#For context I have chewing problems

[rockingego]

Rip to this fork

I promise this was originally a fork

Chewed on it a bit too much </3

[littleapplle]

bad dog!

mating season's part two. not necessary but read it for more context. nsfw. 4.1k w.

cw.: hybrid!caleb, fem!reader, masturbation (m), dry humping, caleb is pathetic and anxious asf, a lot of spit, handjob, cunnilingus (sigh...), p in v, big d caleb, knotting, breeding kink, pregnancy kink (sorryy..), caleb is PATHETIC (again), biting and lwk marking kink, doggy style, mating press, squirting.

note: ah!! its finally out! to everyone who liked and asked for a part two of mating season, im sorry! i took so long to start and finish this. i hope i can keep up with the expectations and that this is just as enjoyable as part one.

“bad dog!”

Is what caleb's got most used to hearing in the past few days.

“caleb, do you know where my white bra is- hey, what are you hiding in there? bad dog!”

“caleb! stop going through the dirty laundry basket! bad dog!”

“caleb, why are there holes in my black panties? oh my god did you chew them again?- ugh! bad dog!”

the first few times, he'd whine in guilt and shame, give you his best puppy eyes and maybe, just maybe, get away with it. but now? you're afraid he's getting bolder, that your punishments – denying him his weekly spoon of peanut butter and his blueberry bites – aren't being enough to keep him on his tracks. 

and what's the solution for a puppy with bad manners? a trainer, of course! you've searched everywhere online for a hybrid trainer close to your apartment and nothing was worth wasting time on. most of them were men, which you knew wouldn't end well.

puppy!caleb is friendly, a sweetheart around you. he lies on his back and whines for belly rubs and when you scratch a particular spot on his side, his leg twitches a little. your sweet pup is lovely but you know him well enough to know it's better to avoid interactions with other men.

it's not personal! he isn't scared of them or anything. he just doesn't like them around you:( so why would you bring a stranger to your shared apartment to not only try and order him around but also infect the air, which usually smells like you, with their yucky scent? that's a nono!! caleb is a good pup but his teeth are still huge and sharp!!!

with no other options left, you return to scolding caleb almost daily for his misbehavior.  sure, you’re letting him get away with it sometimes and maybe you're too soft on him but you're trying!

his behavior worsens with time. it's been a little more than a  week since the incident you'd rather not mention. caleb barks when you get home, showing his teeth to the world once his nose sniffs a different scent in your clothes. caleb growls and both of you play tug of war with your clothes every morning. caleb hides stuff around the apartment and you're running out of undies.

he's clingy. you love him but he's constantly clinging to you, sniffing every inch of your skin when he thinks you're not looking. When you sit down on the couch to work, laptop resting on top of your thighs, he lies down on the floor, waiting for you to invite him to sit beside you and take a nap while you write reports, and when you don't? his sharp teeth nip at the ticklish skin of your foot. bad dog!

to his dismay, you still have a job and need to go out by the morning and spend the whole day out. the baby teethers you bought for him aren’t helping to keep his teeth and mind busy anymore and caleb is starting to destroy the shit out of your apartment. you’ve found bite marks everywhere this past week. your mascara? bitten. the corner of your bedside table? destroyed. the cute and pink silicone spatula in your kitchen? disintegrated.

ok, sure, it’s kind of your fault for not educating him properly but how could you? poor boy gets anxious when you’re not around and his gums are itchy! he’s innocent! 

so, to help with said problem, you bought him a friend! a fluffy, cute, white bunny plushie with the cutest light pink heart for a nose. but that alone was too tedious for your bored pup! to prevent him from absolutely destroying the plushie, you spray some of your perfume in its fluffy body. the cologne he whines and buries his face in your neck when you wear, the one that made you put a lock on the cabinet under your bathroom sink because he kept spraying it in the air when you weren’t home.

great idea! he loves it. a bit too much maybe, but it’s a win. 

