#they are not great for living in past a year or two

[paxtito]

fire and the thud.

pairings: wednesday x fem!reader

word count: 7683

warnings: smut, 18+. knives, grave digging, swearing, wednesday almost kills someone, fingering, kissing, lesbian sex (all characters are 18+)

summary: your mother, larissa, was good friends with morticia back in their days at nevermore. when you and wednesday were born, you were practically attached to the hip. but, your father wanted you to live with him for a while, leaving you and wednesday without contact until now. you’d come back from visiting your father in england to find that wednesday had been enrolled at nevermore.

a/n: this fanfic has really been through some shit, changed the title and outcome so many times but i’ve finally settled on this. apologies in advance for any errors and also the length

MASTERLIST

The heavy oak doors of Nevermore creak as you push them open, the familiar scent of old wood and faint lavender filling your senses. The school looks almost exactly the same as when you left it—high arches, dark stone corridors, the peculiar, warm-yet-foreboding atmosphere that clings to every corner. You never expected to be back so soon, certainly not so suddenly, but here you are. And it feels strange, like returning to some half-forgotten dream.

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, peering around the entrance hall. Somewhere above, the great clock ticks in its steady, methodical rhythm, echoing faintly down the halls. You’re looking for your mom, the Headmistress herself, but she’s nowhere in sight just yet. You smirk a little, wondering if she’s busy welcoming another batch of outcasts to her beloved school, as she likes to call them.

Then you hear footsteps, a soft, deliberate sound against the stone floor, and look up—freezing for just a second as your gaze lands on her.

Wednesday stands there, her face as pale and expressionless as ever, eyes watching you with an intensity you remember all too well. She hasn’t changed one bit, from the dark braids draped over her shoulders to the sharp, calculating gaze that seems to see right through you. She’s grown older, of course, taller maybe, but she’s exactly as you remember.

And you’d know her anywhere. After all, you practically grew up together—your mother, Larissa, and Morticia Addams were ‘best friends’ back in their Nevermore days. Some might say the two were as different as night and day, yet there was always a bond there, something that brought them back to each other despite the odds. And that bond, somehow, extended to you and Wednesday, two kids who had little choice but to spend time together while their mothers reconnected over tea and half-whispered memories of the past.

You take a hesitant step forward, feeling a strange swirl of nostalgia and nerves rise in your chest. “Wednesday?”

She tilts her head, her dark eyes assessing you coolly. “Back from England already?” Her voice is calm, as if no time has passed at all, like she’s still the same stoic, blunt child you remember.

“Surprise,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heart is pounding.

There’s a moment of silence, charged with the weight of all the years you’ve been apart, and yet, something about it feels natural, like slipping back into an old habit.

“You look… different,” she says finally, her gaze sharp as ever as she sizes you up. “Taller.”

“So do you,” you reply, then add with a faint grin, “Except the taller part.”

She narrows her eyes at you in a way that only Wednesday could, but it’s almost… fond. “If I remember correctly, I was always the smarter one. Height is irrelevant.”

“Glad to see your sense of humor hasn’t improved,” you shoot back, grinning. It’s strange how quickly the old rhythm returns between you both, the teasing, the barbs exchanged without any real bite. It’s as if no time has passed at all.

Wednesday raises an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Your sense of humor has certainly deteriorated during your time abroad."

You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile tugging at your lips. "Maybe I just needed to be back among the living dead to rediscover it."

She snorts softly, the sound oddly endearing coming from her usually stoic demeanor. "I suppose being back at Nevermore will do that to a person."

As you stand there trading barbs, you can't help but let your gaze wander over her. She's still as pale as ever, her dark hair braided tightly against her skull. But there's a new edge to her, a sharpness that wasn't there before. It's in the set of her jaw, the way she holds herself with a quiet confidence that demands attention without saying a word.

"So," you say, breaking the silence that has fallen between you. "What have you been up to since I left? Still perfecting your taxidermy skills?"

A ghost of a smile flits across her lips. "Among other things. But some secrets are best kept buried."

You can't help but laugh at that. "Fair enough. I suppose I've got a few of my own to keep under wraps."

She tilts her head, studying you with those dark, penetrating eyes. "I'm sure you do. Though I must admit, I'm curious to hear about your adventures in the land of the living."

You shrug, trying to play it off as no big deal. "Not much to tell, really. Just your standard boring English school life.”

She arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Somehow, I doubt that."

You sigh dramatically. "Fine, you got me. It wasn't all bad. Made some friends, learned a few things. But nothing compared to the excitement of Nevermore."

A genuine smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad to hear it. It would be a shame if you'd gone soft during your time away."

—

A few days have passed since your sudden return to Nevermore, and you're still adjusting to the odd juxtaposition of the familiar and the foreign. The school itself hasn't changed much, but you're older now, seeing it through different eyes. And then there's Wednesday, who seems to be everywhere you turn, her dark eyes following you like a specter.

It's late afternoon, and you're wandering through the grounds, trying to clear your head after a particularly dull history lecture. The air is crisp, the leaves crunching under your feet as you make your way towards an old oak tree.

As you approach, you see a figure already seated against the trunk, long legs stretched out, head bent over a book. Even from a distance, you recognize the shock of dark hair, the pale skin. Wednesday looks up as you draw near, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your approach.

"I thought I might find you here," you say, settling yourself onto the ground beside her.

She doesn't move, just continues to stare at you, her gaze unreadable. "Did you?"

You shrug, plucking a leaf from the ground and twirling it between your fingers. "Call it intuition."

She watches the leaf spin for a moment before speaking. "I've been thinking about that day. The day you left."

You freeze, the leaf falling forgotten to the ground. You've tried not to think about that day too much, the way it felt to leave Wednesday behind, to step into a world that didn't understand you the way she did.

"Yeah?" you say, keeping your voice carefully neutral.

She nods, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "I remember standing at the window of my room, watching your car disappear into the distance. I remember thinking that I wouldn't see you again."

A lump forms in your throat, but you swallow it down. "And now here I am."

She turns to look at you then, her gaze intense. "Yes, here you are. But you're different. Older. Changed."

She falls silent then, her eyes drifting back to the distant horizon. You can see the tension in her jaw, the way her hands clench around the book in her lap. It's clear that whatever she's thinking, it's weighing on her.

Finally, she speaks, her voice low and steady. "I know we haven't spoken much since you returned. But I want you to know that... I'm glad you're back, Y/N."

The words catch you off guard, and you blink, trying to process them. Wednesday isn't exactly known for her emotional outpourings, and hearing her say those words feels... significant. Important.

Wednesday's words hang in the air between you, weighty and profound. You can feel the sincerity behind them, the depth of emotion that she usually keeps tightly locked away. It's a side of her that few people get to see, and you feel a rush of warmth in your chest at the thought that she trusts you enough to share it with you.

"I'm glad too," you say softly, meeting her gaze. "Gladder than I ever thought I'd be."

She looks away then, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. It's a rare sight, and you can't help but smile at the sight of it.

“Cute.”

Wednesday's blush deepens at your comment, and she shoots you a sharp glare. "I am not cute," she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't ever call me that again."

You hold up your hands in mock surrender, trying to keep the grin off your face. "Sorry, sorry. I meant 'formidable' or 'intimidating'. Those are much better descriptions of you, I'm sure."

She narrows her eyes at you, but there's a hint of something else in her gaze - a glimmer of amusement, perhaps, or maybe just a touch of affection. "You'd better believe it," she mutters, but there's no real bite to her words.

You settle back against the trunk of the tree, stretching your legs out in front of you. "So, what's new with you? Any exciting murder mysteries or occult rituals I should know about?"

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but there's a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know? I'm afraid my secrets are safe with me."

"Damn," you sigh, feigning disappointment. "And here I thought we were friends."

She snorts softly, nudging you with her elbow. "We are friends, Y/N. But even friends have limits."

You grin at her, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest at the casual familiarity of the gesture. "Fair enough. I suppose I can respect that."

For a while, you sit in comfortable silence, watching the play of light through the leaves overhead. It's peaceful, in a way - just the two of you, lost in your own thoughts, content in each other's presence.

Wednesday's eyes drift shut for a moment, her face tilted towards the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above. There's a softness to her features that you rarely see, a vulnerability that she only shows when she thinks no one is looking.

She's always been like that - guarded, cautious, quick to put up walls to keep people out. But with you, she lets her guard down just a little. It's a privilege, really, to be trusted with this side of her.

You watch her, committing every detail to memory. The way her dark lashes cast shadows on her pale cheeks, the slight parting of her lips as she breathes in the crisp autumn air.

A breeze rustles the leaves above, and Wednesday's eyes flutter open, fixing you with a questioning gaze. "What are you looking at?" she asks, her voice low and suspicious.

You shake your head, grinning. "Nothing. Just enjoying the scenery."

She narrows her eyes, but there's no real anger behind it. "You're strange, Y/N. You always have been."

"And you love it," you tease, nudging her back with your shoulder.

She doesn't deny it, just shrugs and turns her attention back to the book in her lap. But you can see the hint of a smile on her lips, the way her shoulders relax just a fraction.

It's in moments like these that you realize just how much you've missed her, how much a part of your life she's always been. And as you sit there, side by side beneath the old oak tree, you can't help but feel a sense of rightness, of belonging.

Whatever the future holds, whatever challenges lie ahead, you know that you'll face them together. You and Wednesday, the odd couple, the misfits, the outcasts. Together, you can weather any storm.

“Remember our little grave digging rendezvous? There’s an abandoned graveyard in the woods… Could pay it a visit tonight.”

Wednesday's head snaps up at your suggestion, her dark eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she just stares at you, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"I thought you'd never ask," she purrs, her voice low and conspiratorial.

You can't help but grin at her enthusiastic response. "Thought you might be too busy with your taxidermy collection to spare a night for some good old-fashioned grave robbing."

She rolls her eyes, but there's a glint of amusement in her gaze. "Please. Taxidermy is a hobby, grave robbing is a lifestyle."

You laugh, shaking your head in mock disbelief. "Of course it is. I don't know why I even asked."

Wednesday leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Meet me at midnight by the old stone wall. Don't be late."

—

The sun has long since set by the time you make your way to the rendezvous point, the old stone wall looming ominously in the darkness. You can feel the chill in the air, the way it seeps into your bones and makes your breath mist in the night. It's the perfect weather for a little grave robbing, you muse to yourself, a wicked grin tugging at your lips.

As you approach the wall, you see a familiar figure waiting for you in the shadows. Wednesday is leaning against the stone, her dark hair a stark contrast against the gray of the wall. She's wearing all black, as usual, her pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight.

"Right on time," she says as you draw near, her voice low and teasing. "I was beginning to think you'd chickened out."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Please. Like that would ever happen."

She pushes off the wall, falling into step beside you as you make your way towards the woods.

The forest looms ahead, an impenetrable wall of darkness that seems to swallow the moonlight whole. Wednesday leads the way, her steps sure and confident even in the pitch black. You follow close behind, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

As you venture deeper into the woods, the air grows colder, damper. The trees seem to press in around you, their branches reaching out like grasping fingers. You can feel the weight of the forest, the way it seems to pulse with a life of its own.

After what feels like an eternity, you break through the treeline and into a small clearing. Before you lies the graveyard, a jumble of crumbling headstones and weathered crypts. The place has an eerie stillness to it, as if the very air is holding its breath.

Wednesday grins at you, her eyes glinting with a manic light. "Welcome to our little slice of paradise," she says, gesturing grandly at the graveyard.

You stare at the graveyard, your heart racing. The crumbling headstones and weathered crypts seem to loom menacingly in the darkness, casting eerie shadows across the overgrown grass. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched.

Wednesday seems oblivious to your unease, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she surveys the graveyard. "Isn't it beautiful?" she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "All this history, all these stories, just waiting to be uncovered."

You swallow hard, trying to muster up some of her enthusiasm. "Sure," you manage, your voice coming out a little higher pitched than you intended. "Beautiful."

Wednesday turns to you, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Come on, Y/N. Where's your sense of adventure? This is what we've always dreamed of, isn't it? A chance to get our hands dirty, to delve into the unknown?"

You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as her. "You speak like a poet."

Wednesday grins at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Poetry is for the weak. I prefer the prose of the macabre."

She strides forward, her boots crunching on the dead leaves littering the ground. You hurry to keep up, your heart pounding in your chest as you weave between the headstones. Some are little more than crumbled ruins, the names and dates long since eroded away. Others stand tall and proud, their epitaphs still legible in the moonlight.

As you make your way deeper into the graveyard, you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and you whirl around, half expecting to see some ghostly figure lurking in the shadows. But there's nothing there, just the endless rows of graves stretching out before you.

Wednesday, meanwhile, seems completely at ease. She moves through the graveyard like a cat, her steps silent and sure. Every so often, she pauses to examine a particularly interesting headstone, running her fingers over the engraved letters as if trying to read the secrets of the dead.

"Look at this one," she says, gesturing to a large, ornate tomb. "Elias Crane, died 1847. Apparently, he was a wealthy businessman. But rumor has it, he made his fortune through less than savory means."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Such as?"

Wednesday leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Grave robbing. Body snatching. All the things respectable society frowns upon."

