side of your face, pulls you closer, makes your stomach clench with need. It feels inevitable, the way he touches you, like you only exist in a physical form to be touched by him.

His free hand peels the blanket off your body, lets it slide to the floor without ever stopping his the kiss, and you moan softly, when his hand touches your waist. The sound makes him break away, stare down at you, pupils blown wide.

"Fuck, you look good in my clothes," he mutters, nudging your jaw with his nose, and pressing a kiss there. "You should really, really go home."

Your head falls back slightly to give him better access to your neck, and he brushes his lips over your pulse point. Your heart skips a beat.

"I – I know," you breathe, fingers digging into his arm. His beard scratches your skin deliciously, and it takes everything in you not to whimper or beg. Joel’s hand slips under your shirt – his shirt – and instead of finding your waist again, he digs his thumb into your hip, stroking the fabric of your cotton panties. The fire in your stomach burns brighter, and you almost buck up into him. Joel Miller, the Joel Miller who until recently had a key to your childhood home, who lent it to you whenever you forgot yours inside – he’s sucking bruises into your skin, and toying with your panties. It’s dizzying, his familiar voice when he hums in satisfaction, even rougher than usually.

His fingers trace the waistband of your panties towards the front, until they find a small, silky bow, and Joel groans. He doesn’t take your underwear off, doesn’t even touch you where you need him the most, just keeps playing with the little bow, until your hips twitch without your permission. A little lower, and he would be able to feel how wet you are, how wet you have been all night. You didn’t do anything about it, not while you were a guest in his house. It would have felt wrong. You can’t imagine anything feeling more right than Joel’s mouth and hands on you, though.

"Jesus," Joel curses, "I should stop bef–"

"No," you whine, all dignity turned to hot air by Joel’s fingers, "please, Joel, please don’t stop."

He curses again, and moves his big body so that he’s not just hovering above you, but actually on top of you, your thighs falling open for him easily. At the movement, his shirt hikes up your thighs, and you know you’re basically on display for him, your soaked underwear leaving little to the imagination. He’s still fully clothed, his perfect button down all wrinkled now.

"Look at you," Joel breathes, lightheaded with desire, "this all for me?"

So he saw, when you moved to accommodate his broad form, saw how soaked you are, knows you ruined your panties just because he kissed you.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please–"

Before you can beg further, his finger presses down on your clit, and he watches your face contort in pleasure, as it shoots up your spine. You whimper, staring into his eyes, and he stares right back, as you start to grind your hips against his palm.

Your head feels blissfully empty, all worries about this relationship, uni, your parents, gone from you with a simple, practiced movement of his hand. The whimpers keep falling from your lips, and Joel curses.

"So beautiful," he mutters, "tell me what you need, angel."

It’s not a question, it’s an order.

"I – fuck, I need you i–inside," you groan, and Joel’s lips find yours again.

"Yeah? Need me to fuck you good, even though they’ll throw us both out?"

It shouldn’t turn you on. You’re jeopardizing both your own and Joel’s career, and he’s turning it into dirty talk. Still, your pussy doesn’t lie, and the way it throbs for him, aching to get him inside, makes all doubts disappear from your mind.

"Yes," you answer, unable to say much more as Joel keeps drawing tight circles into your clit.

Your hands drift from his arms towards his front, and Joel curses, when you paw at his belt buckle. It takes you a second, but then it’s open, the sound of the metal exciting you – it sounds like a promise.

Joel finally tugs your panties down, and for a second you’re self–conscious about not being clean shaven, but the second he sees you bare and glistening for him, his fingers dip into your folds, gathering your wetness with no hesitation.

"Fuck me," he groans, bringing his hand up to his face and tasting you, holding eye–contact the entire time, "prettiest pussy I’ve seen in my life."

You twitch under him, dragging your gaze away from his eyes and to his fingers. A moan escapes you, your hands have gone slack on his waistband, and Joel smiles down at you. Then, he does the same motion again, drags the tips of his thick fingers through your sticky arousal, but instead of sucking them clean himself, he holds them up to your mouth. His eyes burn, when you wrap your lips around them without a moments hesitation, and he feeds you your own slick.

"Taste so sweet, huh?"

You don’t answer, just swirl your tongue around his fingers, and suck on them. Joel watches your mouth intently, lets you take your time.

"Good girl," he praises you, and you clench around nothing, "so fuckin’ needy for me."

He drags his fingers from your mouth, and finally pushes into you, the stretch much tighter than with two of your own. Your head falls backwards, and Joel curls his fingers.

"No, baby, look down here," he orders, and immediately you lift your head again, and watch him pump two thick digits in and out of you. It’s dizzying to think it’s the same hand that waved to you from over his fence for years and years. You feel a coil building in your stomach, and you moan.

"Fuck, Joel," you moan, his name leaving a delicious aftertaste in your mouth. His beautiful forearm flexes with every movement, your slick is dripping down his fingers, and those damn sleeves are still perfectly rolled up.

With a few more curls of his fingers, you gush around him, barely having time to warn him, and he praises you, calls you his good girl, drags his fingers against that spongey spot inside of you until you see stars.

When he slips his fingers out of you and holds them up to your face again, you clean them up with your mouth as Joel watches with bright eyes. To think that he’s the same man who taught you Dirac not twenty-four hours ago – already, you want him inside again. When you’re done, he fumbles with his own clothes, and you watch him this time instead of helping.

"You look so good like this," you mumble, eyes raking over his broad form, "Professor."

His eyes snap up to yours, and you grin.

"Fuckin’ Christ, kid," he mutters, popping open the buttons on his shirt, "you can’t say shit like that."

"You don’t like it? You know, I watched you during your lectures and dreamed about…well, about this."

His expression is unreadable, but if you’re not mistaken, his hands move even faster now, and then he shrugs out of his shirt. You almost moan at the sight of his naked torso, so broad and solid.

"You need to pay attention in class," Joel answers, as he opens his pants. Your breathing grows a little shallow when he reveals his boxers underneath, his bulge huge.

"Can’t," you mumble, "not with you looking like this."

He chuckles at that, at the honesty and need in your answer.

"Don’t worry," he says softly, "I’ll fuck it outta you. Won’t be needing’ me in class, not if I’m still leakin’ out of you."

Your lips part, your pussy clenches – a smile tugs on the corners of Joel’s mouth at your reaction. He drags down his boxer shorts, and your eyes snap towards his cock, so thick and dripping in precum. You whimper, you can’t help it, and Joel’s smile widens.

"We’ll make it fit, baby," he says, reading your mind, and then bends down and kisses you again. You try to tug your shirt upwards, but Joel’s hands find your wrists and he holds them tight.

"No, want to fuck you in it," he breathes against your lips, and you press your hips upwards until he groans. He pumps his fist over his cock a couple of times, and aligns it with your entrance.

"Deep breath, baby," he mutters, and you obey, staring up at him as he starts pressing into you. It’s tight, much tighter than his two fingers, and your eyes glass over with pain, but Joel goes slow. His hand strokes your tummy, helps you relax, while he pushes on consistently. You feel like he’s punching the air from your lungs, eyes wide with the stretch of him, as he nips at your jaw and neck to distract you.

"Know it’s a lot, but you can take it, angel."

"Y-yes," you moan, and screw your eyes shut, "please don’t stop, Joel."

 Joel’s breathing is ragged with restraint, and suddenly his hips snap forwards – and he’s fully buried inside of your tight body, nestled right against your cervix.

"Back to Joel, are we?" he teases, and gives you a couple of seconds to get used to him. You whimper and claw at his arm.

"I – ah – I’ll call you Professor Miller ’f you want," you slur, as he starts dragging his cock out of you again. You tremble under him, the feeling almost more intense than when he pushed inside of you.

"Yeah? That get you off? Or – fuck–  is it the fact that I’m friends with your parents?"

It really, really should be a turn off, to be talking about your parents right now, but the way Joel says it, the way he points out just how debauched it is what you’re doing – you can’t help but moan. You blush, too, can feel the heat in your face, but you’re tired of being ashamed of wanting him the way you do.

"Both," you answer, and this time Joel groans, his hips snapping into you at a rougher pace. The head of his cock hits your spot every time, and you let out little sounds of pleasure with every drag of his cock, unable to form a coherent sentence. Joel’s hand finds your clit again, rubbing circles as his other one pressing down on your stomach.

"Feel that?" he asks you, and you do, you feel him all up in your guts, "you take it so well baby, take all ’f me."

"Yes," you answer, eyes glassy with pleasure, "want all of you, Joel."

He bites your shoulder, keeps rutting into you, and soon you feel another orgasm building.

"Close – ah – so close," you whimper, and Joel speeds up his thrusts just slightly. You clench around him, right on the edge.

"Come for me, angel, give it to me."

You do, your hips bucking, back arching.

"Ah – fuck, Joel, Prof–"

"Say it," Joel orders, fucking you through the waves of pleasure.

"Professor."

He comes, too, twitching deep inside of you and spilling rope after rope of come. It feels right, like you’re his. His groan is rough, his thrusts sloppy, and you feel your pussy spasm around him in a third, weaker orgasm, or maybe it’s just aftershocks from your second. You’re limp underneath him, letting him use your body how he needs to.

"Fuck," he curses, "did so good for me."

He slips out of you, and you can feel his spend drip out of you. You’re weak, soft like jelly, sweaty and entirely satisfied.

"Jesus," you breathe, when he falls down next to you, his couch mercifully being big enough.

"Yeah," he answers, "Jesus."

***

Turns out, Joel Miller is a dirty talking bastard during sex, and a big softie afterwards. He makes you tea, strokes your hair while you sip it, then carries you up to his shower and gently washes your body his his sponge. Throughout, he’s quiet, and you wonder if it was too much, the mention of him being your professor, of your parents, but you’re too afraid to ask. He brushes your forehead with his lips when he dries you off, and pulls another of his shirts over you head. Your panties are entirely ruined, it’s all you’re wearing.

When you’re clean again, and relaxed, Joel pulls you onto his bed, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Did you…was that too much?" he asks you softly fingertips tracing over your thigh lazily.

"It was just right," you answer quietly, and he hums.

"You didn’t feel like you…I mean when you called me Professor, you wanted to do that, right?"

You look up at him, and press a soft kiss against his jaw.

"Of course, Joel. Wanted everything we did, I promise."

He nods, but you can tell there’s still something bothering him.

"You know that’s not what you are to me, though, right?" Your voice is soft. "You’re just Joel."

He brushes the top of your head with his lips.

"I mean it," you press on when he doesn’t answer, "it’s like a costume, Joel. I know it’s your job, but it’s…I don’t think of you as like, an authority figure or something. I just thought you looked hot in that slutty shirt."

"Slutty–?" he sputters and you laugh.

"Sure, you know, with your sleeves rolled up, and that first button popped open."

"’S not slutty."

"You showed your forearms. Half the lecture hall felt like a victorian man seeing ankles for the first time."

Joel makes an exasperated sound, half amused and half offended.

"I mean it," you say again after beat, humor gone from your tone, "and it’s not just sex to me. You know that."

"Yeah," Joel answers slowly. "’S more to me, too."

It’s a hell of an admission.

"What are we gonna do?", you ask quietly, and Joel sighs.

"You’re gonna go to class," he says, voice dark, "and I’ll try very, very hard not to call your father and tell him I’m fallin’ for his daughter."

You bury your face in his chest. With anyone else, it would be too much, too fast, too intense. But this is Joel. It’s not fast if you’ve known him your whole life, is it? You kiss his chest, and he seems to understand.