“i’m leaving, caleb! leftovers are in the fridge. yes, i love you, yes, i have to go, no i can’t call in sick.”

you announce loudly from the front door before shutting it close, a tactic you quickly learned. you sneak to the front door quietly, tell him that you’re out and boom. door locked. sometimes you can hear him whine and paw at the knob and it breaks your heart but your boss will chop your head off if you arrive late one more time this month. you try to make your goodbye as painless as possible for him, like removing a bandaid with a single quick pull so he doesn’t have the time to process the sting.

the clock hits 11:00, it’s been an hour since you left. caleb is miserably sprawled on the couch, he tries to focus his eyes on the show playing on the tv but his purple orbs stare at the clock more times than he can count.

it’s 18:00 by the time he gets frustrated and decides he’ll take a nap in your bed. everything on the tv is too boring if you’re not there to watch it with him, he doesn’t want to eat if you’re not there to treat him with dessert- oh, he misses you dearly.

opening the door of your room, he sighs like a wife that has been waiting six months for her husband, who left to save their country, to answer her last letter, whining dramatically at the hopeful thought you’d magically come home earlier. the mattress sinks down with his weight, curling under your weighted blanket like a puppy.

and that’s when he sees it.

his new little friend, with a light orange bow tied around its neck, sitting beside his head on the pillows. you’ve definitely sprayed your perfume on it this morning, the scent is still too fresh, he notes. 

he yanks it closer quickly, big hand and fingers gripping the fabric with force as he buries it in his face. comfort immediately runs through his veins, filling his bored brain with a sense of calmness. his fluffy ears twitch, glueing to the sides of his head pitifully and there’s a barely visible tail wagging slowly under the thick blanket.

caleb takes a whiff, a second one, a third one, and his eyes start to water. this is inhumane! he cherishes your gift dearly but now the scent just makes him miss you even more. rubbing his face closer to the plushie’s tummy, his canine teeth sink on the fabric as gently as he can, trying not to damage the toy you gifted him with so much love.

his little puppy heart shatters. if you were by his side right now, you’d pet his ears, pinch his cheek just enough to make his canines visible and giggle at him and it’d make him feel better! 

his hips buckle against the mattress as he squirms around the bed sadly and a shiver runs up his spine, making the fur on his tail stand up. caleb has been so pent up since he pressed you to the floor and had his way around you, his cock is always sensitive, the scratches you give behind his ear make his lower stomach tighten with arousal and his pupils are always blown.

gross stuff is a nono in your bed but his hands paw at his hardening cock through his boxers anyway. It’s not in his hand he wants to come and the feeling of not having what he wants makes his chest heavy with frustration. With a hiss, his hand leaves his cock, like any touch burns and hurts him more than it helps. 

‘caleb- no. i need you to calm down before i give you the spoon. breathe.’ is what you tell him after lunch, when he gets to have some peanut butter. the situation is different, he feels like a bomb, ticking closer and closer to exploding but he obeys your voice in his head anyway, breathing nervously against the now covered in saliva bunny.

a long breath makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull as his hypersensitive nose catches a glimpse of the intoxicating sweet smell of your cologne. 

and what happens next is not processed by his pathetic brain. the poor plushie is dragged down the blanket and pressed right to his crotch, its fur sticky with precum that seeped through his boxers. this is what you wanted when you gifted him this thing, huh? a ragdoll for him to fuck when you’re away? well it’s not enough!

his hips rut against the bead filled body with messy thrusts and more whines escape his lips. He can’t come. Not in this, not in his hand, his knot will take too long to go down and he’ll be sensitive, too sensitive. it has to be you. he wants you.

caleb is not there to see the clock tick 18:40, his ears don't help him this time, his nose is buried in your pillow too deeply to catch your slightly sweaty scent in the air and tell that you’re home. 

from the front door, you arch a brow as you kick your shoes off and place them on the shoe hack. the apartment is quiet, too quiet. caleb is like a child, you’ve noticed, if everything is too silent, something is wrong. 

“caleb? where are you, boy? have you eaten anything yet?” you call out, no one answers.

the door of your bedroom is ajar. is he sleeping? cute. you walk carefully to its direction, tiptoeing in hope to not wake him up. and once you peek inside, your smile falters.