You can't help but grin at that. "Sounds like our kind of guy."

Wednesday nods, a wicked glint in her eye. "Exactly. I bet he's got some fascinating stories buried with him."

You put your backpack down, pulling out a plastic spade, one that is obviously meant for kids at the beach.

Wednesday's eyes widen as you pull out the child's spade, a mix of amusement and disappointment crossing her face. "Really, Y/N? A plastic shovel? I was expecting something a bit more... professional."

She reaches into her own bag, pulling out a sleek, black shovel that looks like it could double as a weapon. "This is how you do grave robbing.”

She strides over to the nearest grave, kneeling down beside the headstone. You hurry to follow, your plastic spade feeling woefully inadequate in comparison.

"Alright, let's see what secrets Mr. Crane is hiding," Wednesday murmurs, plunging her shovel into the soft earth.

You do the same, your spade making a hollow 'thunk' as it hits the ground. Wednesday shoots you a look, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

“My shovel is cuter.”

Wednesday snorts, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Cuter? Really? We're going for aesthetics over functionality here?"

She shakes her head, but there's no real annoyance in her voice. If anything, she seems even more excited by the challenge.

"Alright then, Y/N. Let's see what you can do with that adorable little spade of yours."

With that, she plunges her own shovel into the ground, the blade slicing through the earth with a satisfying thud. You follow suit, your plastic spade making a far less impressive noise as it scrapes against the dirt.

For a while, the only sound is the steady rhythm of shoveling, punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort. Wednesday moves with a practiced ease, her movements efficient and precise. You, on the other hand, quickly find yourself winded, your arms burning with the unfamiliar exertion.

"Come on, Y/N," Wednesday calls over her shoulder, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Put some muscle into it. We're not here to dig a hole for a potted plant."

You grit your teeth, redoubling your efforts. Slowly, painfully, the hole begins to take shape, the walls of the grave yawning open like a hungry mouth.

As you work, you can't help but steal glances at Wednesday, marveling at the way she seems so completely in her element. Her pale skin glows in the moonlight, and there's a fierce determination in her eyes that takes your breath away.

"Watch it!" Wednesday yells suddenly, and you jerk back just in time to avoid smacking your shovel against hers. You stare down into the hole, which is now deep enough for you to stand in. The wooden coffin lies below, its surface covered in a layer of dirt and debris.

Wednesday tosses her shovel aside, dropping to her knees beside the grave. She runs her hands over the coffin, tracing the intricate carvings that adorn its surface.

Wednesday's eyes shine with excitement as she runs her hands over the ancient wood, tracing the intricate carvings etched into its surface. The coffin is clearly old, the once-polished finish now dulled by centuries of exposure to the elements.

"Look at this craftsmanship," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "They just don't make them like this anymore."

You peer into the grave, your heart hammering in your chest. The idea of what lies inside the coffin is both thrilling and terrifying, a reminder of the fragility of life and the inevitability of death.

Wednesday seems oblivious to your apprehension, her attention focused solely on the task at hand. She pulls a small crowbar from her bag, wedging it between the lid of the coffin and its frame. With a grunt of effort, she pries the lid open, the ancient wood groaning in protest.

The smell that wafts up from the coffin is overwhelming - the cloying scent of decay, of earth and rot. You gag, stepping back from the edge of the grave. But Wednesday seems unaffected, leaning forward to peer inside.

"Well, well," she breathes, a note of excitement in her voice. "Looks like our friend Elias is still with us."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look into the coffin. The body inside is little more than a skeleton, clad in the tattered remains of a funeral suit. The flesh has long since rotted away, leaving only bones and a few scraps of leathery skin.

Wednesday reaches into the coffin, her slender fingers brushing against the yellowed bones. She lifts out a human femur, examining it with a critical eye.

"Fascinating," she murmurs, turning the bone over in her hands. "Look at the way the marrow cavity has collapsed. That suggests a prolonged period of exposure to the elements."

She carefully places the bone back inside the coffin, her expression thoughtful.

You just blink, unsure of what to do now. “Well, that was exhilarating.” You mutter, sarcasm etched in your tone.

The moonlight filters through the trees, casting an eerie glow over the graveyard. Wednesday turns to you, a mischievous glint in her dark eyes. "What's the matter, Y/N? Not quite the thrill you were hoping for?"

You can't help but smirk back at her, despite the unsettling nature of your surroundings. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'm just not cut out for the macabre after all."

Wednesday scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Don't be ridiculous. You're the one who suggested this little adventure in the first place."

You shrug, trying to project a nonchalance you don't quite feel. "I may have gotten carried away. But hey, at least we found something interesting, right?"

Wednesday's gaze lingers on you, her expression softening slightly. "Yeah, I guess so. Though I'm not sure what we're going to do with Elias now."

You glance back at the open coffin, a shiver running down your spine. "Maybe we should put him back? Seems only right, considering we disturbed his rest."

Wednesday nods, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Probably for the best. Wouldn't want to deal with the wrath of a vengeful spirit."

Together, you carefully lower the coffin lid, sealing Elias back in his eternal slumber. As you brush the dirt back over the grave, you can't help but feel a sense of relief, a sudden desire to leave this place behind.

But as you turn to go, you find yourself face to face with Wednesday, her eyes wide and searching in the moonlight. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the air between you crackling with tension.

"Y/N," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I've been wanting to say..."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You know what's coming, have known for a long time, but hearing her say it out loud is still a shock.

Before you can utter a response, Wednesday closes the distance between you, her cool fingers curling around the back of your neck. She pulls you closer, her eyes locked on yours, a swirling vortex of emotions - longing, desire, and a hint of vulnerability.

Her lips brush against yours, soft and tentative at first, then with growing confidence and passion. You melt into the kiss, your arms encircling her waist, pulling her flush against you. The world falls away, the graveyard and the dead forgotten as you lose yourself in the taste and feel of her.

Wednesday's lips are cool and sweet against yours, her tongue darting out to trace the seam of your mouth. You part your lips, granting her access, and she takes full advantage, deepening the kiss with a low moan. Your tongues dance and twine, a sensual battle for dominance that leaves you both breathless.

When she finally pulls back, you're both panting, your hearts racing in sync. Wednesday's eyes are dark with desire, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She rests her forehead against yours, her voice husky and low.

"I've wanted to do that for so long, Y/N. I hope I didn't misread the signs."

You chuckle softly, your fingers tangling in her silky hair. "Not at all. I've been waiting for this too."

You and Wednesday are still caught up in the afterglow of your first kiss, your bodies pressed close, when a sudden noise shatters the silence of the graveyard. It's a rustling sound, the crunch of dead leaves underfoot, and it's coming from the direction of the woods.

Wednesday's head snaps up, her eyes narrowing as she scans the treeline. "Did you hear that?" she whispers, her voice tense with suspicion.

You nod, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. "It sounded like it came from over there."

Wednesday reaches into her bag, pulling out a small, wicked-looking knife. She hands it to you, her grip tight and urgent. "Just in case."

You take the knife, your fingers closing around the smooth handle. The blade gleams in the moonlight, its edge honed to a razor's sharpness.

Together, you creep towards the source of the noise, your footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of dead leaves. As you draw closer to the woods, you can hear the sound more clearly now - a low, guttural moan, followed by the unmistakable sound of retching.

Wednesday holds up a hand, signaling for you to stop. She points to a shadowy figure, hunched over just beyond the edge of the trees. The figure is swaying slightly, as if drunk or disoriented, and you can see the glint of a bottle in its hand.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a drunk," Wednesday murmurs, a hint of disgust in her voice. "Probably some vagrant who thought he'd find shelter in the woods."

You're about to suggest leaving the man be when he suddenly staggers forward, his eyes wide and wild as they lock onto yours. He lets out a low, animalistic growl, raising the bottle like a weapon.

"Hey, man, some of us are trying to sleep here!" he slurs, taking a stumbling step towards you. "Why don't you and your little girlfriend fuck off?"

Before you can react, Wednesday lurches forward, her hand outstretched. She aims the knife at the man's throat, her eyes narrowed.

The drunk man's eyes widen in fear as he sees the knife, his bravado evaporating like mist in the moonlight. He stumbles backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

You move forward, your hand gripping over Wednesday’s, stopping her from going too far. “No.”

Wednesday hesitates, her grip on the knife faltering. She looks at you, confusion and frustration warring in her eyes. "What are you doing?" she hisses, her voice low and urgent. "We can't just let him get away. Who knows what he might do?"

The drunk man stumbles further back, his eyes darting between you and Wednesday. "Hey, look, I don't want any trouble, alright?" he says, his voice shaking. "I'm just trying to find a place to sleep, that's all. I didn't mean no harm."

Wednesday scoffs, her grip tightening on the knife once more. "Oh, and I suppose disturbing our private moment is no harm done? I don't think so."

The man's eyes widen in panic as he realizes the precariousness of his situation. He raises his hands in a placating gesture, the bottle still clutched in one trembling fist.

"Please, I'm sorry, I'll go, I won't bother you again, just please don't hurt me," he babbles, his words slurring together in his haste.

Wednesday's jaw clenches, her eyes narrowing to slits. She takes a step forward, the knife glinting in the moonlight.

"You should have thought of that before you interrupted us," she snarls, her voice dripping with venom.

The man's eyes dart to you, pleading for help, for mercy. You can see the terror in his gaze, the knowledge that he is completely at the mercy of these two strange girls.

“Goddamn it, Wednesday. Stop it.”

Wednesday's grip on the knife loosens slightly at your command, but she doesn't lower it. Her eyes are still fixed on the drunk man, her expression a mix of anger and contempt.

"Why should we stop?" she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "He's just some pathetic vagrant. No one will miss him."

The man's eyes widen in fear, his body trembling as he backs away from you both. "Please," he whimpers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want any trouble. I'll leave, I swear."

You step forward, gently placing a hand on Wednesday's arm. The touch is light, but the gesture is clear - a plea for her to stand down, to show mercy.

Wednesday's eyes flick to you, surprise and confusion written across her face. She's so focused on the drunk man that she hadn't expected your intervention.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" she asks, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "This man needs to be taught a lesson."

The drunk man takes another stumbling step backwards, his eyes darting between you and Wednesday in terror. He's clearly aware of the precariousness of his situation, the thin line between life and death that he's currently balancing on.

For a moment, Wednesday seems torn, her gaze flickering between you and the drunk man. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the war between her darker impulses and the bond she shares with you.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Wednesday lowers the knife. She lets out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Fine," she says, her voice tight. "But if he steps out of line again, he's fair game."

The drunk man lets out a shaky sigh of relief, his body sagging with the realization that he's been spared. "Thank you," he mumbles, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'll go, I promise. Just please, no more trouble."

He turns and staggers off into the woods, his footsteps crunching on the dead leaves. You watch him go, a sense of unease settling in your stomach.

You can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, a nervous energy buzzing through your veins. "Where did you even get that knife, Wednesday? I didn't realize you were packing heat on our little graveyard rendezvous."

Wednesday's lips quirk into a wry smile, her eyes glinting with mischief in the moonlight. "Always be prepared, Y/N. You never know when you might need a little... protection." She tucks the knife back into her bag with practiced ease, her movements fluid and graceful.

You shake your head, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring your voice. "I swear, sometimes I think you're just looking for an excuse to use that thing. What would your parents say if they knew?"

Wednesday scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Please. They'd probably be proud. 'Our little girl, all grown up and ready to defend herself.' Besides, it's not like we actually used it."

You can't argue with that logic, even as a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of what might have happened if you hadn't intervened. "True enough. But maybe next time, let's stick to less... lethal forms of self-defense, hmm?"

Wednesday shrugs, her expression unrepentant. "Can't make any promises. But I'll try to keep my bloodlust in check, for your sake."

Despite the morbid humor of the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of affection for Wednesday. Her dark sense of humor, her fierce protectiveness, her willingness to embrace the macabre - it's all part of what draws you to her.

You step closer to her, your hand finding hers in the darkness. "Come on," you murmur, tugging her gently towards the edge of the graveyard. "Let's get out of here before anyone else decides to crash our party."

—

The heavy door of the dorm room creaks open, revealing the dimly lit space within. Wednesday stumbles inside, pulling you along with her. Her lips never leave yours as she kicks the door shut behind you, her hands roaming eagerly over your body.

You're lost in the moment, your senses overwhelmed by the feeling of her mouth on yours, the press of her body against yours. It's only when you feel the edge of the bed hit the back of your knees that you break the kiss, gasping for air.

Wednesday's eyes are dark with desire, her hair mussed and her lips swollen from your passionate embrace. She tugs at your shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons in her haste to get it off.

"Wednesday, wait," you breathe, your voice husky with need. "Are you sure about this?"

She pauses, her eyes meeting yours in the dim light. There's a flicker of uncertainty in their depths, a moment of hesitation. But then she's pressing against you again, her mouth finding yours once more.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she murmurs against your lips. "I want you, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long."

You surrender to the moment, your hands tangling in her hair as you deepen the kiss. Clothes are shed in a flurry of fabric, landing haphazardly on the floor as you tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and heated skin.

A soft groan, followed by the rustle of sheets, startles you both out of your passionate haze.