"We’ll figure it out," Joel says quietly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For a second you do want your parents to know, want them to see that someone does treat you like an adult, want to look them in the eye and say I’m with Joel now and there’s nothing you can do about it. I have my own life now and it includes this kind man. It’s childish, you know it is. You lean up, catch Joel’s mouth in a kiss.

"Yeah," you answer, “We’ll figure it out, Professor.”

[uncleasriel]

I amreally torn between 1, 3 & 4.

Not for the cozy UWU book lover powers, mind you. But for the sheer min-max-ing.

1. lets you teleport to any book store on earth is global travel on an unprecedented scale. Instantaneous teleportation would be fucking LIT. Borders become meaningless, my only barrier becomes linguistic, and with a capacity to go anywhere in the blink of an eye, I can see the world in a day, so long as a bookstore is nearby.

3. just sounds comfy. Triple my income for a secure job I'm already trained for? Fucking YES. A little quotidian, but I'll be financially secure forever.

4. i just overpowered.Remember EVERYTHING I read word-for-word? Forever? Regardless of language? Just read a good English to LANGUAGE HERE dictionary and you're good to go. Pair that with number 1, and I can go everywhere, learn the local language, and basically be free to travel the world with an encyclopedic knowledge of whatever. If I could just get some secure cash flow, I'd be able to do so very much with this. Maybe read some business books and \figure out how to montize these powers?

Fuck it. 1 & 4. Pore over a few Bookstores Of The World sites, read up on how to get proper polyglot skills, and then go to town embracing the bon vivante international dream!

Reblog with just TWO choices

[seneon]

Hey hey🩷

Could you maybe write a headcannon with blue block boys when they lash out on reader bc they have a bad day and call them annoying or disrespect them? Reader (female) is not sure abt forgiving them. I love angst. Could you maybe pls do it for Isagi,Nagi,Bachira,Reo,Barou Yukimiya,Rin,Sae or actually for whoever you like want to write for. If its to much Im really sorry 🥺🩷. I really enjoy your writings and I hope you are alright.

WILL YOU LOVE ME WHEN I'M DEAD ──── bllk various.

notes. featuring yoichi, seishiro, yukimiya, and the itoshi brothers only. and angst. for everyone, i'll have the same scenario of them coming home angry after football practice, then we'll escalate from there onwards. not my best work since my blue lock knowledge has gone rusty butttt ya :v

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ISAGI YOICHI

he's so so stressed after football practice that he can't keep his cool. yoichi didn't mean to raise his voice at you, vulgarity spilling down his tongue like ancient curses. you're terrified in disbelief, and he doesn't notice it. not until you slowly nodded and pursed your lips in a tight line that makes him regain some senses of himself. you then walked away, and he follows you the second you moved your muscles. "my love wait, i'm so sorry," he calls out softly, voice almost breaking and you tell him to give you time, locking him out of your shared room so he could think upon his actions. yoichi will stay outside your door, even sleeping by the wall just waiting for you to come out from your room so he could apologise.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ NAGI SEISHIRO

silent treatment creeps into the air even hours after he tells you that you're annoying and pestering, always nagging him all around. he appears to not care by occupying his attention in his games. but truly on the inside, he's so bothered that you're not beside him doing your own thing as he played his game. he feels empty beside him, so used to having you by his side all the time. he could tell you were in no absolute mood to see him right now, and his inexperienced self has no idea how to apologise or make it up to you. maybe he'll try some other time when you come home from your late night drive to cool off from a brief argument with seishiro.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ YUKIMIYA KENYU

he's an expressive young man, thus when he comes into your room with your favourite snacks in a basket properly and you're ignoring him, his lips is all turned downwards into a guilty frown. kenyu knows he's in every wrong that he called you annoying for simply wanting to check up on him after practice. he didn't mean any of it, just an 'in the heat of moment' occurrence. kenyu yearns for you as he kneels by your bed and holds your hands just to get your attention. then he apologises. he knows he's hurt your heart and soul. he'll have to keep trying because he's going to earn it.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ITOSHI RIN

in an absolute crisis mixed upon the events that happened at practice along with a million of thoughts and possibilities swimming in his mind that you will leave him. when his strings break at how you forgot not to touch a jersey of his that he has hanging by his drawer, rin leaves you first— to his room. a heavy pessimistic, even if it looks like he's fine with simply cleaning his football shoes. you've shut him out, as he did to you when he came back home and refused to speak to you like he usually would. tonight will be long if neither wants to see each other eye to eye.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ ITOSHI SAE

does not take no for an answer when he apologises. that is a bad trait of his— sae thinks everything will go his way. so when you flat out said you wouldn't forgive him this time for even disrespecting you in the first place, his anger heightens. when you want to walk away, he will simply pull you back, heartfelt apologies he muttered in hopes of you forgiving him. but you're so hurt by him that he could see it in your eyes. it held the fading reflection of the last chance. and maybe, just maybe... you've lost the spark with him. he died a little on the inside at that surfacing realisation.

© SENEON 2025 ♱ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi 👋, can I request a self aware Smilk & reader, where he’s the only one who knows of their existence, and the reader can sometimes take control of him which causes some confusion to other cookies.

(You can choose whether it’s a one-shot or headcanons)

Yess self awareness time

.......

After trying and trying again, you finally pulled Shadow Milk Cookie from the gacha, thrilled that he finally came home!

Now that you've understood all the hype surrounding him and how crazy powerful he can be after clearing his Beast Yeast episodes, you had all your star jellies, toppings, and a legendary beascuit saved just for him.

But ever since obtaining him, you've noticed some...oddities with him that made you assume it was part of his programming/AI.

When you see him walking around the kingdom or working at a station that's not the toy store, he's looking at you a lot.

Of course, some cookies may glance at you occasionally, with even fewer breaking the fourth wall (like Black Sapphire and Devil Cookie), but that's just what the devs added as a funny joke.

Shadow Milk...is different. He doesn't follow their script to a T.

The way he talks and waves at you, shows off during battles and making himself the last cookie standing in difficult arena fights, and doing his juggling trick when he knows you're looking at him.

Then he actually responded to you after you made a remark about where to put his statue...and at first you're startled, bc no way could that have been a coincidence...

In reality, he had an "awakening" of his own--in that his knowledge suddenly extended beyond CRK's borders.

Somehow, he can see and hear you, becoming 100% aware that he's in a video game.

But you assume his new antics are part of his programming...until one day the charade falls apart and he straight up tells you that he knows the truth. He even says your username, the device you're playing on, and the day you started CRK as proof in case you think he's lying.

You're stunned at first, but then you think it's actually pretty awesome....until he claims that he's the only one who knows and felt like it would've been better if he didn't.

Of course, the master of deceit would rather ignore the truth and live out a lie, like all the other cookies are....but he's stuck with this earthbread-shattering truth that's only his to bear.

In a way, being "trapped" in this game reminds him of the witches and the time he spent in the silver tree, believing he escaped one prison only to end up in another.

After you leave the game to tend to some real life matters, he tries sowing chaos in the kingdom by revealing this to other cookies, thinking they'd "wake up".

Yet none of them know wtf he's talking about. Not even the Beasts or Pure Vanilla, who thinks he's just trying to trick everybody again..although he admits that what Shadow Milk is saying sounds most outlandish.

Typically, he'd be able to conjure up some kind of "evidence" and manipulate wide masses into believing any word he says.

But you're untouchable, and he has no way of obtaining tangible proof of your existence to show the other cookies...and once he realizes this, he gets frustrated.

"Who do you think fulfills our wishes at the tree???? Who do you think indulges us with star jellies????? Keeps this kingdom from crumbling to pieces?!! We are ALL the puppets to an even bigger puppet master!"

Anyone who hears this yap from him just thinks 'is he alright? like genuinely?'

The next time you log in, Shadow Milk is gravely upset that he has to carry this burden and decides to take it out on you.

Suddenly there's lag spikes when his ability is on cooldown (so you can hardly use them in battle and lose your ranking in arena), he avoids you trying to pick him up in the kingdom (much to other cookies' confusion, as from their pov, he's fleeing something that's invisible)...and he even corrupted his own stats to make it seem like any promotions were gone and his level dropped back to 1.

You ask him why he's causing you all this trouble, and his next rant was more or less....a reasonable crashout.

"I was a god...or at least that's what I thought. But no. I've been lied to. A master of deceit...has been lied to again!! What cruel irony! This world...this life of mine....it's all been one big game from the start! And nobody knows but I!! HAHAHA!! Tell me, [username]..what's it like being the true god of this world? Do you enjoy toying with our lives? What makes you think you deserve my power?! Damn you....and damn this prison!! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN THOSE WITCHES!!!"

Other cookies just see him screaming at nobody in particular, although his rage forms rifts in the ground, from which the other-realm creeps out to attack anyone close to him.

You end up closing the game out of fear, leaving it alone for the next several hours.

While initially scared to reopen it, you did understand why Shadow Milk lashed out like that--he thought he was in control, and couldn't comprehend the idea of it being somebody else.

You don't know why he, of all cookies, had to be cursed with this forbidden knowledge, but what could be done about it now?

Nothing.

So you returned to the game and found a plushie of him somewhere after looking around for a few minutes, and after clicking him, he turns back to normal and scowls.

"What? You've come back to toy with me more, stupid god? Or were you just worried that I did something to your precious kingdom?"

"No, and no." You say, explaining to him that while you'd never fully understand what he was feeling--and couldn't help him explain your existence to other cookies--you wanted him to see you as a friend, not a puppet master or a witch or some untouchable god like he accuses you of being.

To show him you're serious, you bought all of his decor and gave him his own little castle/spire-like area, where he can indulge in his hobbies or just retreat there whenever he wanted to.

For some time, Shadow Milk is silent as he inspects everything and for a moment...you thought he reverted back to his NPC programming...

Then he looks at you and grins a little. "Jeez, if only you put this much effort into the rest of the kingdom."

"Yeah, well...I'm working on it." You chuckled. "Black Sapphire and Candy Apple Cookie think it's "dull" and doesn't compare to your spire, but-"

"I'll deal with them later. This...is acceptable."

It's fair to say...he's content.

He seems to finally accept his new reality, as he doesn't corrupt his stats or sabotage your gameplay anymore, allowing you to use him as your strongest magic cookie again.

Now if you start shifting your focus towards pulling Awakened Pure Vanilla, however, he might stir up some trouble to make the process take even longer

[starsandsuch]

Planets Conjunct The Midheaven: How Are You Perceived By The Public ? 🪐

Your Midheaven sign represents your reputation and what you’re known for. The planet(s) conjunct your midheaven add another layer to how the public perceives you. How do people view you based on planets near your Midheaven? Let’s find out.

Sun conjunct MC ☀️

Your identity and who you are is on display to the public. This is a fame placement. Many people know your name, who you are and what you do professionally. Your presence in the public eye is authoritative. You naturally gain respect from the public without trying. You are undisputed as the best at what you do. You are seen as peerless. Your status makes people jealous of you and want your position in life. You belong in the public eye.

Moon conjunct MC ☁️

Your soft side is on display to the public. People recognize you for your feminine energy. You seem soft and sweet to the public. To me this placement shows someone who is good at manipulating the public. People see your innocence and charm which make them like you a lot. You are naturally seen in a pleasant way.

Mercury conjunct MC ✏️

Can guide, direct, and influence the masses through speech. Good public speaker. Tends to be seen as “relatable” to the masses. People hang on to every word you say. Makes people laugh effortlessly. Comedian-like energy. The public perceives you to be knowledgeable and charming. The public knows you for what you vocalize.