“caleb! gross!”

the shriek makes him snap out of his drunk, dumbed down mind and his eyes almost pop out of his skull. his ears, once hidden on both sides of his head, stand on top of it, tense. “you-” he cries and sits up.

you don’t give time to finish his sentence, a frown blooming in your face as you cross your arms close to your chest by the door. 

“seriously caleb?! in my bed? i just changed the sheets this morning, for fuck’s sake-” and listen, he wants to apologize, feel guilty and pout but he can’t. he can hear your breath hitching, he loves when you come home with sweat clinging to your skin, fuck, you smell so good. he wants a taste. this time, he’ll get it.

this time, he begs. he crawls to the edge of your bed, tail wagging behind him mindlessly and the words that leave his mouth are pathetic.

“please- r’lly need your help! feels so hot- please i- i really need you! been waiting for so long, ah, please- i’m a good boy, kept my teeth to myself, promise. oh fuck.” your ears can barely catch up to everything he’s saying, his words are dragged, desperate, needy.

you really want to keep up with the ‘i’m mad at you’ act but you break. his whines go right to your core, arousal pooling on your underwear disgustingly fast. pinching your nose, you sigh, walking to his direction and sitting on the bed.

with the space between you two getting smaller, his tail wags faster, his pupils blown wide, shaky. your hand makes contact with his sweaty cheek and he is quick to lean in, shutting his eyes close and basking into your touch. “what’s wrong, pupp-” — “hot.” you can hear the distress in his voice. “it’s okay, i’m here now, aren’t i?” at the reassurance, you receive a lick in your hand as acknowledgement.

scooting closer, you cradle his face with both hands. there’s a bit of sweat clinging to his bangs , making them stick to his forehead, a bit of saliva is smeared on his lips and his brows are furrowed. “oh, my poor pup.” you coo in pity before pressing a kiss to his wet lips. he whines, kissing— well, licking your lips stupid—, you groan at the mess but doesn’t fight against it, you’ve been mean enough already.

while his clammy hands grip your shirt for a sense of grounding, yours scratch his chest in affection, tracing down to the happy trail that trailed up to his bellybutton. you’d love to take your time with him, let your mind settle, but knowing caleb, he’ll grow frustrated and bark weakly as a way to protest. so, in order to keep him quiet, your wandering hand pulls down his wet underwear, his cock standing proud against his stomach.

your eyes almost pop out their sockets once you peek down. he is big, much bigger than whatever the average is. his tip is an angry shade of red, beads of precum leaking down the shaft. the cool air makes it twitch. 

slowly, awkwardly, your hand wraps itself around it, working up and down. that makes him snap, breaking the kiss and throwing his head back with a loud whine. “‘s that good, pup?” he doesn’t answer, how could he? not when your thumb presses on his tip in a way it makes his thighs shake and his ears twitch with pleasure and he’s trying so hard not to come. 

your other hand leaves his face, going south to cup his balls gently. his jaw tightens. gross. you think with a smile but leans in anyway, kissing his adam’s apple as it bobs with his nervous gulps.

the stimulation is too much for him, making his brain go fuzzy. your lips now working on his shoulder blade, your hand gripping his length tightly, your other hand massaging his balls- “stop! argh- please, ‘m gonna cum! can’t cum. needa be inside you, please.” caleb squeals, both hands holding down your arms with force as his hips buckle in your hands.

so you do, you let go, just staring at him with big eyes as his chest goes up and down quickly and his face flushes with heat. once he settles from his high, caleb’s hands grip the hem of your shirt, taking it off quickly and messing your hair. “ow! caleb-” — “no.”

caleb has always been stronger than you, you lose against him when roughhousing, you give up on trying to save your clothes from his teeth because once something is in his grasp, you’re not getting it back. in a second, you’re under him, face shoved into one of your pillows while your ass, covered in the pretty, black skirt you left to work with is up in the air.

he doesn’t take the skirt off, too irritated to care about something so trivial. he takes a second to sniff your crotch, covered by a cute pair of wet lilac panties, before yanking the fabric down to your bent knees. you squeal against your pillow at the roughness and the quick, hot sniffs on your lips.

last week caleb discovered he loves the way you taste, he’d love to eat you out the whole night, starting now, but he just can’t take this long right now. his warm tongue laps at your arousal, lips wrapping themselves in your folds and sucking gently.