"W-Wednesday?" a sleepy voice mumbles. "Is that you?"

Wednesday's eyes widen in horror, her face flushing crimson as she realizes the mistake she's made, scrambling to cover herself with the nearest piece of clothing.

“Oh, hey, Enid.” You smile, trying to appear nonchalant.

Enid sits up in her bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She blinks a few times, her gaze adjusting to the dim light. When she focuses on you and Wednesday, her eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh, um, hi," she stammers, her cheeks flushing pink. "I didn't realize you two were... I mean, I thought..."

There's an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of Wednesday's heavy breathing and the distant chirping of crickets outside.

Enid clears her throat, pulling the blanket up higher around her shoulders. "So, uh, are you two going to...?" She trails off, her eyes widening as she realizes the implications of her question.

Wednesday's face is beet red, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "No!" she blurts out, her voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. "We weren't going to... I mean, we weren't..."

Enid's eyes widen, her mouth falling open in shock. "Wednesday, are you... are you blushing?"

Wednesday scowls, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "I am not blushing," she snaps, her voice tight with embarrassment. "I just... I didn't expect you to be awake at this hour."

Enid blinks, her expression softening. "It's okay, Wednesday. I'm not judging. I'm happy for you, really." She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I always knew you had a thing for Y/N."

—

Since that night in the dorm room, things had been undeniably awkward between you and Wednesday. The air was thick with unresolved tension, the memory of passionate kisses and wandering hands lingering like a ghost in the room. You couldn't look at her without feeling a flush creep up your neck, your heart racing at the slightest brush of her fingers against yours.

Even Enid seemed to notice the change in your dynamic, her knowing smiles and raised eyebrows a constant reminder of the unspoken desire simmering beneath the surface. You tried to focus on your classes, to push aside the distracting thoughts of Wednesday's lips on yours, but it was a losing battle.

As you walked down the hallway towards your next class, your mind was miles away, replaying the events of that fateful night. Wednesday's touch, her breathless moans, the way her body had felt pressed against yours...

Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your wrist, yanking you roughly into a nearby janitor's closet. The door slammed shut behind you, plunging you into darkness. You stumbled, your heart leaping into your throat as you struggled to make out the silhouette of your attacker.

"Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me to focus on anything since that night?" a familiar voice growled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing Wednesday's face, etched with a mixture of frustration and desire. She stepped closer, her body mere inches from yours, her breath hot against your cheek.

"I can't stop thinking about you, Y/N," she whispered, her voice low and urgent. "Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is your face, feel your touch..."

Her hands slid up your arms, her fingers digging into your skin as she pulled you closer. "Tell me you feel it too," she breathed, her lips brushing against your ear. "Tell me you want me as much as I want you."

You feel Wednesday's breath on your ear, her words sending a jolt of electricity through your body. The suddenness of her actions catches you off guard, but the desire in her voice is undeniable.

"I... I do," you manage to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've been thinking about you too, Wednesday. Nonstop."

Wednesday's hands slide down your sides, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She presses you back against the wall, her body molding to yours in a way that makes your head spin.

"Then why haven't you done anything about it?" she demands, her voice a low growl. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I wasn't... I mean, I didn't think..."

Wednesday cuts you off with a searing kiss, her lips claiming yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. You melt into her, your hands tangling in her hair as you lose yourself in the sensation of her mouth on yours.

When she finally pulls away, you're both breathing hard, your chests heaving against each other. "I can't wait anymore," Wednesday pants, her eyes wild with need. "I need you, Y/N. Right here, right now."

Your mind races, the implications of her words sinking in. You're not in your dorm room, where you can take your time, explore each other at a leisurely pace. You're in a janitor's closet, surrounded by cleaning supplies and the faint scent of bleach.

But the desire in Wednesday's eyes, the way her body is pressed against yours, makes it hard to think straight. Your hands slide down to her waist, your fingers digging into her hips as you pull her closer.

"We shouldn't..." you start, even as your body betrays you, arching into her touch.

Wednesday silences you with another kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth as her hands roam over your body with a desperate urgency. "Don't think," she breathes against your lips. "Just feel."

Wednesday's hands slide under your shirt, her fingers skimming over the smooth skin of your stomach. You gasp, your back arching off the wall as she trails her touch higher, brushing against the soft swell of your breasts.

"Wednesday," you moan, your voice breathy with need. "We can't... not here..."

But even as the words leave your lips, you're arching into her touch, your body betraying your true desires. Wednesday's mouth finds your neck, her teeth grazing against your pulse point as she sucks and nips at the sensitive skin.

Your head falls back, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the sensation. Wednesday's hands are everywhere, sliding under your clothes, mapping the curves of your body with a desperate hunger.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you're about to do. With a sudden burst of strength, you reverse your positions, pinning Wednesday against the wall with your body. She lets out a surprised gasp, her eyes widening as she looks up at you with a mix of shock and desire.

"My turn," you murmur, your voice low and commanding. Your hands slide under her shirt, your fingers skimming over the smooth expanse of her stomach. Wednesday shivers, her skin breaking out in goosebumps under your touch.

You lean in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Wednesday moans into your mouth, her hands fisting in your hair as she pulls you closer. Your tongues tangle together, the kiss growing more heated with each passing second.

Your hands continue their exploration, sliding up to cup Wednesday's breasts through her bra. She arches into your touch, her nipples hardening under your palms. You break the kiss, trailing your lips down her neck, your teeth grazing against her pulse point.

Wednesday's breath comes in short, sharp gasps, her body trembling with need. "Please," she whimpers, her voice barely above a whisper. "Touch me, Y/N. I need you."

Your fingers find the clasp of her bra, undoing it with a deft flick. The garment falls away, exposing her breasts to your hungry gaze. You lower your head, your tongue swirling around one hardened peak.

Wednesday cries out, her back arching off the wall as you lavish attention on her breasts. Your hands slide down her body, tugging at the waistband of her skirt.

With a swift movement, you yank the garment down, leaving Wednesday in nothing but her panties. She steps out of the pool of fabric, her legs trembling with anticipation.

Your hands slide up her thighs, your fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear. With a slow, deliberate movement, you tug them down, revealing her most intimate parts to your eager gaze.

Wednesday is bare before you, her body laid out like a feast for the taking. You take a moment to admire her, your eyes drinking in every feature.

Wednesday's breath hitches as you drink in the sight of her, her body quivering under your appraising gaze. The air between you is electric, charged with a heady mix of desire and anticipation.

You step closer, your body pressing against hers in a delicious friction that sends sparks racing through your veins. Wednesday's hands come up to rest on your shoulders, her fingers digging into your skin as she anchors herself to you.

"Please," she breathes, her voice a desperate whimper. "I need you, Y/N. I've been dreaming of this moment for so long."

Your hand slides between her legs, your fingers brushing against the slick heat of her core. Wednesday gasps, her hips bucking forward, seeking more of your touch. You tease her, your fingers dipping just barely inside before retreating, driving her wild with need.

Wednesday's breath comes in short, sharp gasps as your fingers tease her most sensitive spots. Her hips grind against your hand, seeking more of your touch, more of the delicious friction that's building inside her.

You can feel the heat of her, the slickness coating your fingers as you work her higher and higher. Wednesday's head thrashes from side to side, her eyes squeezed shut as she loses herself in the pleasure.

"Don't stop," she whimpers, her voice a desperate plea. "Please, Y/N, don't stop."

Your fingers plunge deeper, curling inside her in a way that makes her see stars. Wednesday's back arches off the wall, her nails digging into your shoulders as she rides the wave of sensation.

You can feel her tightening around your fingers, her body tensing as she nears the edge. You double your efforts, your thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Wednesday's cry echoes off the walls of the small closet, her body shaking as the orgasm crashes over her. She clings to you, her nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin as she rides out the waves of pleasure.

You hold her through it, your hand gentle as you help her down from the high. When she finally stills, you pull your hand away, bringing your fingers to your lips. You lick them clean, savoring the taste of her on your tongue.

The taste of Wednesday on your fingers is exquisite, a heady mix of sweet and salty that makes your head spin. You savor it for a long moment, your eyes locked with hers as you lick them clean.

Wednesday's body is still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm when you pull your fingers from her slick heat. The taste of her essence lingers on your tongue, a tantalizing reminder of what you've just shared.

You meet her gaze, your eyes dark with desire and satisfaction. "I should get going," you murmur, regret tinging your voice. "I don't want to be late for class."

Wednesday nods, her breath still coming in short, sharp gasps. She reaches out, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you in for one last, searing kiss.

"Until next time," she whispers against your lips, her voice a promise of things to come.

—

[demonic0angel]

dpxdc: Lois Lane and Maddie and/or Jack had a bad break up years ago, and now they're being catty bitches to each other about it.

Lois and Maddie looked at each other with glares on their faces.

"So... has your husband been treating you well?" Lois asked coldly.

Maddie scowled. "Very."

Lois looked Jack up and down with a sneer. Jack was oblivious and was dipping his homemade brownie into his coffee cup.

"I bet his isn't as big as my strap," Lois muttered angrily and Maddie gasped in affront, standing up and slapping her hands on the table.

"Don't you dare say that about my husband! I bet your husband isn't that great either!"

Lois sniffed disdainfully. "He's a wonderful husband!"

"I bet he can't go down on you like I did!"

Lois bristled and stood up as well. "Why you—!!"

Clark nervously drank his coffee, hiding his red face behind the mug while Maddie and Lois started arguing about their past and present sex lives.

Jon, sitting next to Danny and Jazz in the living room, looked innocently at the two.

"What's a strap?"

Danny choked on his laughter as he picked up Jon to bring him to his bedroom and away from the squabbling adults, while Jazz reached out to cover his ears with a flustered expression, quickly following behind in order to avoid the screaming match.

"Don't worry about it, they're crazy."

"Well, Jon, a strap is—"

"Danny! Do not!!"

[inkonparchment]

Class of '95

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

The tie rests in his pocket, feeling his throat constrict enough by the memories from a lifetime ago as Leon stands in his old high-school gymnasium. His breathing exercises carry him through the evening until his breath knocks out of him when he sees you again.

warnings/tags: older Leon. allusions to alcoholism. fluff. high school sweethearts.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i dont know if anyone has seen '10 Years' but this heavily inspired from that especially the song 'Never Had'. that and 'From Eden by Hozier'. also i know thats infinite darkness Leon in the banner but i had more death island Leon in mind. anyways, happy reading! this may be lame but its all i have to offer

Leon is glad he decided to forgo the tie, a last-minute decision he made sitting in the shadows of his car, staring blankly at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. The silence had been too loud without the car in ignition, occupied by a sudden itch to grip the steering wheel and drive off, daunted too much by the expanse of his old high-school. He feels like a fraud returning, no longer finding any specks of the person who used to wander down the halls, sit in the classes and occupy the benches in the cafeteria, his carefree demeanour carrying him through the days. 

He could hear the muted drawl of music bleeding from the doors, the balloons and décor scattered across the entrance with a banner reading ‘Welcome Back Class of ‘95’ in greeting. God, that made him feel old, the constant ache in his back a constant reminder of the toll the years had taken on him. 

The walk in isn’t so terrible, wiping the sweat from his hand as he comes across the registration desk, a kindly looking face asking for his name. He nearly laughs at the ‘hello my name is’ sticker, the marker squeaking as he scribbles on his name and pastes it on his jacket right above his heart. 

Leon feels his fingers twitch when someone shouts his name in disbelief, turning around to blink in the face of two men who were previously occupied with their own conversation. He recognizes them in an instant, his teammates from the football team. Youthful faces drowned by wrinkles, grey sprinklings in their hair and torsos full of muscle now replaced with a softening belly; but their smiles are still the same. He walks over to them, gripping their hands firmly in handshakes, disbelief on their faces when they register that it is Leon. 

Where have you been, man? We thought you were dead! Wow, it’s been so long. 

It’s all the same set of questions and remarks he gets when he tours the gymnasium floor. Yes, he can’t believe it’s been so long. No, he’s just been busy with work so no time for a missus or kids. Ah, what about work? He doesn’t want to bore anyone with the boring mumbo jumbo. Yeah, he’s disappointed the police thing didn’t work out but what can you do? 

His words soon start to feel rehearsed, like an actor on scene waiting for his cue, a smile plastered on his face to dazzle the audience. Leon does a fine job of it, relaxing when he realizes that it’s easy with these people who are more eager to talk about their wives, husbands and kids. He feels envy grow within him as his eyes get stuck on their greying features, the softness of their added age and the glittering bands of their rings. 

It feels disorienting almost seeing his classmates living the life he had pictured for himself long ago, a life he didn’t realize he wanted so much now. Maybe there was something about coming stunningly close to death as of late, not that it wasn’t usual for him. Perhaps the one too many knocks against his head had finally straightened out his disarrayed thoughts into linearity.  

The praises that are aimed his way are quickly dismissed by Leon, shrugging all the ‘you look really fit’s and ‘your hair is in great condition, between the kids and job I don’t have the time to dye it’ like bullets clattering to the ground, puncturing him in the aftermath. He has nothing to show for his life save for the scar marks and the unhealed bullet wounds littering his body. Their voices would not carry a tone of wistfulness if they truly knew his reality. 