Venus conjunct MC 🍭

Pretty privilege personified. Everyone finds you beautiful. Lowkey one of the best places to have Venus. Since Venusian energy is blessing your reputation, people see you as likable, beautiful and pleasant. You become a source of pleasure to people. People love watching what you do. This placement is great for tv or being in the media, people love watching you on their screens. Marilyn Monroe had this placement.

Mars conjunct MC ☄️

You’re seen as an agitator to the public. You cause varying reactions amongst people. They love you, they hate you, they talk about you. Either way you cause quite a stir without much effort. You can experience not being treated nicely by the public at some point in your life. Mars is war & combat, which shapes the themes of your reputation. So you are known to be in public feuds, or people are mad at you just for existing. You don’t back down easily though, you’re seen as a fighter. You’re seen as powerful and tenacious. These natives I noticed kind get hated on for no good reason? Maybe it’s because you’re a s3x symbol. The public sees you as someone who is physically appealing. They hate you bc you’re sexy.

Jupiter conjunct MC 👑

Jupiter expands and amplifies your reputation in a positive way. This makes you known by many people, to the point of being “famous”. This is a placement where you don’t actually have to put much work into being famous, it just happens for you easily. The public sees you as victorious in most situations. You always come out on top. You’re seen as a very lucky person, and you are. The public sees you in a wholesome and favorable way, you are well liked, well known and popular. Whatever you want to happen in your career, zaddy Jupiter makes it happen. You’re destined to be successful in a big way and nobody can stop that. If Santa Claus was a real person, he’d have this placement in his chart.

Saturn conjunct MC 🪐

You are seen as an authority figure. People know not to question you or undermine you. You are seen as someone to have all the knowledge, and distribute it accordingly. You seem older than you are to the public, due to your authoritative disposition and wisdom you have. The public recognizes your authenticity and straightforwardness. Once your reputation is built, it’s permanent and unmovable. Your reputation is long lasting and even precedes you after death.

Rahu conjunct MC ⚡️

Your known as a game-changer to the public. Something about you is just different from anyone else. You’re uniqueness and quirks are on display to the world. You are a pioneer and someone who questions tradition. You’re seen as someone who pushes society forward. What you do is perceived as futuristic. You are recognized as 1 of 1.

Ketu conjunct MC 🕷

This placement makes the public confused about you. People know who you are, but do they really? You’re mysterious. All your past life karma is activated here, in pertinence to your public image. So alot of stuff that happens to you publicly is just destined to happen and you yourself can’t even stop it. The fact that you have disinterest with fame or notoriety make people want to know more about you. You’re an enigma.

Pluto conjunct MC 🌪

You’re seen as powerful and mysterious to the public. You seemingly yield some sort of power no one else has. You trigger obsession in other people. Your transformations are on display to the public. You’re this dominant force that can overpower anyone and everyone. You seem intimidating without trying to be. You’re seen as strong and competent. People are always talking about you, especially when you’re not around. The public wants what you have, your power is enviable. Celebs with this placement have a cult like following.

Neptune conjunct MC 🌀

You seem mysterious, magical and enchanting to the public. Something about you is seductive and enticing. You’re enigmatic. People always want to know more about you, but usually never get the satisfaction of actually knowing you. They know an illusion of you, but who are you really? You’re a puzzle in the public’s mind. You are seen as a fantasy that no one can grasp. You’re beauty and aura seems otherworldly.

Uranus conjunct MC 💥

You are seen as a game changer to the public. You disrupt the landscape of the industry you’re in, which facilitates positive change to happen. People never see you coming, yet you leave a big impact with your actions. People don’t like change, but they need it, and you’re the one to bring it. You are perceived as unpredictable and unorthodox. Things you do often have a profound sense of shock value to it. People with this placement post on socials and others see it and are like *jaw drops* “did you see what ___ posted?!!🤯”. You could have a few viral moments because of this. Since Uranus relates to electricity, word about you travels fast and far. The impacts you have on others is “electric”.

Divider credit: @uzmacchiato

[prkhaven]

(TEASER) MONEY POWER GLORY -l.hs, p.sh-

pairing— athlete!heeseung x journalist fem!reader x athlete!sunghoon

status: release date TBD (currently working on)

genre: smut minors do not interact, angst, slight fluff, athlete au, hockey player!sunghoon, basketball player!heeseung, athlete rivalry, p with plot, p with feelings

wc: estimated 20k

taglist: open — send in ask or comment to be added

— full warnings and smut warnings within actual release —

“Our star players”

Staring at the large group picture hanging dead center in front of you, you zeroed in on the two distinct males standing side by side. Both showcasing not even a crack of a smile as they looked straight ahead.

Your soul withered as you took in their gaze.

Shifting over to the male on the left, you could see he was sleek, clothing neatly arranged—draping over his body that accented his proportions perfectly. Slender legs that popped out by the strikes of muscles lining up from his calf all the way up to his knee where a peek of his quads showed hiding beneath the rolled up sweatpants.

The long navy blue sleeved shirt pushed back by his arms resting behind his back, his chest pumping out through the fabric. His face relaxed but stoic but his blaring eyes stared right into yours while the few spec of moles scattered around his face that you were thankful the camera managed to pick up on.

“That’s Park Sunghoon, pretty good looking right?�� You felt a jab at your side knocking you out of your daze before looking over to your side at your boss smiling at the picture with a sparkle in her eyes, “Doesn’t really talk much but his career is set to only rise up from here on out”

Looking away from here and back to the picture, you observe to the male on right this time. Arms stiff at his side, a clear steer away from the male at his side but he held a sharper yet softer look with his big and round eyes that were filled with a wonder in them that stirred something in you.

His hair messily disheveled, poking out in different directions but still effortless on camera. The captured sweat sliding down from his chin down his neck to trickle down to his flimsy tank top that outlined his body, all while he wore baggy basketball shorts that reached to his knees.

Your finger crumbled against your palm when you noticed the outlining of muscles on his arms tracing from the front of his biceps to the back on his tricep.

“And that’s Lee Heeseung” Your boss’ tone shifted into a heavy sigh with a hint of restriction in it, “More outspoken but keeps to himself most of the time but his career…” She sucked a breath as she stared at the male

“It’s promising. So damn promising” She muttered in a whisper before clearing her throat and patting your back with a firm manner that woke you up from the cold daydream you were in

“Can’t wait to see what you create with those two” Her voice squeakier than normal as she teared her gaze away from the picture and back to you

Seeing her toothy grin settled an unease feeling into the rest of your stomach but you pushed that aside and gave a quick smile.

She retracted her hand away after giving one last pat on your shoulder, “It’s a good thing what you’re doing. Choosing to step up when you know this is out of your paygrade” She hushed just for you to hear before walking away without another glance

Your jaw clenched uncomfortably moving your mouth side to side as a shiver ran up your spine causing a shudder of disbelief.

Holding back a roll of your eyes, your hands balled into a fist to shake yourself out of it. You looked back to the large picture of Lee Heeseung and Park Sunghoon, your publications soon to be biggest achievement and success story come to life that hung for all the office to see it in all it’s pride and glory.

Two proud aspiring rising stars in the making that you now have the luxury and privilege of getting first hand knowledge on them.

——

[bunni-v1]

relating to your last ask that included arguments between shadow milk and his lover, i cannot get the following picture out of my head:

his doll, while a bit (a bit more) off-put by the whole truthless recluse situation, is very much "whatever, their soul jam, their business" about it

however-

what grinds their gears is the fact that kids (aka the gingerbrave gang) are involved

i can just imagine them going off on shadow milk like "listen, i get it, your plans but they are kids. literal children?? keep them out of this-" "no, doll, listen, they're scheming kids-"

ik this isn't really an ask, but i just wanted to share it :)) love your writing, you're amazing, and your shadow milk headcanons live rent free in my brain (actually i am paying them-)

Lolololol (Feel like a mysmes character typing ts... okay), I guess we can say this is ur rent. I'm happy for your payment though, it's good food for thought my love! Have a little midnight snack as a treat!

Just imagine you're someone who's more compassionate. It's something that Shadow Milk Cookie cherishes about you... when it's directed at him. You're always worrying over him and his little henchmen, Candy Apple especially since she's so young. It's annoying, but it's sweet how much you dote on them, and he can't say he dislikes the idea of you in a more parental role...

It becomes an issue when those little pests come around. You've never nosed your way into his business at all, leaving things between him and Pure Vanilla to be what they are. He prefers it like that, keeping you out of trouble was always a positive on his mind. Oh, but then those cute little annoying snotty nosed brats come along and ruin everything.

It wouldn't have been an issue if you hadn't overheard him threaten to drown them. It not like he was actually going to, he was just poking at Truthless Recluse, that's all. You didn't take it though, you were all kinds of pissed off at him.

He thinks it's a silly thing to be upset about, you know he didn't care enough about those kids to do much of anything to them. Yet, you remain upset, even after things are done and Compassionate Pure Vanilla has TEMPORARILY taken him and his plans down. It stumps him, he can't possibly wrap his mind around what's gotten into you. Such a small insignificant act is nothing compared to half of what you've seen him do.

When you refuse to say more than a few words to him, he starts to worry. What did he do wrong? Well, you told him, but why was it so bad this time? The best answers come from the source, of course, but getting it out of you might be a little harder than he likes.

"Doll? Dolly? Little star? Won't you talk to me?" He pouts, trailing behind you like a lost puppy.

You might've teased him if you weren't so upset now. You keep your nose upturned, doing your best not to crack under his relentless pressure. He could be so persistent about these things, and normally you would give, but he'd crossed a line this time. You didn't mess around with children, and he should've known better.

A drawn-out sigh comes from behind you, "Are you still upset about the drowning thing? It was all in good fun I promise! Nothing to worry your pretty little head over!"

He didn't know better, though. For the former fount of knowledge -- and someone who could literally read minds if he wanted to -- he was terribly unaware sometimes. It made you so angry, and you felt bad for being angry because he really didn't get it.

"They're just insignificant little kids, it's a silly thing to be angry about." He continues, and oh that gets a reaction out of you.

You turn around to face him, the boredom in his expression only making that anger bubble up more and more. You really can't hold it in anymore.

"Exactly, they're kids! Just kids, they don't have any stake in this. Why couldn't you let well enough alone for once!" You shout, and it feels so good to get out. Pettiness aside, you'd wanted to get it through his head since this all started.

You watch his face shift through surprise and annoyance and then flatten into an unreadable expression. It was unsettling to see, especially pointed in your direction. Still, you tried to stand your ground, though you'd never felt so small next to him. He lets the silence linger in a purposeful move, you're not sure why. It keeps you on edge the whole time, unable to tell what his next move might be.

"Dolly, they were in my way, I had no choice-" He starts, but you've had enough of the manipulation and sitting quietly.

"What threat are children to you?" Your voice breaks halfway through the sentence, tears you didn't realize were building pouring over your cheeks, "You are so frustrating sometimes. In what universe would I ever be alright with hurting children? Sometimes it's like you don't even know me!"

You don't realize he's in front of you until he's lifting your face in his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness. His face is still flat, but you see the worry shining behind his eyes.

"Y'know you shouldn't lie to the literal embodiment of deceit," He says quietly as he brushes your tears away.

You know you shouldn't, but you laugh a little at that, "I'm sorry. I'm just upset."

"No, really?"

"You don't get to joke around right now," you scoff with a halfhearted shove at his shoulder.

He hums, leaning into your vision so you have to look at him, "It's making you smile, though."

"Shadow Milk Cookie."

"Okay, okay. I get the message," He backs off, "Just don't cry anymore, please?"