“c-caleb! fuck! good- good boy, keep going, baby.” muffled whines escape your lips and at the praise, caleb’s tail wags faster, tongue working around your clit, teasing it. he sees the way your knees fight to keep your ass up and not buckle weakly, that’s his sign to keep going. 

his free hands grip your ass, spreading it for more easy access. he trails kisses from your clit and up to your slit, continuing going up till he gets to your asshole, placing an open mouthed kiss to the hole. it twitches, your body shivering at the unexpected contact. you hit the pillow you’re currently biting in protest. “gross, caleb!”

it doesn’t take long for your moans to grow louder and your thighs, dripping with sweat, shake violently as he sucks on your clit harshly. “fu-ck! yes! good boy, caleb- mghhh- jus’ like, ah, that!” you moan, creaming on his mouth tiredly.

you curse his stamina, because once you think you’ll finally be able to catch your breath and rest, caleb’s already rutting against your wet folds and slapping his dick on your sensitive bundle of nerves. energetic mutt, you curse. he is not giving you a break.

“caleb.” you warn, trying to make your voice as steady as possible. “gimme a break and then we can conti- aaH! oh my god- fucking mutt!” you scream, cursing him for the pain between your legs as he buries himself inside you in a single thrust. his tip kissing your cervix and walls tightening around his length painfully. 

“s-sorry! o-oh fuck. fuck, y’er so tight- mgh-” 

and ohhhh fuck, he waited so long for this. you look so pretty from this angle, hair tangled and messy, face buried in a pillow, back and thighs sweaty while your knees can barely hold up your weight. he gulps down, trying not to piston his hips inside you just yet. 

he doesn’t give you much time to get comfortable before snapping his hips against your ass, the sound of skin against skin disgustingly lewd. his torso bends down to bury his face in your nape, breathing deeply in your hair once he does. “mine. oh- ahh- yes, mineminemine!” caleb whimpers, his eyes rolling back as you clench down around him, making his thrusts messier. 

as a response to pleasure, his fluffy ears twitch and drop to the back of his head once again. his tail doesn’t stop wagging ever, swishing behind him happily. the warmth in his stomach grows at the sound of your moans and screams, your curses only making him hornier.

you’re a meanie, you don’t let him chew on your shirts and get a whiff of your bras, you nag at him and hide the small container with blueberries that’s usually in the fridge when he does something wrong. and usually, he’d whine, eyes getting watery at the thought of you being mad at him, but now? he doesn’t even care! you look so pretty, you feel so good. his ears barely get a glimpse of you cursing all his next generations.

a shiver runs down your spine once he licks the back of your neck, sniffing it contently as his cock abuses your insides. you hate him, you fucking hate this mutt, he is disgusting and he does not obey and his cock drags along your walls so fucking nicely. his mushroom tip pokes your cervix roughly, making you stupidly drool in your sheets while your things dig on the bedding. 

“y’smell so good- y’er so tight- feel so- ngh- good! mine, right? don’t like other men around you! noooongh”  – “w-wait! caleb! aah!” something in his mind upsetted him because the way he thrusts into your cunt is inhumane, caleb’s bigger frame presses you down on the mattress, the hair of his happy trail tickling your lower back as his skin slaps on yours. 

you’re a mess, pussy drooling pathetically and stretched to her limit around him, juices spilling down your thighs and the mattress everytime he fucks his cock inside you. and when you’re sure you’re getting used to him, of fucking course caleb has to start talking again. “need to mark you, everyone need’ta know y’er mine, just mine. that’s my cock you’re clenching around. needa bite you, yeah.” 

and he keeps up with his words, his loving, ticklish licks to the back of your neck turning into a sharp pain. you scream, squirming under him and one of your hands tries to slap whatever bit of his skin you can reach but it’s worthless. once caleb sets his mind into something, you’re definitely not the one that’s able to stop him with physical force. with a hand tightly around your waist and the other keeping your neck in place, his canine teeth sink down on your nape, biting down just enough to make the skin irritated and leave a scar for a few weeks.