Leon needs a breather. And like a dog to a bone, he retreats to the bar in the corner. 

It’s mostly empty, smiling politely at the couple that walks away with their beverages. He leans against the bar, grateful for the coolness underneath his palm as he orders his drink. Whiskey on the rocks with a twist. 

Leon struggled with the concept of autonomy for the majority of his 20s and 30s, anger rippling through his system with his teeth grit whenever he would be dispatched at a moment's notice. Every reverberation of his trusty Matilda was doused in casual rage of the irony of his helplessness in deciding his fate as he ensured the normalcy of those back home. Mission success after success that Leon paid for with his freedom, his aching body and greying years, mourning the naive version of himself that saw the world with a gleaming lense. 

He accepted his fate soon enough, made peace with the life he knew he was too much of a coward to leave, courtesy of his survivor's guilt or hero complex, he doesn't know. He really doesn't want to find out. Perhaps it’s the shift in his reality, a peek into a life outside where he isn’t vital to the national or global security. It tugs at the strings of his heart when he realises there’s serenity here. This thought does little to alleviate the deep ache within his chest as he watches his old classmates. 

This is difficult for the reasons Leon never prepared himself for, bitterness flooding him as he mulls over the possibility of the life he could have had. Would he be like everyone else here? Would smiling come easy, a wedding ring on his finger and pictures of his kids ready on his phone, proudly brandishing it out on a moment’s notice? What does he have to show for himself apart from the scars and wounds that litter his body? 

The bartender slides Leon’s drink in front of him, parting with a polite smile. He stares at the amber liquid, ice floating on its surface and the itch in the back of his head that he had tried hard to bury returned. Leon grabs the glass, swirling it for good measure and brings it up to his lips. The whiskey barely grazes his lips when a familiar sounding laugh freezes him in place. His pulse flutters, a statue in poise, back turned to the crowd when the sweet noise filters through again to his ear. 

And suddenly Leon feels himself thrown back to the year 1995 on his own personal time machine, bubbling up memories that he had long forgotten, evoking emotions he thought he didn’t know how to feel anymore. The laugh is light and airy, so gentle and delicate, encompassing his entire being, intoxicating him once again like it did when he heard it for the first time during chemistry class. 

He remembers the softness of your skin when you two had accidentally bumped hands reaching for the popcorn, blushing bright in the darkened theatre before he gathered the courage to hold your hand firmly, never letting go again. 

Leon swears he can taste the butter on your lips when you had bravely kissed him on the doorstep of your home, a grin permanently latching onto his face. His ears ring with the sound of your cheers from the stands, louder than anyone, wildly waving your homemade posters for his games, always present come rain or hail.   

Leon is almost afraid to turn, not wanting to disturb the way his mind has painted you in beautiful strokes, conjuring up a picture so vivid that he feels he can touch if he reaches out. But curiosity gets the better of him, lowering the untouched drink down with a thunk and slowly turning around. Leon forgets how to breathe for a moment. Is it in, in? Out in? No, it’s in and out. He tries to catch up to missed breaths, eyes hung onto you. 

You look just as beautiful as the day he last remembers seeing you. It overwhelms him. Time clearly passed you by but not in the same way it had him; brutish, barbaric and aggressively tossing him on the hard concrete. No, time had been gentle with you, tenderly caressing you in its palm, nuzzling you softly as it swept you with it. 

Your smile is still the same Leon fell in love with, proud at having being the receiving end of it quite often, adoring the way you still throw your head back a little when you laugh. There is an air of elegance about you, evidence of the years that you had culminated, experiences under your belt that had transformed you into the person that was standing just a little distance away from him.    

Leon watches you intently as your eyes flicker over to where he’s standing, words fumbling from your lips as you jerk your head back up and do a double take. Your eyes blink furiously, widening in surprise as though you never expected to see him in a million years. You stumble off an excuse to the people you were talking to, eyes not daring to stray away from him. 

His drink is long forgotten, hands both nestled in his pockets, heart thrumming in his chest as he waits for you to make your way to him. There’s a certain peculiarity in how you do; a strange mix of shyness and disbelief. Your steps are light and airy, features softening as Leon grows more vivid in your line of sight. There’s something familiar in the way you walk to him, something akin to how he watched you descend the stairs of your house as he had waited at the bottom, staring at you in awe with a corsage gripped tight in his hands. Even in the picture your mom had snapped, Leon was still looking at you.  

Warmth floods him when you come to a stop in front of him, glee on both his and Leon’s face, hidden beneath timidness. He takes the first leap.  

“Hey,” Leon smiles. 

You laugh and it is oh so sweet, stronger than a shot of espresso. “Hi.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  

What do you say anyways to the most important person in your youth who you thought would be a constant? The breakup had been difficult but inevitable with the two very different paths you and Leon had picked out for yourselves. It was terribly heart aching with fingers gripping each other’s tightly, silent tears running down your face as you tried to inscribe every forehead kiss from Leon to memory with the sun setting in the far-off distance. Come morning he would be long gone, both of you deciding that it would be unbearable to start a new day without the sun shining on them both.  

What do you say after all these years have passed shaping you into different versions of the same person you once knew so long ago?  

“It’s really good to see you Leon.” Well you could say that for starters. 

A small puff of air leaves Leon’s throat, glancing down at the floor momentarily before looking back into your eager eyes. His heart clenches as he notices they still glow. “It’s good to see you too.” An understatement truly, it’s magical to see you again. He thought he never would again, his mind drifting to you in his moments of darkness, clinging on to the memories as they would rejuvenate him. His sentiment is a lot more loaded than yours, he realises, his guardian angel now materialised in front of his eyes.  

You flit about, mess with your hair, pull it behind your ears, trying to look at him whole with little glances. “I uh...I thought you didn’t attend these things.”  

“I didn’t know there were these things to attend,” He shrugged. Its true, it’s quite hard to reach him when none of his old contact numbers or emails work. Leon’s a hard man to reach. It was a surprise to him when Hunnigan had all but slammed the plane ticket and the print out of his old high-school reunion on his desk. He didn’t even bother asking how she got the information, feeling scrutinised under her hard gaze and her You need a break too, Leon. He’ll buy her favourite bottle of wine first thing back.  

“Well you know it is hard to reach you.” You tilt your head to the side, teasing glinting in your eyes. “No phone number, no address, no email either. Its almost like you vanished off the face of the earth.” 

Leon feels the tips of his ears grow hot, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed. You continue on with a casual shrug of your shoulders, “Every text or email I sent you bounced back so I just thought you didn’t want to catch up.”  

That turns him into a statue. What? “You tried to contact me?”  

A streak of blush colours your cheeks. “I mean not that frequently. Just like a couple of years back I guess? I don’t know I just did it on a whim. The text didn’t go through and neither did the email so...you know I thought you didn’t want to be contacted.” 

He didn’t know what to do with the information that you thought of him while he thought of you. He never imagined that you would actually try to reach out to him, why would you? Leon assumed you’d be well settled in your life now; husband, kids, the white picket fence. Isn’t that what the two of you would fantasise about, sharing whispered giggles huddled under the sheets?  

But there’s curiosity gnawing at his bones. He’s noticed the empty ring finger on your left hand about how you’ve spent ten minutes chatting with him here and no man has slipped his hand against your waist. You’re here, talking to him, in no rush to meet anyone else. Leon feels his fingers twitch, he would never let you out of his sight. 

He blinks, an easy smile settling on his lips, gazing at you softly at your confession. “I thought about you a lot too.” He wants to thread his fingers through your hair, tucking away the strands. “I’m sorry I went so far away.”  

You shudder, pursing your lips and looking away. You see to be shrugging your shoulders again. Cute. “It’s fine. Life gets in the way sometimes. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

The music doesn’t bother Leon anymore. He likes it, foot tapping with the beat, letting the soft tune wash over him. The silence is nice albeit heavy, he imagines there’s a barrage of questions on the tip of your tongue. A gentle giggle pulls his attention to you, “What?” 

“Nothing. Its just,” You shake your head, “I don’t know if I should be concerned or not over how little the gymnasium has changed since we went here.”  

“Oh,” His eyes sweep the entire place, amused at your remark. “You’re right. I don’t imagine they’ve been very enthusiastic about interior decoration .”  

“They really have not,” You marvel. You seem to get lost in your thoughts, pulling your back straighter. “You think they changed the bleachers outside in the field?”  

Leon locks eyes with you, unrelenting stare as he grapples with the meaning behind your words. He spent a lot of time with you on them; shyly running to you after practice, talking with you there for hours, glancing at you cheering him on during games, the summer day you two had spent there laughing and kissing before Leon had scratched the two of yours initial on its surface, sweetly outlining it with a heart. It’s not cheesy sweetheart if you’re blushing into my neck this hard.  

Leon quirks his eyebrow, matching your smile. “Let’s find out.”  

The night is cool with clear skies and a soft breeze blowing through. Leon feels ridiculous, not in the stupid sense but in the makes-him-feel-young sense. Your hand is wrapped in his instinctively, your soft palm resting against his with a practiced ease as he tugs you along with him towards the football field. The music thrums away into the background until there’s only the sound of your shared footsteps and your soft laughs echoing in the air. He can’t help but glance at you time and again, marvelling at the soft wrinkles dusting the corner of your eyes.  

He doesn’t like it when he has to let your hand go, standing between the stands as the two of you  unspokenly begin the search for the same heart shaped mark left years ago in the dim light. 

“So uh,” You say standing a little above from him in the bleachers, attention focused on the seats as you try to sound casual, “Did you come alone?”  

“Yeah,” He’s quick to reply. “My pet goldfish gets really motion sick on planes.” He pretends to search for a while. “You?”  

You hum in reply. “I don’t think ex-husbands are too big on attending their ex-wife’s high-school reunion.”  

Leon turns towards you to see you staring at him already, fiddling with your ring-less finger. “Dead?” 

“Divorced.” 

“When?” 

“Few years ago.”  

“Why?” 

“He got his secretary pregnant.”  

Leon blinks, scoffing and surprised at the spark of anger that ignites in him. “What an absolute piece of shit.”  

You laugh. “Yeah.”  

The two of you go back to searching, a lightness on your shoulders now. He relaxes too, the stiffness disappearing from his back. “I thought a lot about you. Thought you’d have your white picket fence house by now. It’s...why I never reached out to you.”  

You bite your lip, smiling at the memory. “It’s okay Leon, really. The white picket fence seems like a lifetime ago now. Seems a bit silly honestly.”  

“It’s not what you want?”  

“I don’t know. A lot’s changed since we last spoke. I’ve learnt it’s better to let things happen as they are.”  

“Not taking chances anymore?”  

You look up at him, a sweet smile as you share a knowing look. “No, I’m taking them as they present themselves.”  

Leon’s stomach does that flipping motion again, sweat collecting on the back of his neck. He mentally notes to buy Hunnigan the snack she likes so much too. They resume their search, beckoning the other to their spot as they find something funny or worthy to see. It’s fun, his worries melting away as he laughs away the night with you. But that heart is nowhere to be found, tired of squinting.  

“Ugh, this low lighting isn’t really helping,” You sigh, trailing back to where he’s stood.  

“Maybe some extra help then.” He pats the front of his jacket, digging into his inner pocket and then brandishing out his flip phone nonchalantly. You stare at it for a second, watch him as he flips it open and then burst into laughter.  

“What?” He asks in disbelief, watching you wheeze with amusement. 

“Wow,” You manage to choke out, “Well no wonder its so hard to reach you. Does your phone even have an email app?”  

“It works fine for me,” He grumbles, hoping you can’t see how scarlet he is under the night sky.  

“No, no,” You grin at him, pinching his cheeks. “It’s cute.”  

Leon almost jumps at your fingers connecting with his cheek, inadvertently leaning into your touch. You still, realisation hitting you of what you’re doing. But you don’t stop. Your fingers splay out, hesitantly cupping the side of his face. Leon watches you carefully, trying his best to control his breathing. You shudder as the bottom of your hand grazes against his stubble, thumb slowly caressing against his skin. Leon shuts his eyes under your soft touch, a sigh leaving his lips. 

He holds your wrist, keeping your hand against his cheek, bringing you close to him by your waist. His eyes don’t stray from yours, keeping you in place. Your eyes glaze over, a sheen in them as they collect water.  

“Hi.” You whisper.  

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispers back. 

“You look old,” You laugh, the sound mixing with a sob. 

“So do you.” He hums back, fondly brushing your hair back from your face.  

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in. “Where were you? I waited for you for so long.”  

He pulls back to see you properly, tilting  your face up by a hand under your chin. He leans in, lips brushing over yours. You push yourself up on your toes, lips connecting with his. You feel so impossibly warm against him, lips slotting against his seamlessly. He breathes you in, tastes you deeply, gripping you against his body like he never plans on letting you go. You gasp against his lips as he steals your breath and noises.  

He pulls away just an inch, nuzzling his nose into your cheek, not daring to loosen his hold on you. “Not going anywhere now, sweetheart.” 

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Mortality Defined

Masterlist Word count: 1.6 k Halsin x Reader Read on AO3

Summary: You are a human, Halsin is an elf. Your lifespan is much shorter than his and he wonders if life is worth living if you're not in it.