You smile, "Maybe if you promise not to involve those kids more than you have to, please?"

He seems to think it over like it was a hard decision. He doesn't think much longer when you flatten a glare on him, "Alright, it's a promise! You can look at my fingers, they're not crossed either! I'll keep my word!"

You scoff at him, "What do I see in you?"

"My charm and wit, of course!" He puffs up like a proud cat, the usual grin back on his face.

"Just kiss it better you dummy!"

"Whatever you ask for, you shall receive, my little star!"

And kiss it better he does, until you can hardly remember why you were so mad at him to begin with.

[canine-witch]

Who Is Watching You Right Now? ~ PAC Reading

As many of us continue through life, there are different people with different expectations of us who come and go from our realities. There may be people or dieties watching you right now, seeing what you're up to. In this reading, I am going to shed some light on who, or what, that might be.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.

🩵 kofi 🩵

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Pile One: The Waves

There is a Goddess right now watching you. This could be a Goddess you already worship, one you haven't met, or a feminine aspect of a God, depending on your spirituality and belief. This diety wants you to reconnect with your creative side, and to hand over any burdens to her that you need to.

She understands that things are difficult right now, and you are feeling weighed down by the world. She sees your potential, and wants to help you reach it. Doing this may be difficult. She seems to be focused on the hearth or the home, and very wise. At this point, you may be having trouble with matters of the home and material/financial security. You are not alone in this, and she wants you to tap into her wisdom and take a chance on her, release your fear and sacrifice some control to the Divine.

1, 4, and 7 are significant numbers. Water or the night sky may carry omens or messages that you need to see. Focus on creative hobbies and make time for yourself to connect with your personal spirituality.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Pile Two: The Mirror

There is a mentor figure watching you right now. This person is much older than you, more daring and more experienced in your feild, or just life in general. This person may be in your life as teacher, a grandparent, a college professor, or an authority figure in your workplace. They see your potential, and want to bring something into the physical with you.

This person sees a lack of balance in your life. You have everything that you need to reach a goal, and the desire to do so, except taking critique well, and having direction. You are a dreamer, who lacks the discipline or knowledge of the world to really make it happen. This isn't a bad thing, to dream, but everything comes in combinations. This mentor figure wants to help you become more steadfast and wise.

2, 4, and 8 are significant numbers. Butterflies are symbolic for you right now. You may be drawn towards nature, especially the darker aspects of it like decay. Learn more discipline and listen better to the elders in your life, they hold wisdom for your success, and a desire to help you reach it.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Pile Three: The Swans

There is a powerful, older woman watching you right now. This person is a spiritual leader. She may be a coven leader, the owner of a spiritually aligned business, or a religious authority in your local congregation. She has been divinely watching you through tarot cards or visions. You may not have met her yet, or if you have the connection has not been finalized into what it will be. This woman is seeking you for a spiritual purpose, almost as an heir to what she has built.

This woman in leadership is highly attuned with religion and spirituality. She has spent many years gaining authority on her respective path. She has been praying, manifesting, and perhaps doing spellwork to bring you into her life. She is seeking a younger person to carry on her wisdom, one that believes the same as her. She may have no children, or her children are following a path different from her's. She wishes to teach you the lighter and darker aspects of your chosen paths, revealing to you occult or hidden secrets of your religion. She has been asking for you for a long time. Seek her out, and be open minded to learning.

0, 3, 6, and 9 are significant numbers. You may be drawn towards the mystery of life or philosophy right now. Pursue those passions, and follow where your intuition guides you.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Pile Four: The Couch

There is a spirit watching you right now. They are very ancient, and have seen many things in their years while working with humans. They are disconnected with the concept of being human, and may reveal themselves to you as animals, insects, or the wind. Things without a recognizeably human form. This spirit sees great potential in you, and wants to help you cast off your chains.

This spirit may have worked in collaboration with many humans over the years. For some of you, it's a unicorn. For some, a dragon or a great serpent. To others, it may be an angel or a creature from their culture's folklore. This entity has helped many world leaders and powerful individuals over centuries. Their power is timeless and encompassing. They value tradition and the old ways, and wish to teach you the wisdom of the ancients. This being is old, so it may be helpful to meditate or stay still and quiet to hear their voice. For those inexperienced, it may be many years before you can properly understand this spirit. Even for experienced spiritualists and spirit workers, this entity will properly approach you when you have overcome your most encompassing shadow. Don't be scared of change, observe and learn all you can, and listen to the natural world around you.

1, 2, 4, and 5 are significant numbers. Clouds, keys, and chariots may be symbols to watch out for. Spend time meditating, doing shadow work, and overcoming fear of the unknown.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Thank you to your energy, your time, and the spirits and entities who have chosen to work with me today to bring you this message. I hope you do well, and I pray for your success!

🩵

[rinokami]

I get what you're saying, and I mostly agree with it, but I don't think "hopeless" is quite the word for it, and is probably at least partially why Tolkien axed the Noldorian titles. As you mentioned, Tolkien had two different concepts of "hope": estel and amdir.

Amdir is practical hope. It's saying, "ok, we do this, that, and the other thing and we'll probably be ok." It's the strategizing, action-oriented, mindset that most modern folk would think of when they hear "hope". Boromir was very much a man of amdir. Amdir is why he was a good general, why he jumped to plow snow with nothing but his arms on Caradhras with Aragorn so they could all make it back down the mountain. Amdir is good, but it is also fallible.

Estel is... not that. Estel is what Tolkien called "high hope", the enduring hope that the world will turn out right in the end, regardless of what that means for you personally. Estel is saying "I will do what should be done, what must be done, even if it kills me." I guess the closest word would be "faith", but I hesitate to call it that, given the extremely religious connotations that word can have, and, as devout as Tolkien was, he didn't really use estel quite like that. Estel was not a thing that required belief in, or even knowledge of, Ilúvatar or anything like that.

Frodo and Sam are running on pure estel by the end of RotK. Well, everyone left of the broken Fellowship is by that point, tbh. So you could say that their hope for their own personal selves was gone out the window by that point but that's not quite the same thing as being hopeless.

Sam even has a moment after ditching his pots of his own estel and fallen amdir arguing with each other:

He could not sleep and he held a debate with himself. ‘Well, come now, we’ve done better than you hoped,’ he said sturdily. ‘Began well anyway. I reckon we crossed half the distance before we stopped. One more day will do it.’ And then he paused.

‘Don’t be a fool, Sam Gamgee,’ came an answer in his own voice. ‘He won’t go another day like that, if he moves at all. And you can’t go on much longer giving him all the water and most of the food.’

‘I can go on a good way though, and I will.’

‘Where to?’

‘To the Mountain, of course.’

‘But what then, Sam Gamgee, what then? When you get there, what are you going to do? He won’t be able to do anything for himself.’

To his dismay Sam realized that he had not got an answer to this. He had no clear idea at all. Frodo had not spoken much to him of his errand, and Sam only knew vaguely that the Ring had somehow to be put into the fire. ‘The Cracks of Doom,’ he muttered, the old name rising to his mind. ‘Well, if Master knows how to find them, I don’t.’

‘There you are!’ came the answer. ‘It’s all quite useless. He said so himself. You are the fool, going on hoping and toiling. You could have lain down and gone to sleep together days ago, if you hadn’t been so dogged. But you’ll die just the same, or worse. You might just as well lie down now and give it up. You’ll never get to the top anyway.’

‘I’ll get there, if I leave everything but my bones behind,’ said Sam. ‘And I’ll carry Mr. Frodo up myself, if it breaks my back and heart. So stop arguing!’

People often say LOTR is a story about hope. (I'm reminded of it because someone said it in the notes of my Faramir post.) And that's true, but it's not the whole picture: LOTR is in large part a story about having to go on in the absence of hope.

Frodo has lost hope, as well as the ability to access any positive emotion, by Return. He is already losing it in Towers: he keeps going through duty and determination and of course Sam's constant help.

For most of the story, Sam is fueled by hope, which is why it's such a huge moment when he finally lets go of the hope of surviving and returning home, and focuses on making it to the Mountain. To speed their way and lighten the load, he throws his beloved pots and pans into a pit, accepting that he will never cook, or eat, again.

When Eowyn kills the Witch King, she's beyond hope and seeking for a glorious death in battle. It's possible that in addition to her love and loyalty for Théoden, she's strengthened by her hopelessness, the fear of the Nazgúl cannot touch someone who's already past despair.

Faramir is his father's son, he doesn't have any more hope of Gondor's victory or survival than Denethor does, he says as much to Frodo. What hope have we? It is long since we had any hope. ... We are a failing people, a springless autumn. He knows he's fighting a losing war and it's killing him. When he rejects the ring, he doesn't do it in the hope that his people can survive without it, he has good reason to believe they cannot. He acts correctly in the absence of hope.

Of course LOTR has a (mostly) happy ending, all the unlikely hopes come true, the characters who have lost hope gain what they didn't even hope for, and everyone is rewarded for their bravery and goodness, so on some level the message is that hope was justified. But the book never chastises characters who lost hope, it was completely reasonable of them to do so. Despair pushed Théoden and Denethor into inaction, pushed Saruman into collaboration, but the characters who despaired and held up under the weight of despair are Tolkien's real heroes.

(In an early draft of Return, Frodo and Sam receive honorary titles in Noldorin: Endurance beyond Hope and Hope Unquenchable, respectively. Then he cut it, probably because it was stating the themes of the entire book way too obviously, because this is what Tolkien cared about, really: enduring beyond hope. Without hope.)

Also, people who know more than me about the concept of estel, feel free to @ me.

[cloudyynebulas]

Hi there!

May I request a part 2 for "We'll meet again, Y/N Cookie!"?

Your writing style is so lovely and I'm very excited to see how this story could play out!!

…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

❝ DON'T KNOW WHERE, DON'T KNOW WHEN - BUT I KNOW WE'LL MEET AGAIN SOME SUNNY DAY ! ❞

shadow milk cookie x reader.

reader is gender neutral.

cw: slight yandere themes (?) , implied mind control, manipulation, obsession, possessive behavior, generally unhealthy relationships

this is a part two! if you'd like to read the first part, you can find that here.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

"C'mon, there's no way you've read this book!" You laugh, holding up yet another one of the library's books. A soft gold color decorated with elegant drawings of blooming flowers decorating the book's cover, with the title script titled, 'Earthbread Gardens'.

Shadow Milk Cookie chuckles, a hand covering his mouth at your antics. "I've.. also read that book, Y/N Cookie."

"This is the tenth book I've shown you! You can't possibly have read alllll these books in this library!" You huffed, placing the book onto the table in front of you, next to your half-empty cup of tea, its comforting aroma of blueberries wisping out from the top.

Shadow Milk Cookie shrugs, hands moving towards his own teacup, softly grabbing at it's glass handle with delicate movements. "I'm only being completely honest with you - I've read practically every book in this library."

He took a small sip of his tea, raising the cup to his lips with satisfaction.

"I've been around on Earthbread for quite some time," he added on further, lowering the cup away from his lips. "Truthfully, I've read so many scripts and texts ... I fear there may not be many things left I've yet to actually put my eyes on."

You take note on how his voice seems to falter near the end - as if, hinted with a slight undertone of disappointment. Your once playful expression morphed into one of concern for your friend, as he placed his cup back on the table, looking .. almost forlorn.

Shadow Milk Cookie's eyes trailed towards the book on the table.

"I was baked to be a herald of Knowledge," he spoke, and you stayed quiet, allowing him to speak his conflicting thoughts that begged to be heard. For someone to listen. "I was never given the chance to .. be like other Cookies."