and when you feel like you’re getting closer, his hips stop, his cock slips out of you and a strangled whine leaves your wet lips as he manhandles you, flipping you on your back. “you!-” annoying! you’re so annoying! bad dog!, you want to shout. “s-sorry. need to see your face.” he hisses as his eyes wander down at your breasts. “you’re so pretty, ahhh, so pretty. have i ever told you that?- fuck, mine and so pretty- oh-” 

he doesn’t waste any time, his hands help your legs up his shoulders and he slips inside you again. his sunset colored eyes stare at his cock going in and out, in and out, in and out of you and he finally notices the creamy ring around the base of his length and smeared on your lips. it’s pinkish, he notes, probably from being too rough and not stretching you properly. he’ll say sorry later.

“you’re so-” he pants tiredly, “so pretty.” a sweaty hand gropes the fat of your tit, squeezing it under his large palm. “want t’a breed you- need to- fuck! need to get your tits swollen with milk-” caleb leans in once again, this time bending your body like a stick, pressing your legs closer to your chest in the process. his nose takes a whiff of the valley of your boobs before wrapping his lips around your free boob, playing with the other one with his hand. 

your voice fails you once again. it’s not like you have the strength to judge him harshly again anyway. his tongue swipes at your hard nipple, sucking it like he has a point to prove. “and you would mghhh! would look so pretty and round and ah! everyone would know y’er mine, oh god-” 

with a last kiss, as if sealing a promise, he lets go of your nipple with mercy and stands up again, kissing your knee as an apology for bending you like your bones are made of jello. and then it hits him. “o-oh! s’rry forgot you like this.” the hand squeezing your tit snakes down between you two, adding some much needed stimulation to your clit.

you jump, legs thrashing against his shoulders and back at the pleasure. you clench around him once more and this time, it’s his turn to squeal in pleasure. “o-oh fuck. ‘m cumming, g’nna breed you, yeah? fill you up, mhm? yeah? fuck! cummin’!” caleb whines before throwing his head back, his sweaty hair barely moving an inch away from his forehead while doing so, and his once steady thrusts turn languid, messy. 

his cock twitches around you, spilling white, watery ropes in your pussy. bicolor orbs roll to the back of his skull as he feels his knot grow swollen at the base of his cock. even after coming, he keeps pistoning his hips in you, tiredly, but it’s the thought that counts.

at the weird, swollen and hot thing trying to fuck its way inside you, you mewl, eyes going wild open as caleb tries stretching you just a little more. 

“caleb-? what the aha! fuck?” — “sorry!” he cries but keeps going anyway, his fingers working faster around your clit to make up for the pain. “jus’ a little more? ple- ase? it feels good, doesn’t it?” back to being stupid and pathetic apparently, because the way he stares at you with puppy dog eyes and begs is disgusting. 

his other hand leaves your thigh to press down on your tummy and it becomes too much. your walls convulse around him and you cry, clit throbbing under his touch pathetically. the hand putting pressure on your bladder makes your eyes roll, your hands grip the sheets to the point of turning white.

“caleb! ah! oh my god- fuck- aha, cumming, i’m gonna cum! pl-please keep going!” 

and you don’t have to ask him twice. he thrusts his cock in you a last time, his knot slipping in easier than he thought it would, thanks to your drooling cunt and his cum and that does it for you. your body goes static, hips bucking against his and back arching against the bed. his fingers don’t stop, rubbing your clit until you’re shaking uncontrollably and your juices spray on his thighs and lower stomach.

“oh-”  — “don- not a word!” you manage to cry out.

“so… how long till it goes down?” you murmur tiredly against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his big frame as he lies on top of you. your legs feel sore, aching from being spread for so long, thanks to his cock still buried in you.

“an hour and a half, probably” caleb shrugs. 

your eyes snap open. “an hour?!” — “and a half.” he barks with a chuckle.

“i hate you! you’re heavy, y’know?! argh, bad dog!” he only manages to laugh at your rage and lick your cheek, covering it in saliva.