Writer's note: I don't know why but I still can't post a full work here. I don't know why. If anyone has any solutions for me, please let me know. I'm getting frustrated.

The year changes from sunlit beach days to a sunset of leaves. Halsin always admires this time of year. The dying of the world in anticipation for new life. It's a wonderful thing and something he often ponders on.  A year is an hour in the long, long lifespan of an elf. In Halsin's busy and chaotic life it feels more like a second, but these past weeks travelling with her and the other friends he made felt like centuries. She, so humble and kind, carried the world on her shoulders.  He feels he will never understand her fully. She is human. Where he has already lived 350 years, she will get a 100 if she's lucky. With their way of life, it will probably be less. A human's body dies around them every second of every day after they're done growing.  She was 27 when they embarked on their journey to safe Faerun, a young adult in human years. When he was 27 he was just latching off the helping hands of his parents. She told him she had been living on her own since she was 18.   Now she's 32 and has been living with him since the Absolute was put down. He can tell she's slowly ageing. She is forming some smile lines and little crows feet at the corners of her eyes. Halsin hadn't really thought about elderly people as his kind doesn't visibly age much after a certain point, but then he was confronted with Shadowheart's mother who looked so frail. It suddenly made him realize that she will someday look like that as well.  Even so, there's this thing that is only found in those that are human. The phenomenon of the Impenetrable Human Spirit. A death grip on life, refusal to let go in the direst of times. When all the odds are stacked against you but you refuse to let them define you. Which sounds strange until you meet a few humans in time of war. After he realized that, he understood why so many Flaming Fists are human.  He hopes he'll never have to witness it again but to see someone so fiercely cling onto life while any other would have already perished in the same circumstances is truly a sight. Humans are a force to be reckoned with. Even with their short lifespans, they try to put something worthwhile on this plane. They want to feel accomplished.  'Halsin, dinner's ready,' her angelic voice calls from inside and Halsin snaps out of his trance. 'Did you want to eat outside?' He looks over his shoulder through the open backdoor of their cosy little cottage, straight into the kitchen where she is plating up dinner. She's a wonderful cook, an amazing partner, and a great artist. His days are spent trying to find the best way to worship her being in hopes it'll buy her another year.  'That'd be lovely. Thank you.’ She walks out with two plates and a smile on her face. He takes his plate from her as she sits down on the grass next to him.  'You were so far away all day,' she notes with her smile still on her lips, 'where did your mind go?'  'My heart, you would not want to know.'  'Don't worry me, love. You can tell me.' Halsin takes a second to compose himself, playing with his food for a second. She always tells him everything, what reason does he have to keep his worries to himself? She'll understand. She always does.  'I was pondering your mortality.'  'How so?'  'Well, I have nothing but time, but that is not the same for you. I have lived over three centuries. That's three, maybe four, human lifetimes. You are merely a tenth of my age and yet you feel like an equal.' He looks over to her, a somber smile now plays on her lips.  'That's not all, is it?'  'It is not.'  'Are you worried you will be alone after I pass? That you won't have enough time to know me?'  'Something like that, yes.'  'Something like that?' 

Read the remainder on AO3

[rina-teatia]

“Where's the child support, daddy?!” (18+)

AU: Toji didn't die, he admitted defeat and agreed to stay away from the magical college. 

Summary: After nearly five years, Gojo Satoru comes to his humble abode in need of the Inverted Spear of Heaven, and will go to any lengths for it.

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Satoru Gojo

Tags: Parental Gojo Satoru, Bottom Gojo Satoru, DILF Fushiguro Toji, Fushiguro Toji Has a Big Dick, Child Fushiguro Megumi, Knifeplay, Improvised Sex Toys, Anal Fingering

Gojo arrived in a rather poor neighborhood in Tokyo. It had been some time since his graduation from the magical technical college, and he was now a young teacher himself, who often traveled on assignments. And today's stop for him was here. But it wasn't about the cursed spirits.

Apartment number six hundred and two was locked. Gojo knocked several times, walked past the windows, but there was no light on inside, and obviously no one was home. What was there for him to do? He couldn't leave with nothing. Looking all over Tokyo for that damn jerk couldn't do it either. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked along the ledge, kicking an empty and crumpled Coke can. All that was left to wait.

“Who do I see? An infinity shaman?”

Gojo turned around at the voice. Walking slowly towards him was him - Toji Fushiguro. The man looked as usual, his large, muscular figure obscured by the setting sun. The cursed spirit on his shoulder habitually grinned stupidly as Toji looked around the mage in front of him with mocking eyes.

“You know my name perfectly well.” Gojo wrinkled his nose.

“I have a bad memory for names.” Toji chuckled. “What's your name? Suguru?” 

“Satoru. I'm Gojo Satoru.” 

“I'll forget in five minutes.” 

The man leisurely opened the door of his apartment. Stepping back, he invited Gojo in as well. The man silently walked inside. Toji's presence so close to him sent shivers down his spine; not a pleasant sensation at all.

Toji's apartment was a small room, cluttered with junk, but still somewhat pleasant. Not by Toji's own efforts, but probably because he had not lived here long enough for it to become a branch of a dump.

Toji gestured for Gojo to sit down, while he went to the electric kettle to boil water and make ramen.

“Why are you here, shaman?” Toji stood with his back to him, leisurely opening a package of noodles. 

Gojo knew they were going to have a difficult conversation. The case he had come with would not please Toji.

“The management of the Tokyo Magic Technician thinks that you should hand over the Inverted Spear of Heaven to them.”

Toji chuckled.

“Let them rethink. The old cretins are out of their minds.”

“They sent me to pick it up from you and bring it to the technical college.” Gojo crossed his arms across his chest. Well, Toji's reluctance was understandable to anyone, but he wasn't interested in his desires. “The spear doesn't belong to you.”

“It didn't belong to them either.” Toji was lazily pouring water over a bowl of ramen. “Look, kiddo, if that's all you have to say to me, I'd get outta here if I were you. I can wield this spear very well, and now that I know where to hit, I won't lose to you again.”

Toji took the bowl and sat down at the table across from Gojo. He wasn't going to offer food to his guest; Toji obviously thought he'd already shown an extreme degree of hospitality by allowing Gojo to come into the room and sit on a chair.

“The spear belongs to the Zenin clan, whom you stole it from.” Gojo lowered his black glasses to his nose so he could see his interlocutor better. “It's a powerful cursed weapon of a special rank, capable of canceling techniques and breaking seals. The management of the technical college believes that such a serious magical artifact cannot belong to some…”

Gojo's eyes widened as he was interrupted by an extremely obscene and loud slurping sound - Toji was pulling a huge bag of noodles into his mouth with great appetite. It was enough to make Gojo cringe in disgust and clench his teeth and fists irritably.

“Enough!!! I mean it!!!”

“I still haven't heard a single reason why I should give the spear to you.” Toji spoke with his mouth full, the beautiful Gojo's feelings were of little concern to him. “If it belongs to the Zenin, let them try to take it from me.”

“They can't.” Gojo exhaustedly exhaled.

“I wonder why?” Toji was having fun, he liked the idea that the Zenin were simply incapable of opposing him.

“You know it yourself, if you're so happy about it.” Gojo was in no hurry to satisfy someone else's ego. They both understood why Gojo was the only one who had already defeated Toji in battle once. They knew that Toji would only listen to Gojo Satoru, and that he was the only one he could negotiate with. Any other shaman would die a quick death.

“You're right.” Toji propped his head up with his hand and smiled. “But why do you need the spear? What would you do with it?”

“The management of the technical college would keep the weapon until Megumi came of age.” Gojo exhaled. 

This was his last trump card - he hoped to arouse a modicum of fatherly feelings in Toji, so that he would agree to give up the Inverted Spear of Heaven without a fight. After his defeat, Toji was forced to leave Tokyo for a long time, and Gojo took full custody of Megumi. However, even when Toji returned, he was in no hurry to run to see his son. However... The opportunity to pass on a great inheritance to his child could make Toji happy and give him hope of rehabilitation in Megumi's eyes. Gojo just hoped it would work.

“Who is it?” Toji looked at him with an unchanged expression.

Gojo gave a strained smile - everything cracked inside. His faint hope failed with a deafening thud. What the hell were fatherly feelings! He didn't even remember his son's name!

“He's your son,” Gojo replied with a stony expression. He was expecting an ʼI have a son?!ʼ discussion, but Toji didn't try to deny it any further:

“Oh, right, Megumi…” he yawned, then returned to his ramen. The boy's fate was obviously of little interest to him. “Why would an infant need the Inverted Spear of Heaven?”

“Megumi is ten years old now.”

“Really? Wow.” Toji looked genuinely surprised as he shook his head, amazed at the speed of time. Gojo was sitting with the sourest face in the world at that moment. It was over: Toji would not give him the Spear without a fight. However, it was possible to try one more small maneuver:

“Since you left Tokyo, I've taken over the boy's care. And, you know, when you're eighteen, chasing after a six-year-old is no fun at all.” Gojo frowned and rose from his chair to loom over Toji a little. “Where's the child support, daddy?!”

Hearing such a statement made Toji cringe for a couple seconds, but then he laughed, slamming his palm on the table:

“Not bad, not bad! I like you, kiddo.” He propped his cheek with his hand, looking defiantly at Gojo in return and smiling mockingly. “Well, mommy, you think we're divorced now, so I have to pay you something?”

“There's more.” Gojo grimaced and distanced himself a little. “I'm not the one who needs your money, Megumi is. And he'd be extremely grateful if you gave him the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It's a small payment for not having child support for ten years now.”

Toji slowly licked his lips after the noodles, pushing the empty bowl aside. The tip of his tongue grazed an old scar as the man stood up from the table as well. His huge figure loomed over Gojo with a mountain.

“Good. I'll give you the Inverted Spear of Heaven.” Toji smiled unkindly. Gojo's eyes widened in surprise and he tensed up a little. He had somehow agreed very easily, and it was suspicious. “But…”

“But?” Gojo guessed that nothing good was in store for him.

“But in return, you'll have to work hard for it, like Megumi's mommy.” Toji moved forward, pinning the boy against the opposite wall rather quickly. He froze, his cheeks flaming with shame, humiliation, and fear. “Do you know what I mean?”

“No…” Gojo understood, but he didn't want to believe it. This asshole is actually offering him.

“Just to get laid for the Spear,” Toji finished his thoughts instead, smiling calmly. “That's what mommies do when they want something from their daddies. Nice tradition, don't you think?” Toji pulled the Inverted Spear of Heaven out of his cursed spirit to show it off and tempt him even more into agreeing.

Panic was creeping up Gojo's throat. On the one hand, he had the Spear, which he desperately needed. On the other hand, he couldn't let that bum's cock enter his perfect, handsome body! Toji's probably got some kind of contagious disease, like syphilis or AIDS! 

“Look, I... I'll agree, but... Let's not have anal sex...?” Gojo grimaced, moving the man's hand away from his thigh. Toji stroked it slowly, pressing himself close to the guy. He couldn't believe he could even say that at all. What was he thinking! But the Spear was right there, so close and far away at the same time — Gojo knew he wouldn't have time to attack and take it away. Toji's reactions were instantaneous; if Gojo just jerked, he'd be left without a head, which would be mercilessly swept away by that same Spear.

Toji grinned unpleasantly. He pulled Gojo to him by the waist and led him smoothly to the bed, sitting him on it. He squirmed, glancing nervously at the man. The shaman killer shook off his spirit and removed his shirt. The sight was... impressive. Gojo didn't want to admit he liked it, but admiration surged inside. He himself most often used cursed techniques in battles rather than physical strength, but Toji had no cursed techniques at all. He only used the raw, primal power of his own body, and together with his weapon, he was becoming the equal of Gojo himself - the strongest mage of the modern era.

Toji slowly licked the edge of the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It was in a shorter version and looked more like a dagger.

“Take off your clothes,” Toji ordered briefly. “If you don't want my cock inside you, let it be so. You'll have what you need inside you so badly.”

He loomed over the boy, pressing him into the bed while Gojo embarrassingly unbuttoned the teacher's uniform gakurana. What did that even mean?! 

Kisses and tender foreplay were not to be expected. Toji wasn't a romantic at all, and this was sex infused with pure and mutual hatred. Gojo held firm as he was rolled onto his stomach and forced to remove his pants. The strongest mage's firm ass immediately earned a series of spankings from the shaman killer. Toji was frankly enjoying himself - the one who had defeated and banished him was now lying in front of him with his ass cocked and flexing for his weapon like a pathetic whore. It was a moment of cold, successful revenge that warmed Toji's soul and heart more than the Inverted Spear of Heaven in his inventory.

“Shall we play, infinity shaman?” Toji ran his nose over the other's shoulder, causing Gojyo to flinch. “Today with lube... Only because you acted like my obedient wife and didn't try to challenge our arrangement.”