His hands, resting on his lap, began to clench tightly on his robes. Even with his head tilted downwards, eyes glued to anything but you, you could feel his expression shifting into one of almost.. frustration and shame.

He was too ashamed to look you in the eyes as he admitted his own inner turmoil.

"It's not something I should be complaining about though, right?" he chuckled. "Being gifted this power.. to carry such responsibility .. I should be thankful. Thankful to even be considered with such power for the good of all Cookies."

You frown.

"Everyone relies on me - and my friends." he sighs, hands beginning to release from his robes, letting the soft cloth relax. "Yet .. is it too much to ask that sometimes.. I wish I was just like everyone else?"

Nothing but silence filled the Library for a moment.

Shadow Milk Cookie's head quickly moved back up to face you - his expression full of shame as he so easily allowed himself to express such selfish desires -

"Shadow Milk Cookie," you speak, before he can even mutter out a word.

Slowly, you scoot yourself forward, carefully reaching your hands out. His eyes follow your movements as your hands gently reach over to his - and, with only a brief moment of hesitation, do your hands interlock with each other.

"I cannot possibly begin to understand the burden you carry, the responsibilities and challenges you face every single day." you speak softly, your hands gently rubbing against his as a way of silently comforting him. "Like you said - I am not like you."

You hum.

"Just imagining what you have to do for thousands of Cookies each and every day just makes me stress. How you've been able to manage that for years makes me look at you in awe."

Shadow Milk Cookie's gaze widens.

"You are strong - beyond any strength I've ever seen." you smile, your hands raising - the two of you holding your hands up together, your forms much closer than before. "You have no reason to be ashamed for wanting to imagine a life where you're like everyone else."

You pause for a moment.

"..but.. you don't have to flawless. You don't have to be perfect."

"Everything you've done for Earthbread, for Cookies, for me, has always been enough."

"You don't have to meet these high expectations you've set for yourself. What you do now is already enough."

You smile.

"You may not believe it yourself - but I believe it."

Slowly, your hands and his begin to separate, gently and carefully.

Your hands move towards the book you'd left on the table, a soft chuckle emitting from you.

"You mean everything to me, Shadow Milk Cookie. Virtue of Knowledge or not - you're just.. Shadow Milk Cookie to me."

"You're my friend. Nothing has ever made me think otherwise."

Shadow Milk Cookie stares at you; his expression soft - gaze speechless as he finds himself struggling on what to say.

In all of his time on Earthbread - he's continuously faced a constant battle of Cookies unable to truly see him for what he actually was - the Cookie he was underneath all his glorious titles and fame.

It created a wall that prevented anyone from truly understanding him. Leaving a gaping hole in his heart that could never be filled; and that's what he thought for countless years.

And then you showed up, breaking that endless cycle of inner torment. You saw him for who he was - outside of the Virtue of Knowledge.

You saw Shadow Milk Cookie, and Shadow Milk Cookie saw you.

"Y/N Cookie.."

You hum.

He chuckles, reaching back down for his tea once more.

"Thank you."

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

You felt yourself choking back on a sob as you listened to the guttural screams of Cookies below, begging for mercy as they'd be slaughtered and crumbled to bits through twisted games of cards and chess.

They'd look up at you - pleading for help, yet all you could do was watch idly by as their jam stained the floor.

You wanted to do something. The guilt filled your dough like the plague - kicking and screaming to help the countless Cookies that suffered through the fiery chaos that filled all of Earthbread.

But you could not. You were forced to play your part - to be a spectator, witnessing thousands crumble and wither away. That was your role in his twisted play.

You felt a tug on the near-transparent puppet strings that pulled you aside, and you were quickly wrapped in a warm embrace of poisonous venom.

Shadow Milk Cookie ran a hand through your hair - his other hand moving back behind your head, pushing it into the crook of his neck.

"Just let it alllll out, love." you hear him speak, softly and soothingly, comforting you from the horrors as if it was not him who had caused it all.

Just like the typical routine.

The waterworks spilled and tears flew down, your cries muffled as Shadow Milk Cookie rubbed his hand through your hair, the other wrapped around your waist holding you closer.

"..why .. why.." you mumbled out between sobs, pathetically trying to push yourself away from his tight grip - your feeble attempts at escape not budging his embrace in the slightest.

"It's all just a game, dollface." you can't see his face - but you know he's smiling. "I thought you loved games!"

You only cried more. Shadow Milk Cookie whispers sweet nothings of blissful comfort. The hand on the back of your head seems to pulse for a moment, a brush of his magic sweeping into your mind - pushing your worries down and clouding your head.

"There, there.." he chuckles, moving himself backward - his embrace still tight, but now the two of you were able to properly look at one another. Shadow Milk Cookie brushes a strand of your hair out of your face, softly caressing your cheek, brushing away globs of tears.

"You're as beautiful as ever." he hums, analyzing every part of your face like a delicate painting, making sure not even a single scratch or microscopic bit of dust stained your perfect form. "I'm so, so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting for so long!"

A small glimmer of light in the farthest corners of your mind begged for you to run, to scream, to resist - but such attempts were beyond useless. Maybe it was the spell that clouded your thoughts, but even without the influence of magic - was there truly any point to escaping?

You'd tried countless times before. Back when the terror upon Earthbread had only just begun in it's infancy, you recall many days of running and hiding, thinking you were finally safe, only to instantly be dragged right back into his clutches.

You wanted to hate him. To tear apart his dough and scatter his remains across the desolate ruins of the old Academy, and yet - you couldn't. You could never dare test such dangerous waters, and even then, his face- dark and twisted with lies and deceit, still resembled the same face of the Cookie you once knew and cherished with every fiber of your dough.

You tried to speak - but your words came out as incoherent mumbles, muddled by the pressure weighing down on your mind.

Shadow Milk Cookie lets out a playful hum, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly. "What was that, Y/N? I couldn't quite catch thaaaaaaaat!"

His voice was playful, almost like it was mocking you. He knew damn well his own spell and his magic muddled your mind into exhaustion and compliance, and that small light within you that wanted to fight back so desperately pulled and fought against the bars of its enclosure, but its fight was snuffed out like a candlelight on its last breath.

You felt your eyelids droop - and Shadow Milk Cookie allowed your form to fall limp, his embrace supporting you and keeping you close.

With your consciousness fading as exhaustion had begun to finally take over - you could feel yourself being lifted into the air as the world around you grew dark - nothing but Shadow Milk Cookie's chuckles filling your mind as everything disappeared.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

You find yourself standing in front of that same Silver Tree.

How long had it been? You'd lost track of the years that had gone by since you saw the Witches themselves, looking down upon the ruins of Earthbread with nothing but disappointment.

The holy forks of punishment that rained down from the skies, imprisoning each Beast within mere moments - their reign of terror coming to a halt. Your eyes watched as each Beast Cookie tried to flee - to escape divine punishment that was long overdue, but the powers of the Witches themselves were not ones to be meddled with.

The Silver Tree was born - and Elder Faerie Cookie soon came along with it as the Guardian, swearing a sacred oath to protect the tree with his life, to keep the Beast Cookies imprisoned till the end of time, and with time, Earthbread began to recover.

You recall seeing Shadow Milk Cookie's last look toward you before he was imprisoned.

He was gone - but his clutches on you were still there. You could feel his presence still holding onto your soul, refusing to let go.

No punishment would ever free him from you.

Your mind was always filled with whispers - promises of his return. How one day, he'd return, embracing you with open arms, never to let go of you again.

You feel a soft tap on your shoulder. Your train of thought is shattered, and you turn your head to face the Cookie who was trying to get your attention.

"Doughbrain!" Apple Faerie Cookie huffs, playfully, hands on her hips. "I've been trying to get your attention for a while now!"

You hum. "Sorry, I was.. thinking."

"Thinking about him?" she smiles. You know exactly who she's talking about.

There's a mischievous glint in her eye. You stare back.

"..yeah."

"Don't worry so much!" Candy Apple Cookie reassures, hands moving behind her back. "He'll be free soon. I just know it!"

The light that once shined within you - your spark of fight, your resistance - it had long since been snuffed out. Contorted and twisted into Shadow Milk Cookie's desire, what he wanted you to become.

You were supposed to fear him. You should've been afraid. But that Cookie was long gone - and the Cookie you were now was the Cookie that Shadow Milk Cookie had so delicately crafted.

Whispers of deceit fill your mind again. His voice.

Candy Apple Cookie .. or, Apple Faerie Cookie, giggles. "C'mon, Y/N Cookie! We've got a job to do, remember?"

She's already begun leading the way, her energetic footsteps skipping along the path.

You nod, following after, toward the direction of the Faerie Kingdom's Library.

Behind you - the Silver Tree shakes - and deep inside it's pale bark, a jester laughs as his shackles begin to shake and tremble.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

[healedlover]

7 MINUTES IN PARADISE

summary: the business trip that changed everything. pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader cw: fluff, p in v, make out sesh, virgin nanami, masturbation, fingering, creampie a/n: neednanamisofuckingbadly no one understands. sorry if this is sloppy help I dont mean to write this much,,, ngl I have mixed feels ab this helplppl ++ not proof read

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ —

working for money was something nanami strived for, he needed the money no matter what–no distractions on achieving his goal whatsoever.

that was until you came along.

-

as a new worker in the company, all you ever cared about was having fun. you were the one who would talk to everybody.

except nanami.

he was difficult to talk to, it wasn't just because of his looks or anything, but also the fact that, literally nobody–besides the boss, talks to him.

you thought he was intimidating at first, which is why you never intentionally tried to talk to him. but after observing how he reacts with the environment around him, you thought he wasn't that bad.

so you tried to speak to him for the first time.

and failed, miserably.

the conversation went off exactly how you expected:

"hey kento, how're you doing?"

"good."

"that's nice, want to go out sometime?"

"I'll think about it."

he never thought about it.

as expected, you befriended everyone except him. but you were going to try everything in your power to win him over.

after work you would notice he stays for a bit longer, so you decided to stay for a bit longer too, trying to build up the courage to speak to him when granted, but yet again, failed.

he would always stay hours after work and it was getting tiring so you gave up trying to talk during work hours, and instead on break.

during break, nanami would go to a bakery near by the company, and it was always the same one. he would even walk out with the exact same thing, bread.

with that little knowledge of knowing he likes bread from that specific bakery, you decided to buy him a piece of bread before he got the chance to.

with the bag of bread in your hand, you rushed back to the building and made your way to the elevator. you stood in front of it waiting for it to open and with a bing the elevator opened up.

you sigh and walk inside the crowded secluded space, your body meshing in with everyone else's as the bag in your hands crinkled between everyone. you patiently wait for the seconds to go by and finally...

bing

the elevator stops to a halt and you rush out, walking back to your office room. when you stepped inside you urgently looked for nanami and once you found him you made your way towards him.

"hey kento."

nanami looked up from his computer and mumbled a little hello. with an awkward giggle you fidget the bag in your hands and quickly give it to him.

nanami glanced at the bag of the now squished up bread and chuckled softly,

“thank you.”

you notice a glimpse of a smile appear on his face and you thought this was progress already, you nod and walk back to your seat, waiting for the little break time to end.

when your break ended, your boss interrupted everyone, he told everyone that there will be a business trip and you had to go with whoever he chose.

you opened the email and was met with a huge list of names, as you were scrolling a small part of you hoped you were with nanami and your gut instincts were right, or was it fate?

grinning at your screen you didn’t notice a presence behind you, until someone cleared their throat, you turn around to see nanami glaring down at you with no expression.

“I’d like your number if that’s okay, for the trip of course.”

“sure.”

you give nanami your number and he nods, heading back to his seat. you decide to research more about the place you two were going to, which was Malaysia.

-

once work was over, nanami started packing his things, he noticed the bread still on his table but also felt his heart skip a beat, that was odd? he never felt like this for anyone before.

he hesitantly picked up the bread and left the building.

on his way home he couldn't help but feel a burning sensation in his heart and all over his body. he tried to ignore the feelings but for some reason his mind was only thinking about you, at that moment.

after a long walk he finally made it to the front door of his place, he fumbled the keys out of his pocket and finally, unlocked the door. nanami walked inside his place and shut the door behind him.

he had barely made it to the kitchen and already felt like he was going to explode, he gripped onto the wall and fumbled the belt of his pants.

"damn it!"

nanami finally got the belt unbuckled and dropped his pants immediately. he brought his hands under his boxers and pulled out his soaking length and grazed his thumb over the tip.

"fuck...mgh..yo-you.." nanami whimpered as his movements grew quicker, and more intense, he let go of the wall and grabbed onto the bread, a little bit of your fragrance lingering on it, he clutched onto the wrapper and held it against his nose.

he felt like a horny teenage boy all over again.

his vision started to go blurry as he was reaching near release, he knew this was wrong, the fact he had only been avoiding you to strive for what he's doing work for, completely took a 180.

"fucking hell, what am I gonna do on the trip."

nanami sighed and rested against the kitchen counter before getting up and cleaning himself. when he got cleaned and ready, he brought out his laptop and started working on his remaining work.

he got seated on his bed and rested his laptop in front of him, and before he could start anything his phone started ringing.

a tried groan slipped out of his lips and he walked over to his phone, a number he didnt recognize was on the line and he hesitantly picked up the call.

"hell-"

"hi kento!" your loud voice blared through the phone, nanami held back a chuckle and greeted you back, he made his way back to the bed as your questions started to pile up more and more.

why was he already comfortable with you?

it had barely been a whole 24 hours and he already felt better when you started talking to him.

he should've talked to you from the start.

"–so...do you know?"

"ah, know what? sorry."

"when the trip is? I cant find it anywhere."

"it should be in two days, we don't have work tomorrow, so the day after that should be when the trip is. I'll start packing soon."

"I'll start packing now, see you later!"

"wait–never mind, have a goodnight."

"goodnight, kento."

nanami's room, which was once echoed with the sound of your voice, was now filled with complete silence, he was so close, so close, to asking to talk longer but his stupid voice decided to just say goodnight.

he rested his head against the headboard of his bed and stared at the empty contact on his phone, should he make you a contact? or is that too early for that? many thoughts started to fill his mind and he didnt know what was going on, what is this feeling?

he decided to ignore these thoughts and put his phone aside, finishing up his work for the night.

the next morning nanami woke up earlier than usual, he didnt have work today and the first thing he thought about was texting you a little good morning message, or is too early in the morning for that? all he was wondering was what you were doing right now.

nanami sat up on the bed and quickly stretched for a minute before finding his suitcase to start packing, since they were going to malaysia he wanted to grab something nice.

he opened his closet and was met with a bunch of suits and bland clothes. sighing, he dug deeper and eventually found a few reasonable outfits and started to pack his things.

minutes passed and he was almost finished packing, he just needed to pack a few more things, which he was planning to do later, and decided to sit back and wait for the time to pass.

a few hours passed and nanami did nothing but sit on the couch and daydreamed all day, he got no texts from you and it was way past the morning to send a good morning text. nanami kept glancing at his phone praying any seco–

brrrring

nanami sat up immediately and accepted the call, he breathed in silence as he waited for you to speak first.

"hey kento, I was wondering whos going to drop us off at the airport?"

"I'll check, send me your address though, we could meet there."

"okay!" you exclaimed, nanami smiled at your excitement and prayed the time would go by any quicker, he heard shuffling on the other side of the phone and assumed you were getting ready, and waited.

when the shuffling and loud noises calmed down nanami took a deep breath.

"so, what are we going to do there?"

"anything you want." you reply, a hint of teasing lingered in your voice and nanami swore he heard it like that. as nanami tried to hold himself back from getting off at you just replying to his question, he decided to keep the conversation going by asking a bunch of random questions he did not care about the answer for.

-

it had been almsot 3 hours since you and nanami have been talking on the phone, and your plan of befriending him worked out, somehow, it was weird how he was very distant and less responsive at the start but now, he was the one taking initiative on talking to you first.

you and nanami were wrapping up the final conversation before going to bed, you wanted to wake up early for this trip and be ready for when nanami comes over to go to the airport together.

with a final goodbye you ended the call and your house filled with dead silence, once again. you sigh, getting ready in bed and drift off to a slumber.

the next morning you were awoken by your blaring alarm, you sigh and start to get ready until you hear the doorbell ring. awaken now, you stumble towards the door and fling it open, just to be met with a gorgeous sight of nanami.

"oh, I just woke up, come in." you mumble, opening the door wider for nanami to enter in, nanami chuckled at your tired state and placed his bags near the entrance.

"sorry, I woke up early and couldn't wait."

"its okay, ill go get ready then we will get goi–"

"I'll wait." nanami interrupted.

"sure. I need to get changed though."

nanami nodded and you went back to your room and brought out a random outfit. you quickly get changed and head to the bathroom to do your daily things. when you finished getting ready you walked out of your room and nanami looked at you, a glint of light shining in his eyes as he stared down at your outfit.

"lets go?"

"mhm, c'mon." Nanami said, picking up his suitcase and walked out of the house and noticed the taxi was waiting at the driveway.

you dragged your suitcase against the floor and followed him out of the house, making your way to the back of the taxi to put your things in the trunk.

an hour and a half passed and in that hour and half, you and nanami got through security, bag checks and everything that was needed to be checked before waiting at the gate.

currently, you both were sitting at the gate, waiting for your plane to be called and all you were doing was just asking him a bunch of questions, and of course, he answered all of them.

one answer stuck out to you and its how he always wanted to go to Malaysia, so it must be a coincidence then?

your gate got called soon and you both boarded the plane.

hours passed and after a long dreadful plane ride you both finally made it to Malaysia. you both step out of the plane and head over to baggage pickup.

you both got to the hotel and nanami plopped on the bed, absolutely tired from the flight the two of you just had. you watched as nanami's breathing was steady and he seemed more, happy?

you sat on the bed next to him, and nanami's fingers rested on your thighs, he stroked small patterns and you winced as his fingers start going lower.

nanami sat up from the bed and stared at you, a hint of something different–an emotion you couldn't decipher–filled in his eyes, nanami leaned in closer, his lips inches away from yours.

"may I?" he whispered.

you give him a quick nod and he chuckled before capturing your lips into a passionate kiss, his fingers grabbed onto your face as he pulled you closer than before. he pushed his tongue inside your mouth and made contact with yours, intertwining them together.

he pulled away moments later, breathing heavily as he stared into your eyes with the emotion you didn't recognize at first;

desire.

nanami's tongue darted to your neck as he planted small kisses along it going lower, and lower, he nipped at your collarbone before he swiftly removed your top with his large fingers.

with your shirt falling to your sides, you watch nanami as you wait for his next moves, he stares down at your figure and continues to play and tease the rest of your clothes on your body, before finally removing them.

he scoffed, scoffed at how good you looked and why he hadn't talk to you earlier, it was dumb. but he needed you, at that moment, immediately.

nanami's cold fingers glided across your body, he slipped his fingers between your hard, perked nipple and lightly pinched at it, a whimper escaping your lips before he continued touching lower.

"this is...my first time." nanami mumbled.

"is it? you act like you've done this before?"

"If I mess up, just tell me, okay?"

you nod and his finger rubbed against your clit, he continued that motion for a few seconds before he slid a finger inside you. the feeling of his finger fitting perfectly in your already soaking cunt.

his fingers danced in the same movement before slipped another finger inside you.

"does it feel good? hm?"

"yes..ngh..good-sooo good..." the last words trembling out of your lips, this felt way too good for his first time, you wondered how it would feel if it was his cock next.

"mor–m' gonna cum" your back arched as he continued his movements, going quicker than before, he was watched your every move and never took his eyes off of you, nanami nodded and slipped his fingers out of you.

"don't cum yet, can you do that?"

"yes." you responded, already needing more. nanami stood up from the bed and placed himself between your legs, he grabbed onto his belt and unbuckled it in a quick movement.

his pants dropped to his feet and you could see his hard cock, seeping through his tight boxers. when he slid off his boxers you were met with an even more gorgeous sight.

your eyes widened at his size and nanami leaned in closer.

"wrap your legs around me."

you do.

"tell me if it hurts, its my first time too."

"oka–mmph"

nanami barely had his tip in and it already felt like too much, you close your eyes shut as the sensations start to rise. he pushed himself deeper into you, a moan escaping his lips inch after inch.

"it feels...sooo...need more." Nanami groaned and grabbed onto your hips and continued thrusting himself into you like there was no tomorrow.

"slo–d-down."

but he wasn't slowing down at all.

"kento-"

"m' so close, m' so close...please, please let me cum inside you."

you moan in response, too dazed by the best sex you probably ever had, you didnt care what nanami did. he continued to hold onto you as his thrusts quickened and his moans grew louder.

"I need more, please.." he begged in a low whisper, you grab onto his arm and he wrapped his other arm around your neck, holding you close before white beads spurted inside you. the feeling sending shivers down your spine.

nanami gasped in shock and he carefully pulled away, his face flushed by probably the best first-time sex he's ever had. his eyes averted from your face to your leaking hole, spilling with all of his cum.

nanami glided his finger across the mess and slid a finger inside you, taking out all of his cum, you whimper as he digs deeper, slipping out every last drop.

"come on, lets get cleaned up."

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ —

sorry

[sirbonesly]

LowStandards!Reader/Simon Riley pt.1

You've had plenty of relationships that you'd classify as 'shitty', but none of them lasted longer than your last ex, Jason. When your friends called him manipulative, you always brushed them off, said he was better than the other guys, that he actually showed some care. He helped out around the house when you asked (begged him to with promise of a blowjob) and he always listened when you said you didn't feel like sex (it always took a few tries, and sometimes you'd just let him keep going because he got in that 'state'). But things came to a head a few months after the new neighbour, Simon, moved in.

Simon is nice, polite. He helps you with groceries when the lift is broken (more often than not, it's out of order) and he never asks for anything in return. You've never seen much of his face, always wearing a medical face mask, or a balaclava during the colder winter months. It had been good, though Jason was completely unaware of your kindness towards the stranger. You had tried to convince yourself that the guilt about talking and smiling with your neighbour was because you needed to stay loyal to Jason, and not because you knew, deep down, that Jason was not a good man.

A few months after Simon moved in is when everything happened. Jason had gotten mad because once again, you didn't want to have sex tonight, had wanted a quiet date night at home. Things escalated, he started shouting, and then a vase is shattering against the wall you share with the new neighbour. When the lamp follows nearly a minute later, you lock yourself in the washroom, frozen with a fear you hadn't felt since that time someone tried mugging you and your father years ago.

But then the shouting stops, Jason isn't banging on the door anymore, and there's an eerie silence. You don't dare open the door, having been dragged to one too many seminars by your friends (all attempting to convince you that Jason is a piece of garbage.) So you listen, hear muffled voices getting louder, and louder, until they suddenly stop and someone hits the floor.

Worry for your boyfriend has you opening the door, and a horrible part of your mind wonders what will happen if Jason is alright. It wouldn't be the first time he's gotten rough, has pushed you around or gripped too tightly. But he's angrier than you've ever seen him, and that fear is gripping tight.