Lubricant was surprisingly easy to find in the old bachelor's apartment. The viscous, cool liquid squirted out of the tube and onto Gojo's ass, giving him goosebumps. Strong, warm hands grasped his buttocks powerfully and stretched the tight hole with concentrated roughness, inserting their fingers into it one by one. Gojo groaned in surprise and immediately clamped his hands over his mouth. He didn't want to behave the way Toji had described him, but he was already nothing more than a whore to him! God, what humiliation…

Remembering that he couldn't get his cock in, Toji first decided to play with Gojo's ass with his hands. He inserted three or four fingers at a time, making the magician shriek and moan as the pads of his fingers traveled over his prostate. Toji was very fast - just like in battle - and Gojo soon felt himself on the verge of orgasm. There was no strength to hold back, and he moaned like the latest hentai whore. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he'd had sex where someone very strong, with a very big cock and experience, roughly takes him and forces himself all over his balls. Yes, Gojo almost regretted giving up his cock right away. However, when he was ready to cum, something quite thick and large entered him... The object had a rough surface, you could feel it even through the layer of lube. What is that...? Gojo turned around, numbly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blade of the Inverted Spear of Heaven sticking out of his butt, and Toji's face was grimly satisfied.

“Do you like it, Mommy? Oh, you're doing such a good job for your dear Megumi... Just imagine how he'll fight with this Spear, holding it by the hilt.” The man licked seductively and moved the hilt further, driving it deep into Gojo so that his hips trembled and another near orgasmic moan escaped his lips.

“Toji!” The mage coughed, choking on air. The spear continued to move rapidly inside.

“I'm sure Megumi would love the opportunity to touch the thing that was deep inside his foster mommy's ass.”

“S-shut up…” Gojo gasped in arousal, cumming with a loud groan.

***

“Oh, you're back…” As the hallway light turned on, Megumi looked out of his room. The boy looked sleepy, he was yawning as he watched the older man. “Where have you been? What's this...?”

“Yeah, hi…” Gojo was finishing up his phone call, clutching some sort of bundle tightly to himself. He looked, by the way, terribly wrinkled. When he heard the questions, he jumped up and waved his hands: “Nowhere! On a mission! There's nothing there! It's none of your business!”

“I see.” Megumi grimaced. “It wasn't very interesting.” 

He was used to Gojo's antics, so he went back to his room, unaware of what his sensei was going through for him….

[tomorrowxtogether]

TXT Debut a Sparkling New Chapter — and Reveal Which Previous Era Their New Album Is a Throwback to (Exclusive)

PEOPLE spoke to Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun and Hueningkai about making "The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY"

Tomorrow x Together's latest release is an evolution and a nostalgia play all at once.

The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY (out Monday, Nov. 4), is officially the start of a new era for the K-pop group's five members — Soobin, 23, Yeonjun, 25, Beomgyu, 23, Taehyun, 22, Hueningkai, 22 — who spoke to PEOPLE ahead of its release.

They're moving out of "The Name Chapter" — two albums that reveled in the freedom and occasional chaos of youthful indiscretions — and into "The Star Chapter." Represented by a bright, shining logo rebrand, it carries messages about finding true love and lasting happiness.

“To some extent, I think it really reflects us growing up,” says Hueningkai.

"In our past installments, it was more of those magical moments, like ‘Run away together with me,’ or something that could be a little bit less responsible," adds Taehyun. "But this time around, it's romantic, but in a sense that it's grounded and more realistic.”

Sonically, SANCTUARY has a sweetness that recalls some of the group’s earliest releases.

"I think you're spot on about talking about how you thought of The Dream Chapter when listening to this album," Huengingkai confirmed while discussing their influences with PEOPLE in October. "It's something new, but it's something that also provokes nostalgia as well," he adds.

The lead single, "Over the Moon," is dreamy pop but includes some very grown-up themes with lyrics about living under one roof and planning for the future. Other tracks, like "Danger" tip into funky Bruno Mars-like territory, or in the case of "Forty One Winks," more upbeat R&B.

While there's no real rock or pop punk moments (something they've leaned into with great success in the past with songs like "LO$ER=LO♡ER"), "Higher than Heaven" does have a romping pop-rock bent.

The album's sound isn't just a reflection of the group's shifting tastes. “We have this big narrative that overarches every installment in our musical journey," Hueningkai explains.

Their discography, and the larger lore of the group, incorporates a sprawling fictional backstory that can feel intimidatingly complex for the casual fan. But the themes — the pains of growing up, the reality of facing adulthood, and the heartbreak that so often goes along with it — are universal enough that they come through easily in their earworm singles.

While TXT has shared in the past that their music is often informed by personal experience, they often keep a distance from speaking about their own relationships, instead telling the song's stories of crushes or lost loves as the tales of a “boy” (representing all and none of them) directed at “you,” an embodiment of their fans.

Explaining the meaning of their latest album, for example, Beomgyu says, “It’s a chapter where the boy finally recovers his name and remembers the promise he made with you. And they finally reunite in this album. So it's the rejoicing that they all feel with this reunion.” 

All five members wrote lyrics and music on SANCTUARY, something they've been increasingly passionate about over the six years since their debut.

Taehyun admits to doing most of his writing in the car and on planes, amid their busy schedules. They still find space for collaboration though. "We tend to work separately on lyrics, but when we get stuck, we ask for help from the other members," says Soobin.

Seemingly non-stop promotions can be draining, but they're candid about how they keep their minds and bodies healthy. "Sleeping well is the best thing you can do for yourself," says Beomgyu. Adds Soobin, "We eat a lot of supplements, too, and try to work out a lot so that we can stay healthy and keep up our stamina."

That work ethic has gained them a mountain of accolades in relatively short career.

In 2023, they headlined Lollapalooza in Chicago, then performed at the VMAS in New York, where they also took home the award for Push Performance. Their last album debuted at No. 3 on the Billboard 200, making them only the second K-pop group to enter the chart 10 times, with the only other being their label mates BTS.

Asked if that sort of accomplishment is exciting or intimidating, Yeonjun explains, "We feel both. We feel both elated, and also we feel a sense of responsibility. And I think both are needed, because only when we feel that responsibility can we grow as artists and evolve as artists. So because so many people are giving us love and support, It's our duty to grow and evolve, and show new sides of ourselves as artists."

Adds Taehyun, "We are eternally grateful to Global MOA who always provide us with a lot of love and support. And with this album and the albums going forward, we're going to pay back to them by providing really good music and performances."

The Star Chapter: Sanctuary is available to stream now.

[asgardian--angels]

I’m a biology student and fuck. Just fuck. Every post I see talks about the world ending and all life coming to an end. I know that’s not the case (I hope) but just…god. Kamala was gonna be shit with the environment but trump seems keen on speed running the time we have to put a dent in this. How do you stay hopeful? What do we have to hope for?

Hi there fellow biologist :)

First let me just say, Kamala Harris most certainly would not have been shit with the environment. She would have done quite a lot to work on climate change (she has not emphasized this at rallies because it was not a priority issue with voters, but her policies were there, and democrats consistently are progressive on environmental policy enough to make corporations angry), and Biden during his presidency has accomplished a heck of a lot to undo Trump's previous weakening of federal environmental protections and strengthen them further. My hope is that they together will continue to try and pass what they can in their remaining months. I hope in my previous posts I was not coming off as too cynical - I'm scared, as we all are, but I have great faith in the passionate and hardworking scientists in this field who have dedicated their entire lives to tirelessly protecting our planet, at all scales. We just need more of them, and that's where you come in.

How do I stay hopeful? Because of people like you, students in the biological sciences who feel strongly enough to take this career path. The next generation of environmental stewards, in a time where scientists are exponentially more knowledgeable about threats to the environment and solutions to them than ever before. Especially now, these fields are shifting from old white guys (no shade to [most of] them) to young women, people of color, and queer people in STEM, who are eager to bring new perspectives and approaches to the field that I think will bolster our resolve and increase our success.

Despite the doom and gloom, we also have made incredible strides forward to improve clean air and water, restore habitat (particularly wetlands, reversing decades-long trends of waterbird declines, as well as reversing raptor declines), ban DDT, track species declines through long-term monitoring by generations of dedicated scientists, train more effective science communicators to engage people of all ages, especially children, with the natural world to forge crucial emotional connections needed to recruit them to conservation causes, and so much more. Here's a big one - MOTUS, the system we now use to track migrating birds on their worldwide journeys, developed just in the past couple decades. Because of it, we now know in incredible detail where individual birds and populations overwinter, the routes they take, and the threats they face at different times of year - thereby being able to much more effectively target our conservation efforts. Shifting baselines work in both directions; it's easy to forget within a generation or two how much we've lost (atlantic cod used to be so abundant they jumped into fishermen's boats, passenger pigeon flocks darkened the skies for hours), but it's also easy for young people to not know how much we've gained - bald eagles used to be so rare it was a spectacle to see one, the rivers just half a century ago would literally catch on fire from the levels of pollutants, and acid rain - remember acid rain? we fixed that!) In my field specifically, we've been rediscovering once-thought-extinct bee species left and right in the past few years, because dedicated young bee researchers have put in renewed effort to search for them when no one else did. Now we know where they are and how to protect them, and some of them aren't even considered rare anymore!

You more likely than not have a professor for some class who's pushing 80. That's because in this field, we never quit. Protecting the environment is our passion, our lives, our heart and soul. It's our calling, and we couldn't think of doing anything more important with the time we have on this earth. Every stride forward we've made only happened because individual scientists, regular people, cared enough to fight for what they believed in. Often it's a slow process, and often we don't truly grasp the scope of what our own work will lead to in the grand scheme of making change. But every species out there that's still persisting is because someone loves it a whole lot. Maybe a lot of people love elephants or big cats, while just one single person loves terrestrial leeches. But heck, it only takes one person to completely change the trajectory of a species and bring widespread public attention to it! I love telling people about bee species they've never heard of, that exist right in their own state. They might go home, google it, and keep an eye out for it next time, or better, plant the flowers it specializes on. I put a call out on iNaturalist for users in my state to search wetlands for a rare wetland bee with only a couple of records in the state - within a couple months, half a dozen more sightings popped up. Just like that. The bee was considered rare, but no one was looking. They had no idea there was anything to look for. Now? Not so rare, maybe - a good sign!

I stay hopeful because I know that the planet needs us, and we need the planet. The people who love nature will never stop fighting to protect it, and every single action does make a difference, whether we know it or not. I could ask myself why I give talks at public libraries where my audience is 10 people at best, even when the drive is 6+ hours. Because one, just one, of those people might be inspired or moved by my words, and choose to take action. For all I know, I've started a domino effect that will cascade into something huge. I worked with and briefly mentored an undergraduate student in bee science a few years ago - he's since gone on to work on a huge project to digitize bee specimens locked away in dusty drawers for decades, bringing to light dozens of species for which we previously had little to no information or images, improving the resources available to other researchers to identify their specimens and thus be able to monitor these rare, specialized desert bees. You can't know the impact you'll have. You just have to do the work, and always give all you can, and love doing it.

Some might think it's too little too late - but that's relative. There's no such thing as the apocalypse. Nature continues on, in whatever form it needs to. In a way, we've decided what our benchmark is; prevent the loss of biodiversity, preserve ecosystem services. But the natural world has already changed, since the moment any human stepped foot onto a new continent or island and brought plants and animals with them. We put value on species, on ecosystems, because we love them. We think they are beautiful, that they have intrinsic or extrinsic value, and that they deserve a continued place in this world. We have lost species, and we will lose a lot more. But isn't preventing even one extinction worth it? We fight tirelessly to manage the spread of invasive species, to restore even little patches of urban habitat, when someone could look at those and say, 'what's that point? that won't make any difference.' But tell that to the species that live there. The planet keeps running because of small, local changes carried out by thousands of people, and a handful of big changes (like policy) undertaken by a few ballsy folks. Neither would work without the other. Every time I get my hands in the dirt and plant a new species in my pollinator garden, it gives me hope. I'm investing in the future. By being here, studying biology, you are too. It all gives me hope.

[erendur]

Here are the relevant passages of Nature of Middle Earth when it comes to Elves and Men ; I have no idea how it fits with the rest of Tolkien's writing on the subject, but here they are !

From the chapter "Concerning the Quendi" (the context is that in this chapter and the two following ones I'm going to quote from, Tolkien is thinking about rates of growth for Elves, and population growth)

"The Quendi never "fell" as a race - not in the sense in which they and Men themselves believed that the Second Children had "fallen". Being "tainted" with the Marring (which affected all the "flesh of Arda" from which their hröar were derived and were nourished), and having also come under the Shadow of Melkor before their Finding and rescue, they could individually do wrong. But they never (not even the wrong-doers) rejected Eru, nor worshipped either Melkor or Sauron as a god - neither individually or as a whole people. Their lives, therefore, came under no general curse or diminishment ; and their primeval and natural life-span, as a race, by "doom" co-extensive with the remainder of the Life of Arda, remained unchanged in all their varieties.

Of course the Quendi could be terrorised and daunted. In the remote past before the Finding, or in the Dark Years of the Avari after the departure of the Eldar, or in the histories of the Silmarillion, they could be deceived ; and they could be captured and tormented and enslaved. Then under force and fear they might do the will of Melkor or Sauron, and even commit grave wrongs. But they did so as slaves who nonetheless in heart knew and never rejected the truth. (There is no record of any Elf ever doing more than carrying out Melkor's orders, under fear or compulsion. None ever called him Master, or Lord, or did any evil act uncommanded to obtain his favour.) Thus, though the carrying out of evil commands, quite apart from the sufferings of slavery and torment, clearly exhausted the "youth" and life-vigour of those unfortunate Elves who came under the power of the Shadow, this evil and diminishment was not heritable."

NOTE : the fact that Elves and Men BELIEVE Men are fallen. This is the point of view of Elves, and the idea comes from Men (it comes from the Athrabeth). But maybe they aren't ? What if their shortened lifespan was a consequence of living in Arda marred, but interpreted as the effect of a Fall that is impossible in the designs of Eru, but introduced as a concept by the lies of Morgoth ?

The next paragraph is less relevant but since I was typing it anyway I'm including it because I find it cute :

"The lives of the Quendi, also, cannot be supposed to have been affected by living "under the Sun", in Middle-earth. As is now known and recognised in the Histories, the Sun was part of the original structure of Arda, and not devised only after the Death of the Trees. The Quendi were, therefore, designed in nature to dwell in Middle-earth "under the Sun".

From the chapter "The Awakening of the Quendi" :

"But Melkor had, of course, since he largely controlled Middle-earth, and had hosts of spies and servants, soon discovered the Quendi, and he had time to frighten them, fill their minds with dark imaginings and fears, beside (probably) capturing some of them, and even corrupting or seducing some -hence the taint in some degree of "the Shadow" which lay even upon the Eldar".

Note : Edennil, I think that answers your question as to how even non-Noldor can behave in a "fallen" way ?

From the chapter "Natural Youth and Growth of the Quendi" :

"When the Quendi were very "young in Arda" (approximately their first six generations in the first 96 Valian years of their existence) they were far more like Men (unfallen). Their hröar were in great vigour, and dominant ; and the delights of body of all kinds were their chief concern. Their fëar were only beginning to wake fully and to grow and discover their powers and interests."

NOTE : bear with me, this is relevant for the next extract ! In Men, even unfallen, hröar is dominant over fëar, unlike in "mature" Quendi.

And finally from the chapter "Notes on Órë", which is a linguistics note (hold on, it's a long and confused one because it's several notes put together ):

"Quenya órë is glossed in LOTR 'heart (inner mind)'. But although it is used frequently in LOTR in the phrase "my heart tells me", (...) 'heart' is not suitable, except in brevity, since órë does not correspond in sense to any of the English confused uses of "heart" : memory, reflection ; courage, good spirits ; emotion, feelings, tender, kind or generous impulses (uncontrolled by, or opposed to the judgements of reason).

What the órë was for Elvish thought and speech and the nature of its counsels (...) requires for its understanding a brief account of Eldarin thoughts on the matter. For this purpose the question whether this thought has any validity as judged by human philosophy or psychology, present or past, is of no importance ; nor do we need to consider whether Elvish minds differed in their faculties and their relation with their bodies.

The Elves thought there was no fundamental difference in the given faculties ; but that for reasons of the separate history of Elves and Men they were differently used. Above all the difference of their bodies, which were nonetheless of the same structure, had a marked effect : the human body was (or had become) more easily injured or destroyed, and was in any case doomed to decay by age and to die, with or without will to do so, after a brief time. This imported into human thought and feeling "haste" : all desires of the mind and the body were far more imperious in Men than in Elves : peace, patience, and even full enjoyment of present good were greatly lessened in Men. (...) Men, they said, certainly possessed (or had possessed) órë ; but owing to the "haste" spoken of above they paid little attention to it. And there was another reason more dark (connected the Elves thought with human "death") : the órë of Men was open to evil counsel, and was not safe to trust."

Here there is a bottom page note by Tolkien :

"The Eldar surmised that some disaster had befallen Men before they became acquainted with them, sufficient to damage or alter the conditions under which they lived, especially with regard to their "death" and their attitude towards it. But of this Men, even the Atani with whom they became closely associated, would never speak clearly. "There is a shadow behind us", they would say, but would not explain what that meant." (ie I, Tolkien, don't know how to explain what I mean ?)

Another note follows :

"órë (...) is also used more vaguely of things arising in the mind or entering the mind which the Eldar regarded as sometimes the result of deep reflection (often proceeding in sleep) and sometimes of actual messages or influences on the mind - from other minds, including the greater mind of the Valar and so indirectly from Eru. (So at this period it was supposed Eru even "spoke" directly to his Children.)

I'm putting an excerpt from another note to finish with :

"The life of the Númenóreans before their fall (the 2nd fall of Man ?) was thus not so much a special gift as a restoration of what would have been the common inheritance Men, to live for 200-300 years. (...). The "disaster" the Elves thus suspected was some rebellion against Eru taking the form of accepting Melkor as God. One consequence of this was that the fëa was (?impaired) and Melkor had claim upon those who had rebelled against him and sought the protection of Eru."

The rest of the note was apparently hard to decipher and summed up by the editor as follows :

"Through their acceptance of him as God, Melkor gained access to the órë of Men, so that only the wisest of Men could distinguish between the uncorrupted counsel of the órë and the evil promptings of Melkor. "The órë of Men was open to evil counsel, and was not safe to trust".

So that's it :)

I'd just like to add that a major difference I find between the Fall in, let's say, Catholic doctrine, and the Fall in Tolkien's world, is that the Fall seems to exclusively consequences in Arda ;

If we compare with the Catholic Fall : this one has two types of consequences

"physical ones" on Earth : shame of nudity, having to toil (Adam), pain in childbirth (Eve), being expelled from Paradise ;

metaphysical ones : if I sum it up : no one can be saved between the Fall and the death and resurrection of Jesus ; the "good people" of the Ancient Testament do not go to Paradise after death but to "the bosom of Abraham", where they remain until Jesus comes and delivers them from it after his death and before his resurrection. After Jesus' resurrection, individual salvation becomes possible but Men remain fallen and still bear the weight of the Original Sin (they need to be baptised in order to be "freed" of it).

The way Tolkien describes it here, it seems that the consequence of the Fall for Men is that their lifespan is shortened, and their órë is corrupted, unlike the Elves' (what about the Noldor, though ? It seems like corrupted órë to me, and the Sindar are also prey to Morgoth's lies in ME). But at no point is Eru's gift of mortality taken away.

So the way I understand it is that the Fall has physical consequences but not metaphysical ones ?

Also it seems that Arda marred affects Men more than Elves because in Men the body is dominant and not the fëa, and it's the other way round in Elves.

Arda marred has "bodily" consequences, but if I remember correctly Eru creates the fëa directly for each individual at conception/birth, and therefore they wouldn't be affected by the marring of Arda.

In which I puzzle over metaphysical implications as regards the peoples inhabiting Arda

fyi, a certain familiarity with the (predominantly Christian, I think) concept of fallenness/unfallenness is assumed, although it turns out that it doesn't necessarily work here. Feel free to ask for clarifications

So. I'm once again wracking my head as I try to make sense of what I shall call: 'metaphysical states' of elves, men and others, because the subject is emphasised and lampshaded a lot in the books, and I can't force it all to make sense when taken together.

Ainur are a specific case and I should really leave them aside for now. They certainly can fall — and, unlike angels, change their mind, apparently (which goes both ways) — although they do seem to be more all-or-nothing than everyone else. Still, I think as long as one doesn't go into the implications of time and what its existence or nonexistence changes, they're almost straightforward. But then you have:

Elves. The 'Fall of the Noldor' is very strongly emphasised as a metaphysical fall from grace and further evils, even ones unconnected with the matter of the Silmarils themselves, are blamed on it later (Maeglin!) So far so good. Except. Non-Noldor are also liable to behave in ways that are not exemplary in the slightest, and it doesn't seem to signify a cesura in the same way — and the Noldor in Valinor were able to commit acts that perhaps weren't as heinous as what we call crimes, but weren't good either. Getting into rancid fights with your brother isn't much in comparison, but these are not the actions of unfallen people.

And on the other hand, authorial quote (paraphrased): "Elves in some ways represent Man in an unfallen state". And I'm inclined to agree: they aren't subject to death (except they may be killed, so doesn't this already break down?), and there is something very poignant in the image of their artistry, "extempt from earthly limitations". But they do not lose it, not in any easily tangible way. We can argue that evil diminishes creativity and it's probably true, but there is no hard line anyone passes. And this is again lampshaded in-world with the Númenoreans ("If we die because of some darkness that lay on us before, than why don't the Noldor?").

Which brings us to Men. The existence of a direct cause-effect relationship between fallenness and mortality in Arda cannot be ascertained (Even taking into account a Catholic framework, I feel that logically it need not be the same relationship as the Biblical one since, in contrast with the Garden of Eden, the world was already marred when humans appeared). While I consider the Tale of Adanel to be Gondorian in origin, I can also see the possibility that whatever Men did back then, beyond memory (or in other words "we purposefully forgot") was just that much worse than Alqualondë and the Oath. In any case, Man is very straightforwardly Fallen.

Hobbits. The rules for Halflings are presumably the same as for Men, which is certainly notable, given that they seem to be the least inclined to evil of all incarnates. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but unknowing of wars and violence. A pastoral image, only in-world it's true.

And at the same time, my musings bring me to the unexpected conclusion that dwarves are the only notable "generally unfallen" kindred. Which is, in context of everything that regards them, weird — because by their actions, they are very similar to Men. And yet — either the circumstances of their creation make them disadvantaged from the start (which doesn't really make that much sense), or something happened off-screen, or it's the same case as Saeros, or Thingol sending Beren to his death.

Ents? I honestly don't know if we've seen enough of ents to judge, although they seem generally good-inclined? Huorns are a different kettle of fish.

Before I try to explain orcs, it would do well to know what they are exactly.

In other words, I cannot make sense of it all, enough that I've resorted to calling the default state of incarnates in Arda "semi-fallen" (or, as is, "semi-unfallen"). Which is not a thing that makes sense, philosophically speaking — but I can find no better way.

(Although, to be quite honest, the default state of being in Arda (because of the discord?) seems to be significantly different from the unfallen state of Man as described by religious thinkers in some ways, and not all of them regard merely such things as physical marring, so perhaps "semi" isn't the worst way to describe it.)

In any case, if someone has thoughts on the subject, I'm very open to hearing them.

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing Prompts Day 1

From this prompt list. I set a goal of writing at least 150 words per day in 2024, which sounds pretty pathetic but if you take into account the fact that I haven't written any fiction since 2019 it felt like a feasible target. Anyway I've finished the first draft (it topped out at 88k words) and will be unlocking each post as I edit.

***

"So how do you want me to fuck you?"

***

Tim was crawling under the bed in his old room in the Manor, looking for an external hard drive he'd misplaced ages ago, when the door slammed open and then slammed shut again with just as much vigor. He nearly hit his head on the bedframe, but managed to keep that much dignity before slowly rising to his feet.

"Damian?" It had been a long time since they were at each others' throats as a matter of course, but the instinct to view Damian with caution remained. Admittedly, that was due to other reasons now rather than out of fear for his life.

Damian nodded at him in acknowledgement, eyebrows furrowed. "Drake."

Tim stepped closer as he realized that what he'd first interpreted as anger (teeth gritted, muscle jumping at the hinge of Damian’s jaw, redness crawling up his neck and into his cheeks) looked like a different emotion altogether. He hadn't recognized it at first because Damian so rarely allowed himself to appear embarrassed. "What's wrong?"

"I—I require something of you." Tim gave him a dubious look in automatic offense, and Damian hastily changed tactics. "I request something of you. I have a burden which must be shed and I believe you are an tolerable associate to help me do so."

Tim moved closer still, enough to reach out and touch Damian, except that the other's clear wariness kept him from making any sort of gesture. "Sure, you know I'm happy to assist.” A lie, but a useful one until the truth needed to be spoken. “What's the problem?"

Damian squared his shoulders and fixed his gaze somewhere over Tim's left shoulder. "I have yet to engage in sexual relations with anyone. I am asking you to take care of the problem."

Tim froze. He didn't kid himself that he'd heard wrong, because his brain couldn't have come up with a more inconceivable combination of words no matter what the circumstances. His initial, inconsequential response was to think, Well, that's several suspicions I had confirmed, in one fell swoop.

This might explain some stuff. Damian had been acting weird for a few weeks now.

First came the drone. Or rather, Damian dropping the drone in front of Tim’s face onto the desk where Tim was working in the Cave.

“May I help you?” Tim had drawled, not that he actually wanted to.

“I would like to request your expertise.”

Tim had whipped his head around to stare at Damian in shock. “You. You what?”

Damian must have known how bizarre it was for him to ask for any help whatsoever from one of his least favorite people, but he met Tim’s gaze with nothing but defiance on his face. “I would appreciate your help in repairing the broken traces on a circuit board in this drone. I could do it, of course, but I have other demands on my time.”

Tim, stunned into wordless compliance, had pulled the drone closer and given him a nod. Damian nodded back in acknowledgement, turned on his heel, and left without further ado.

So that had been strange.

But then came the weapons smuggling case.

It was unusual for Jason to ask for assistance from any of them with his cases. Damian seemed an odd choice for helper as well, although the two shared a great deal of experiences, if at disparate times. Still, Tim hadn't thought about it much until Damian sent him a folder of crime scene photos from a recent weapons deal gone wrong, along with notes on the leads he'd found.