The sight that greets you as you slowly peak around the corner is one that makes your stomach sink and a desperate part of your mind want to smile. Simon is on the ground, one hand holding Jason's arm behind his back, and the other around Jason's throat in a choke hold. You're frozen, split between wanting to stop Simon, and wanting to see what he'll do to Jason.

"Don't just stand there! Get your guard dog off of me, you psycho whore!"

Jason's cry for help, though the words confuse you a bit, has you moving. Small steps, socked feet padding along the floor as Simon finally looks up at you, coming to a stop next to him. You look at the broken shards of glass on the floor, the lamp and vase that you had picked out all on your own because Jason couldn't be bothered to help furnish your new flat. The flat you bought because you wanted to be closer to him.

"You alright, luvie?"

Your eyes are burning, tears wanting to fall but you stubbornly wipe them away. Not answering Simon's question, not actually sure how you're doing, you grab Jason's phone and his wallet. Simon hauls Jason to his feet, being extra rough about it as Jason grunts and curses at the massive man.

There's a numbness growing in your chest, blocking out Jason's curses and crude words, the ways he's struggling against Simon's iron grip. Your neighbour shows no sign of struggling to hold your boyfriend, and honestly, it's a little pathetic to watch Jason.

How many times did he tell you that struggling only made things hurt more? How much of his knowledge of bondage was real when the knots he tied hurt and would dig into your skin? Jason would boast that you were lucky he was around to help fix things, always a few days too late after Simon already fixed it. It always gave him ammunition to call you crazy, say you're wasting his time. This was just the last straw.

It doesn't take long, a single word while shoving Jason's phone and wallet at him, any protests shut down quick by Simon practically throwing him into the hall, and suddenly Jason is now your ex-boyfriend. When the door finally slams shut, with a few choice words thrown at you, a homophobic slur added to it, Simon is already pulling you into his arms.

"It's alright, luvie. I'm here, not going anywhere, come sit on the couch, come on."

[silvaurum]

this is a tangent at this point but. ok to break the metaphor for a second. i'm questioning that conversation. cake can be dinner. maybe cake "shouldn't" be the only thing you eat for dinner every day, but. lets be real even kids will get sick of eating cake eventually.

theres no nutritional difference between eating chicken nuggets then cake and eating cake then chicken nuggets. moralizing about food isn't the answer. but cake can be dinner. it's carbs. and protein, and fats. it's the same nutrient profile as bread-and-butter with scrambled eggs and a glass of juice. sugar, flour, egg, butter.

this is what i'm saying, though. more generally, again. moralizing about sex and food that tastes good and whatever harmless thing is not the same as giving factual information and support and working in a framework of autonomy and respect. is not the same thing as "yeah adults can forcefeed kids cake or arsenic or whatever"

what i'm advocating for (and possibly OP is too) is a framework where kids... actually know what 'cake' is and do not fear it or have to work out what it is through playground whispers, and don't see it as this special treat that makes them mature and powerful or dirty and sinful. that doesn't actually help protect them from exploitation. "should" is not helpful here.

like, if a kid wants cake for dinner you can explain to them why they need to eat a variety of foods, get them a cupcake to snack on, teach them how to bake safely...

but if you just shame/beat/deny them and refuse to tell them what cake is or how to make it, theres a chance they do something like... try to use the oven without knowing how, get food poisoning, learn really unhealthy dieting tips about food, get swindled by dieting tips or nutrition scams, feel bad about themselves for wanting to eat any cake, try to find a way less scrupulous adult to feed them cake...

like yeah there would be harms if you had that rare kid who really did just want to eat nothing but cake and ice cream all day every day even when they were throwing up. and yeah you would want to like, make sure your kids were aware that one cake can't provide all their vitamins or macro-nutrients, and they'd miss out on other foods that they like, and so on.

but. it's less that children 'need to be told what to do' and more... children are brand new people who don't know stuff and whose brains literally can't process some stuff yet. they have zero experience. they don't know why they get hungry unless you tell them. they don't know what a nutrient is. you have to explain to them if you want them to know about it a little bit. and it works much better to explain to them by giving them knowledge and the power to use it. if we taught kids to say NO! to adults it would be a lot easier to help them when they're targeted for abuse.

sorry if this seems semi- off topic i care a LOT about food autonomy for kids and about nutrition misconceptions in general. it's like, actually totally fine if you eat cake for dinner. you should try it sometime. like, it's pretty good. if you crave protein afterwards you can have a protein for dessert. cheese is pretty good. and fruit for the fiber. that's actually totally fine and healthy for you.

if sex is no big deal and just a normal thing like having dinner with someone, how do you square that with the belief that children can't consent to sex? Like idk this whole thing of "sex is a normal act like any other and we shouldn't treat it differently" makes me soo uncomfortable because i feel like it's really obviously not in a lot of situations? Otherwise what's the difference between being told by my boss to have lunch with one of our prospective clients being told by my boss to blow one of our prospective clients? :/

let's take your dinner example to its logical conclusion, because you are on to something here, but I don't think quite in the way that you think.

children are forced to eat food that they this really dislike (due to sensory issues, allergies, or just run of the mill unfamiliarity) quite regularly by their caregivers. they are also sometimes denied the right to eat because they didn't behave the way their caretakers liked, and sent to bed hungry, or barred from eating food that they can handle, and instead left to go hungry because they won't eat food they can't handle.

treatment like this causes a lot of food issues and trauma to children. It exacerbates eating disorders and erodes a child's sense of their own body autonomy. It can also cause children to have nutritional issues and a scarcity mentality around food that can be really damaging to them.

similarly, people are forced to share meals with people who they are viscerally uncomfortable around all the time too, often to extreme negative effects. employees are forced to sit down with clients who debase them or harass them. Young people in particular are forced into sharing tables with relatives who have crossed their boundaries, insulted them, abused them, bullied them, and whom they want nothing to do with. people in recovery from eating disorders are surrounded by co-workers, family members, or friends at meal times who speak about calories and weight loss and comment on their own bodies and other people's bodies in incredibly invasive and triggering ways that often make them feel way worse, and make taking care of their own bodies far more difficult.

when a powerful institution wants to exert control over other people, they also often do so using food. prisoners are given almost no control over the kind of food they eat, and are often given very low quality food that is in a disgusting condition, or that violates their own nutritional requirements or religious beliefs. patients in hospitals and in mental institutions are also subjected to such treatment, and people in poverty are expected to eat anything that they are given without complaint. It is an extension of their dehumanization to control and limit the kinds of food they're allowed to access, and how and when they are permitted to eat.

each of these experiences surrounding food can be incredibly violating and harmful. food is quite frequently a tool of control and abuse. yet it is not because there is some magical quality to food or to dinners that make them uniquely fraught with the potential for trauma. these experiences are traumatic because they involve a violation of a person's body autonomy, and a lack of social power.

sex isn't any different from dinner. we just have a series of cultural beliefs surrounding it that make the pressure involving sex something that's both a lot more acknowledged, and mostly encountered in the private realm.

Sex is treated as an almost magical thing, at once both sinister and sacrosanct, and so people are primed to see the potential for harm in it, and it is frequently used as a tool for harming people because it is so loaded, but that doesn't mean there aren't abuses involving every other mundane human activity that we simply are conditioned to ignore because doing so is so normal.

People's body autonomy surrounding food is violated traumatically all the fucking time. unfortunately because we consider dinner to be a neutral activity and sex to be this incredibly fraught and almost magical one, we ignore the massive amounts of coercion, pressure, and violation surrounding food.

your boss shouldn't be able to force you to get dinner with someone. and people are uncomfortable with discussions about body autonomy that neutralize sex, because it forces them to confront how little freedom we actually have in every facet of our lives.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen.” he mutters, kissing the gun up your neck, leaning an elbow on your thigh. “m’gonna answer this call, you’re gonna’ talk. be honest for daddy. tell em’ you’re tied up.”

so fucking obsessed with the idea of a you x ghost lovers-turned-enemies who just can’t stay the fuck away from eachother. it’s gross and it’s toxic and it’s brutal and it’s probably more insane than it should be but with all the war around you it’s one of the only fucking things left that makes you actually feel alive, so inevitably you end up back under him in new inventive ways each time you cross paths.

maybe you’re working for shadow company during the time graves decides to betray 141 - perhaps you didn’t know it was going to happen because you weren’t directly involved with that mission, after all, but with your rank, ghost has a hard goddamn time believing anything otherwise - no matter how many times he turns it over in his head.

so when he sees you - rather, when you all too conveniently find yourselves in the same map dot city, some shithole for some hellscape intel search while graves and his team are still actively after them - it’s all a little too much for him.

ghost doesn’t know who you’re serving, what your loyalty is, and decides that maybe he’ll just have to get that information out of you himself.

but that’s all little to your knowledge - because you don’t even know the fucker knows you’re here. it’s been a long fucking day. you’re already exhausted, graves has all but sent you to deathrow to chase dead end leads in circles, and everything just keeps getting worse with each passing day. but it’s late, and the motel that you’re staying in has a decent bar that you think you’d like to take advantage of.

you decide one quick drink can’t hurt, can it?

ha.

about as famous last words as any. because, turns out, it can. yes, it can hurt.

it can actually hurt real fucking good when the living embodiment of every mortal man’s nightmares decides (at the most convenient of times, because just so happens you left your gun back in your room) that he’s got questions for you, and isn’t too fucking keen on waiting for answers.

he strikes when the lights have gone out and the bar has closed. when the motel has fallen silent and the only noise is your footsteps as you creep down the hallway that leads to your door. you, however foolishly, drop your guard, thinking you have fuck all to worry about at this point - when suddenly the shadows by your door shift, and the owner of the hand that has the muzzle of a fucking gun pressed to the back of your head tells you that your mistake was waiting until so late, coming here so alone, and not realizing that the shadows in this place are not empty but instead filled with men that can see you just a little bit better than you can see them.

but when the voice sinks in, and you merely smile - dread subsiding as you ask him what took him so damn long to find you - he decides he isn’t too fond of the response. you’re inside your decrepit room only in a few moments after that, tied to a chair, and he’s just looking at you like he can’t quite figure out what’s so damn funny.

you let him have the win, you always do. you know that despite it all, when he’s infront of you like this, it’s never as ghost.

simon riley could never hurt you. not truly.

“who knows you’re here?” he husks, pale eyes surveying the room in a quick sweep. for show, you’re sure. he mapped every inch of this room before he’d even stepped foot inside.

you suck your teeth, fighting to let that shit-eating grin spread. “you mean like, my mom? dad? sister—“

“watch it.” he cuts you off, and the muzzle made of cool steel is pressed at the side of your jaw, shifting your head, turning it away from his. “y’know how i feel about tha’ smart fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“stupid questions get stupid answers.” you reply back sweetly, tilting your head a little so the steel digs in harder, amplifying the ache for the hell of it. “you’ve got a gun at my jaw, LT. talk to me straight.”

there’s silence, until there’s a hum - he shifts then, crouching beside your chair, stalling at eye level with you. “talk t’ya straight, huh.”

“you act like i don’t know why you’re here.” your chest feels tight, with the way he’s looking at you. it’s a battle with an army of its own to push it down. “you’re looking for the big man, aren’t you? graves. heard he—“

the press of his gun softens momentarily as his free hand finds the other side of your jaw, tilting your eyes back to him, forcing you to look him right in that dead fuckin stare of his.

“y’best be real careful about lying t’me, princess.”