The accompanying message had read, Your help in examining the scene for further clues would be useful.

Intrigue didn't prevent Tim from texting Jason to be sure the request had actually come from Damian. It was weird enough to be suspect. But when he got confirmation, the case had instantly sucked him in. It was a multi-pronged operation with both northern and southern arteries, its heart in Gotham, and exactly the sort of conundrum guaranteed to get Tim’s full attention.

This current situation was definitely a step up on the Damian Weirdness Scale.

Tim’s heart seemed to have split itself into multiple pieces and was now pulsing madly in his throat, his ears, his palms. His dick, too, because God forbid he make anything easy on himself. 

Damian must have interpreted his shock as a desire to be persuaded, because he continued at a rate of speed that suggested the words were being forcibly shoved through his teeth. "It's rapidly becoming a liability. I don't want to go pick someone up anonymously when Father will almost certainly find out, because he manages to find out everything humiliating. Anyone else whom I might consider is currently partnered in a monogamous relationship. You are unattached at the moment—unless you have been keeping the truth a secret even my detective skills are unable to uncover, which is of course impossible. And judging by some indiscreet things your former partners have said in the past, you are at least moderately competent in these matters. You are a logical choice for my sexual denouement." He darted a sideways glance at Tim's face, and just as quickly redirected his gaze out the window as his cheeks blazed a darker shade of crimson. "I would consider it a satisfactory training exercise if you were my sparring partner."

"What kind of sex are you picturing exactly where I'm your sparring partner?!" Tim demanded before he could think better of it, then shook the resulting images away from his brain and started over. It would be irresponsible to ignore all the signs that Damian was highly uncomfortable, the red flags ranging from defensive anger to having foregone contractions. "Damian, I'm flattered, but—you're only twenty. What do you mean, a liability? It's not that big of a deal. It's not like you're being sent on honeypot missions, right? Please say no." Damian wordlessly shook his head. "Okay, so . . . what's the rush?"

At that, Damian met his gaze with sheer fury. "The rush is that I want to. Now are you going to help me, or not?"

Tim glared back, an answering surge of rage coming to his sanity’s rescue. Of all the people to actually consider fucking, Damian had to be one of the worst prospects. He'd probably stab Tim if he felt like his technique wasn't up to par. “Absolutely the fuck not. Now get out of my way.”

And he stalked out, hoping that Bruce hadn't replaced the bugs in the hallway lately.

***

After making his demands, Damian retreated into ignoring Tim when at all possible and speaking like Mr. Darcy but with a bigger stick up his ass when it wasn’t. It made things kind of weird with the single case they shared, but Tim decided it was a relief to have everything else back to normal.

The problem was, now he was noticing Damian.

He seemed to have settled into his adult height, having outstripped Tim a good five inches ago. (No, Tim wasn’t bitter. At all.) His newly broad frame boasted muscles nearly as thick as Jason's but lithe and flexible as Dick’s. And those eyes. It would’ve been hard for anyone attracted to men not to notice, but somehow Tim had managed until Damian forcibly brought the matter to his attention.

He was trying not to stare at Damian changing the tires on his motorcycle one night after patrol when his desk chair spun in place with a sudden well-placed kick from Stephanie. He put his feet down in time to face her scowl. 

“Oh my God, Tim, are you listening to a single word I’m saying?” she demanded.

“No,” he replied without thinking, then ran the past several minutes back and amended, “Sort of. When did Babs want to have us over for movie night?”

Appeased, Stephanie started to reiterate the plan. Behind her, Damian’s face relaxed into an almost-smile as Alfred the cat hopped on his lap and yowled plaintively. 

“How did you get down here?” he asked, soft-voiced, caressing Alfred’s head. The cat started purring loudly enough for Tim to hear from his seat. “And don’t bother complaining to me. You’ve got plenty of food, where it’s supposed to be.”

Tim swallowed, watching Damian’s hand move down Alfred’s spine, gentle as always when it came to his pets.

“Seriously.” He jerked his gaze back to Stephanie to see her rolling her eyes. “You’re obviously exhausted. Please go home and get some sleep so we can have a conversation.”

“Uh-huh.” She started toward the showers, and he called, “Sorry!” after her because that had been an asshole move, even though he hadn’t meant to do it.

Involuntarily, Tim looked at Damian again, only this time Damian looked straight back. Bruce was gone on Justice League business, so it was just the two of them now.

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, then Tim found his words. “Come here.”

To his surprise, Damian actually rose to his feet and approached, though he stopped a good three feet away. His face was blank, but his fingers tightened into fists against his thighs.

Tim gulped against a sudden dryness in his mouth because it had been a while and the baby had grown up really fucking hot. He idly wondered what it would be like to grab those wide shoulders and pull him close. Fortunately his voice came out unruffled, even though it sounded far away. “I’ve been thinking. Since the last time we talked. Do you still want me to . . . to do what you said?” “Yes,” Damian said, almost before he finished speaking. His back had straightened to military attention.

“Okay.” Tim stood up and rubbed suddenly damp palms down his thighs, ignoring the fact that his costume was designed to repel wetness so it wasn't really an effective gesture. At least it spread the sweat out a little. “Why don’t you give me a head start and then come over to the Nest tonight? Unless you’re too tired.”

Damian gave him a jerky nod, a single bounce on his toes giving away his nerves. “That would be fine.”

“Great.” Tim had to resist the urge to wave or something equally dorky. “Uh. Yeah. See you there.” He turned on his heel and retreated as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

True to his word, Damian gave Tim plenty of time to shower, head home, and eat before he knocked at his front door like a civilized human being. When he swung the door open, Tim spotted telltale wetness around the edges of his hair that meant Damian had showered before coming over, too.

"Come in," he invited, then shut the door and re-armed the security system while Damian kicked off his shoes. "You hungry? Thirsty?"

Damian scoffed. "I see no reason to delay the main event with meaningless niceties."

Tim rolled his eyes as he started to lead the way to his bedroom. "Don't be a brat. I prefer to at least display a modicum of social skills with my partners. Courtesy begins outside the bedroom, and should extend into it too."

"Spare me the lecture. I'm here for a physical act, not instruction in other types of human relations."

Tim spun to face him at the bedroom door, extending his arm to block it when Damian would have continued past him. He narrowed his eyes and jabbed Damian in the chest with his other hand, ignoring his look of outrage. "Excuse me. This is part of the physical act for me. I'm sure lots of people are different, but I can't enjoy getting naked unless I know I'm with someone who bothers showing me the bare minimum of respect when we're both fully dressed. Is that gonna be you, or am I kicking you out now so I can get some of the sleep I need way more than I need sex?"

Damian hesitated, and Tim tried to look bored with the delay. Finally, Damian swallowed, hard enough for his Adam's apple to bob visibly, and dropped his gaze. "I apologize. I recognize that you're doing me a favor. I’m uncertain of my skill set in this arena."

Tim allowed his surprise to show on his face. "Thanks. For being honest with me, I mean." That much wasn't easy for anyone in the family. Damian really had been growing up, in more ways than one.

Damian nodded in acknowledgement. Tim let his arm drop, and Damian walked past him into the bedroom, sitting at the foot of the unmade bed with his legs close together, hands folded. Tim closed and locked the bedroom door, then checked the windows too, just in case anyone got the bright idea to drop in uninvited. Turning back, he saw Damian hadn't moved an inch, but was watching Tim with singleminded focus.

Something needy and grasping lurched in the pit of his stomach. He shoved it away, and immediately felt guilty he had to do so when Damian's hands tightened on each other till the knuckles went pale.

"Hey." He knelt at Damian's feet, put his hands over where Damian's were knotted together. "You wanna stop now? If you're having second thoughts—"

Damian flipped his hands, quick as thought, and held Tim's in a loose grip. "I am not. I simply do not know what to do. In my minimal previous experience, we engaged in the precursors to this sort of activity without any previous discussion or planning, so this type of interaction is outside the scope of my experience."

Tim folded his lips in tight, considering. It was hard not to overthink this, to ask all the questions whirling in his head that he just couldn't help having, but none of the answers were things he was entitled to know. Damian had asked for a favor, and no matter what standards Tim had for courtesy, he was no stranger to casual hook-ups. This was a transaction between acquaintances. Coworkers? Sort-of friends. 

"Okay. Let's start with this, then. What are you already comfortable with? What have you done before that you liked?" He shrugged. "How do you want me to fuck you? That's figurative 'fuck,' by the way, penetration isn't necessary for sex to happen."

"I know that." Damian gave him a withering glare, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. "I enjoyed kissing. Both on the mouth and elsewhere. I enjoyed being touched anywhere that isn't ticklish, like the bottoms of my feet. I enjoyed frottage. I haven't done much more besides."

Tim tried not to sound as incredibly turned on as he was at the moment and likely failed miserably. "Anything you didn't like?" God, the mental image of Damian grinding against someone—probably Jon but who knew—until he came was enough to make him lightheaded. 

"I am not comfortable . . . being penetrated." The color in his face was bright enough to glow in the dark at this, but he pressed on. "Either by myself or anyone else. Anything else, for that matter." His lashes lowered as he stared at Tim's hands, still laid quiescent under his own. "If you change your mind, knowing that, I will understand."

Tim freed his hands so he could rub Damian's thighs, watching closely for any reaction. The pulse point in his neck beat a little faster, and his pupils dilated a bit, but those both seemed positive. "Not at all. There's a lot left on the menu if that's the only no you have. Of course, you'll probably find out you have other limits as you try more stuff, but we'll keep it basic tonight. Are you okay with doing the penetrating? Or trying it out?"

Damian nodded, fast and eager. "I would be willing to try."

Tim suppressed his smile, in case Damian thought he was laughing at him. Honestly, that was pretty cute. Not a term he was used to applying to Damian, but this night was already full of surprises so why not one more? "We can try, then. How's your stamina?"

One big shoulder jerked up. "Typical for one of my experience and age."

So probably about five minutes, max. "No worries. That just means your recovery time is great, too." Tim slid his hands up again, and this time skimmed one higher so he was palming Damian's obvious erection. It felt like he'd grown up proportionate everywhere, which was nice. “What about condoms? It’s been more than six months for me and we both have Bruce’s health screenings to deal with so . . . is it okay if we go without?” 

Damian shrugged with obviously faked casualness. “I don’t believe anything could get past Father’s tests. It’s all right with me.”

“Great.” Tim fiddled with his pants button. "Why don't I blow you so we can make you come right away, and then we can work our way up to the rest?"

Damian's voice came out breathy. "That would be acceptable."

Tim couldn't keep himself from giving him a Robin grin, sharp edged and cocky, as he opened Damian’s pants and pulled them and his underwear out of the way. Damian's eyes widened with shock as Tim closed his fingers around his dick. Uncut and thick and fucking gorgeous, already dark with arousal. Tim's mouth was watering at the thought of sucking it. "Let's see if we can get this whole thing a little bit past acceptable."

day two here

[killerandhealerqueen]

新年快乐!🐉

Happy Chinese New Year!🐉

Wishing you a prosperous year of the Dragon! 🐉

[haliaiii]

oc posting pt 3 except it’s just Kain

[mcskullmun]

We’re okay 95% of the time but sometimes we remember that we likely won’t be able to transition until we’re like 20-fucking-5 and get the insatiable urge to Throw Things

(Cw for some trans-related rage/desperation in the tags)

[moicaire]

.

[culmaer-sideblog]

please forgive me, but I need to complain and over-share or my brain is going to explode please feel free to ignore

[sapphic-and-stupid]

As a high schooler I clung so desperately to those posts about like, “your life will be beautiful once you make it out of the dark, this is not all there is, you will live past the dark years” and I really saw highschool as this great gouge in my life that I would have to one day overcome. It would be a huge period I had lost and I would have to fight to make the rest of my life make up for it, and I believed I would. But now I look back on my life and those ~4 years were so small!! I’m not even 22 yet and already like, the last 3 years of my life have been so much larger than any that came before it! It’s less about my age, and more about the post-graduate life, but still - I have been so incredibly lucky in the past few years, so much so that it has exceeded my high school self’s wildest dreams. And with any luck, I’ll have like 8 more decades of this ahead of me

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

the thing about the Anastasia stage musical is that like…….. as a story it’s a real improvement on the original film. way better construction, stronger characterisation etc etc etc. but…. the same choices that make it technically a better narrative also have really weird knock-on effects on the message.

Replacing rasputin with a communist party officer who’s father was one of the ones who executed the romanov family??? UGH that’s so good that’s so juicy the dynamic between the villain and Anya is SO much more interesting than in the original film. But it leads to scenes like Still/The Neva Flows where it’s like.

“The Romanov’s were given everything and gave back nothing until the russian people rose up and destroyed them!”

*girlboss voice* “All but one. I am my fathers daughter”.

And i’m just… ok but he’s right though. He’s absolutely correct there. Factually he is accurate. But she’s the protagonist and he’s the antagonist so the framing is that she’s the one we should be rooting for here. There’s no point where Anya is like “wow my experiences growing up poor and destitute and orphaned have made me morally uncomfortable with the idea of claiming my place as the daughter of the tsar and that’s going to influence my decisions and actions”. She’s just like. Oh cool i get to be a princess??? neato.