“you can kiss my ass.” you smile thinly, and in the darkness you think you see his eyes gleam, but whether it’s out of irritation or out of something else entirely, you can’t be sure. you exhale. “i had nothing to do with graves’ little villain arc. i don’t know fuck all about it, or where he currently is. you’re wasting your breath.”

the muzzle of his gun trails down, down along your jaw and throat, sparking gooseflesh to life.

“liar.” he rasps, and despite all your moral instincts screaming at you that this is all but a shade off insane, when it comes to this behemoth of a man before you your depraved instincts are just a tad stronger. and when your thighs tense, he notices. “what’s it gonna take, mm? t’get ya talkin.”

you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding - and ghost smiles. you see it through the crease in his mask - but just when he goes to speak again, your fucking cellphone, buried in your jacket pocket, starts to ring.

“well if that ain’t just my fucking luck.” you don’t need to see it to know who’s calling. you ignored check in twice already. too busy at the bar, drowning your sorrows. “ghost, listen—“

oh, he’s listening, alright. listening to the sound of that fucking ringtone filling the space between your words. you can’t tell he’s cocking an eyebrow at you, his eyes not leaving yours as he shifts a hand, reaching for your pocket. you open your mouth, but he’s already withdrawing your phone, snorting after a fleeting glance at the name lit up on it.

he turns it to you, and you try to fight it - but you can’t stop the deadpan. no matter how much you’d already known it would be him.

graves.

“here’s what’s gonna’ happen.” he mutters, kissing the gun up your neck, leaning an elbow on your thigh. “m’gonna answer this call, you’re gonna’ talk. be honest for daddy. tell em’ you’re tied up.”

oh, dear go—

“this your fucking idea of a loyalty test?” you hiss, and you can suddenly feel your blood roaring in your ears, your heart hammering. “are you insane?”

that’s a redundant question, you think, and ghost must agree, because his only answer is to shift the gun in a way that allows him to press a fingertip against your pulse.

you swallow - he’s checking for pulse leaps like a fucking lie detector.

“mhm.” he purrs, absolutely loving this - before pressing a button on your phone, and a low rumble of anticipation rocks through you.

he’s put it on speaker - and the second it connects, graves is talking.

“sergeant.” he all but barks, and you tense, closing your eyes at the sound of his voice. he’s pissed. “where the fuck are you? you missed two of—“

“sorry, sir.” you say through your teeth, flicking your eyes to ghost. he just tilts his head, as if he’s saying go on, show me that you’re still mine. christ. “i uh, got a little…tied up.”

there’s a brief silence, presumably as graves just stands there (you can envision it in your head, crease in his eyebrows, hand clutching his phone - trying to determine what the fuck that means) before he eventually clears his throat.

“and what could you possibly have gotten yourself so tied up with that you can’t report in on time?” he asks, and you want to laugh, because if only he knew. your hands tense against the ropes, and he speaks again. “that was a rhetorical question, sergeant. you’d better have a damn good excuse for this.”

oh, you definitely have a good excuse, though you’re pretty sure that if you were to tell graves who it was that had you so very busy right now, he might just turn into fairy dust and transport himself through the phone to try and kill you both. (keyword, try.)

you open your mouth to answer but words disintegrate as ghost shifts, standing to his full height.

you look up at him, and the blood that rushes to your stomach is something catastrophic - so disarming that you almost forget graves is still on the goddamn line. you blink, and you’re about to say something, when ghost does something you don’t expect; he tucks the gun back into his holster, before moving to the buckle of his belt.

oh - oh.

“christ,” you breathe out, before you even realize it. and when ghost shoves the phone closer to your face, you realize you couldn’t give less of a fuck about graves at this moment. “sir—graves, i was fucking busy, okay? i had shit to do. you’re the one who sent me out here, into this goddamn nightmare, to do your grunt work. should i be really sitting around waiting for your call while you’re out sucking off the general?” the silence that answers you is deafening. and so is the rage you can suddenly feel permeating the air. you suck your teeth when he doesn’t answer. “right, well. if you don’t mind, i’d like to go the fuck to bed. i’ll call in first thing tomorrow.”

ghost’s fingers drift, starting to undo the latch and you know, with your heart and bloodied soul - that he’s smiling right now.

you hear a low, rumbling growl coming over the other end of the line - it takes you a moment to realize it’s coming from graves - and the next thing you hear is the dial tone as he hangs up, presumably plotting the ways he’s going to make your life hell for the next unforeseeable future.

but then, the belt buckle of ghost’s belt is undone, your phone is tossed somewhere behind him, and you find yourself smirking up at him with glistening lips.

“now, look what you made me do.” you whisper, a lazy drawl. “always doubting me, huh. insane fuck.”

and ghost just snorts at the insult, before taking off one of his gloves with his teeth and shoving it into your mouth. you groan at the sudden taste of leather and dust that touches your tongue - but when he leans over you, lips at your ear, it’s a little too easily forgotten.

“quiet now.” he murmurs, with an audible smile. your eyes close at the sound, and his breath against your neck makes you want to scream. “no more talkin’ less you’re good n’ beggin’ f’me put that mouth to proper use.”

you want to spit at him, just for the fun of it, but settle for biting down on the glove as you shift, trying to bring your legs together. but then he’s crouching between them again, pushing them back open with his bulk, and you can only groan as he rips the leather from your mouth.

“if he finds out,” the words spill out without much thought - as you stare into his eyes. “he’ll—“

“mmm.” he hums, leaning in to press his teeth against your jaw. “he’ll what.”

oh, the things your mouth should say. but if you’re being honest, the only thing you want your mouth to say right now is please.

“i’ll - i’ll be the next one getting shot at.” you hiss out as his hands find your thighs. “christ. untie me, asshole.”

“y’jus told the boss you’re tied up.” he mutters back, and from the heat of his breath alone, you know he’s smiling again. “wouldn’t’ wanna’ make a liar outta’ y’self now, would ya?”

————————————-

a/n: the way i would let this man ruin me is concerning.

[mamawasatesttube]

pondering an au where the superfam are a lot more close-knit and closed off from the rest of the hero world... where editorial isn't real and can't hurt kon and therefore where clark scoops him up and takes him home right after the events of rots...

the reason i say the superfam are more closed-off here is twofold. one, it makes clark go "that's a kryptonian kid. Mine Now" extra hard, because he feels even more isolated than in canon and having a baby brother/son/cousin/Little Guy around gives him feelings instantly. but also, two: no other heroes actually know about superman having a secret identity. the secret is that much more ironclad this time around. everyone thinks the same thing as the general public: superman, and now superboy, are aliens who live at the fortress of solitude when they're not busy saving metropolis or the rest of the world.

but kon is still kon, made by cadmus, with all sorts of pop culture knowledge embedded into his brain. his reputation now is just much more of "An Alien Child On Earth", and clark advises him to lean into that when he can, because it'll keep conner kent safe. conner kent can nerd out over liz phair and nirvana and star wars trivia all he likes! and kon-el can still be silly; he just should make sure he keeps his two identities at least kind of separate. for himself, and for his family.

so. two things of note here: a) no one, not even batman, knows that superman is just some guy in his down time. everyone thinks he's an alien and he's raising superboy with alien traditions as best as he can. and b) kon still loves star trek tho.

why is this relevant?

because the first time this superboy meets robin, robin, dorklord extraordinaire, is expecting an alien teenager, and does this:

and superboy fucking does it back.

[windvexer]

Hi Chicken!

What's your opinion on someone *asking* a spirit to give them the Sight?

I've seen posts where people say that it has to be a gift, and can't be asked for. (And some saying it's disrespectful to even ask)

I've seen other people say that they asked their deities/spirits to provide them with it and they did.

Obviously everyone's going to have a different opinion, but I'm just curious what yours is!

💚🥰

We're in reference to this post and this post.

I am feral and crying.

It is so weirdly bizarre how difficult it is for witches to ask their helper spirits for help.

We can be talking tutelary spirits, friends, caring gods, literal familiars contracted to help, any of them -

It midkey messes me up how resistant witches are (and myself included sometimes) to just asking for help.

"I really want to learn this but I'm struggling-" "Did you ask your spirits for help?" "No I don't want to bother them." (*I would rather learn generic things online than continue the line of knowledge and lore carried by my spirits; I don't want to be a beacon that shines their light into the world through acting on their teachings, thereby being their conduit into this world, granting them reciprocal power and deep honor.)

'Second Sight' may be a generic term for a skill, but the technique you use to access it is unique to you. The spiritual mythology and lore behind why your spirits teach things this way, and the most important and moral uses for this skill, are unique to your spirit family.

The spirits choosing to help us is a big commitment on their part. When spirits choose to become our guides, protectors, familiars, and initiators, we often think of how this is our responsibility (to talk to them, to give offerings, whatever). But not many people talk about how much of a responsibility it is for them.

Why would spirits undertake this huge responsibility - of being someone's guiding god, of being their helper spirit, of teaching them magical skills? Is it because they all just want offerings? Is it out of a sense of duty?

No.

I hazard a guess, in fact I will offer a belief for the taking, that most spirits who choose to help us do so because they love us and care about us.

They sit down with us, break bread with us at our table, and invite us into their families. They do it because they want to be our family.

And when we join their families,

we honor and respect them by often asking for help.

Why is this?

Because when you ask them for help learning Second Sight, they get to teach you their familial methods and traditions. They get to teach you their lore and stories. They get to celebrate the passing of their clan's knowledge down to the next generation of practitioners.

They are the mythic elders dancing with joy that the practitioner they help, guide, and protect, loves them back enough to learn their ways.

Witchcraft is family!!

"Ohhhh trade skills are dying out in the world, everyone go learn how to fix watches, tradesmen will cry and sob with joy and relief knowing someone wants to learn their lifes work"

"Don't ask your spirits to learn their trade though it's rude and disrespectful, do everything on your own from scratch :)"

Witchcraft is family.

I would teach any of my family how to crochet. I'm quite fancy at it, and I'm a good teacher. Who will I teach: the person who asks to learn, or the person who does not ask to learn?

It is a gift either way.

Asking for it doesn't make it less of a gift.

Witchcraft is family you have to choose to participate in.

"I wish I could make lasagna~" "Grandma Benini is coming for Labor Day, she'd be so happy that someone wanted to learn the family recipe-" "I could never disrespect Grandma Benini by asking to learn her lasagna recipe. I'll just watch a youtube video." "But... it's the family recipe..." "Can you imagine how disrespected she would be. If she knew. I wanted to carry on the family traditions. Instead of just teaching myself generic. From online. ??"

When you participate in your spirit family's teachings and enact their wisdom, morals, skills, and goals in the world, you are a literal conduit of the spirit world - a lamp that shines their light into this world, and providing them with reciprocal influence and power into the world.

It does not honor the spirits to shut them out. It is not respectful to ignore their extended hand of grace. You are not a burden to them.

You are not a burden to them.

They are here because they want you to be a part of the family.

And if you like, if you want to, you can ask them to help you learn the family's ways. You can ask them to help you with Sight to see the family, with knowledge to understand the family, and with skills to help the family.

If you want to, you can live a path filled with the teachings and wisdom of your spirits. You can be a singular point in timespace where their teachings spill over into the world around you.

You can be the body of your spirits in this world. You can be their footprint.

But how can you, unless you ask them to shine through you?

What if the spirits didn't roll their eyes and tap their feet when you came calling? What if they didn't groan and look at their watches and say, 'well at least I'll get an offering...'

What if their eyes filled with love and they breathed a sigh of relief that you now, finally, are ready to ask to receive the gifts that have always been offered?