⊹ ࣪reblogs are very much appreciated. thank you for reading!(*´▽`*)

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it.  You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response.  As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence.  "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability.  Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique.  Instead, he just smiled at you slightly.  "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing.  "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit.  “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk.  “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question.  “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly.  “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

~

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door.  “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak.  “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly.  “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed.  “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling.  “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame.  A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. 

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled.  “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape?  It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed.  “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.  

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell.  Things are fine with Tim, I promise.” 

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled.  “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you.  “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent.  “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink.  You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion.  “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers.  “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point.  It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one.  I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together.  “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way.  “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly.  “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student.  You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone.  He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.  

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily.  “You challenge me,” he finished quickly.  “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach.  “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over.  “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses.  “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone.  “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th?  The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…” 

Your heart started to race.  Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door.  “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery.  “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again.  “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

~

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise.  “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked.  “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head.  “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch.  You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side.  The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping.  He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable.  You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear… 

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare.  You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued.  “It doesn’t matter.  We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration.  “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him.  Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal.  Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me?  I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed.  “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly.  Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly.  “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do.  You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways.  That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes!  Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly.  “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all?  Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove?  Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about?  You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed.  “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified.  “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders.  “I know.  Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe.  You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher.  But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

~

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you?  You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm.  What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do.  As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again.  This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter.  You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat.  That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility.  You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape.  It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.  

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought.  There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside.  Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly.  “We lost some of the compound.  This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed.  “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount?  How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk.  “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied.  “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone?  He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh.  “You?” the leader repeated.  “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you.  Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness.  Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position.  As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars.  Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head.  "If it isn't Batgirl.  Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged.  "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with.  "Not with me.  I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway.  You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs.  You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal.  But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them.  For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole.  You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed.  "Make it stop!  Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver.  “This is who you are.  Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.  

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away.  You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first.  Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly.  “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh.  “But out here, you’re no challenge at all.  Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions.  “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly.  “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss.  “Please,” you begged again, “no!  Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped.  He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed.  You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin.  “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked.  “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants.  You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response.  The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh?  Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening.  With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit.  The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier.  It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away.  He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan.  “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly.  “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it.  Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily.  He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit.  “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down.  You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head.  He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists.  “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him.  He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.  

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground.  You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct.  All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you.  You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you.  It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that.  “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful.  You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest.  Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed.  “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking.  You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you.  “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused.  “No one wants to get involved.  These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school.  You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh.  Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing.  They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles.  You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones?  You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me.  Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become.  Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear.  He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice.  “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven.  He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin.  Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed.  With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too).  As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside.  He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.  

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt.  “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms.  When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down.  You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class.  I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again.  Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

~

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed.  “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in.  A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.” 

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you.  "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh.  “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew.  I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches.  Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists.  Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask.  You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it.  He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet.  This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom.  “Alright,” he said.  “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots.  Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more.  In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear.  Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line.  “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence.  We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

[magenta-malice]

Stress Relief

Jax x Reader 

sorry for the long intro

Summary: Caine organises a roast session for the circus members, with Jax being the first target. He plays it cool at first, but when the jokes hit a little too close to home, Y/N finds him struggling with the aftermath.

A/N: This idea came to me in a ₊‧⁺˖vision˖⁺‧₊, inspired by that episode in the Office where everyone roasts Micheal and he acts tough in front of them but gets really emotional and cries about it at the end. I feel that’s extremely Jax coded. Originally, I imagined this as just a bunch of random HCs, but then I wanted to write an actual story around it – so I decided to do both.

You’ll see an intermission in the middle where I just made the roasts into bullet points, mostly because I came up with too many for each character and had no idea how to structure them. So I just got lazy with it. Hope you don’t mind lol. Imagine it like a fun montage!

Quick backstory:

1.) This happens on the next day of ‘A Slithering Adventure’, also written by yours truly, so if you haven’t read that one yet, number one, how dare you, and second, you don’t necessarily have to read it, but it’s nice for the context. Not suggesting anything… but, y’know. Glance glance, wink wink.

2.) I mentioned in that post that I’m in the middle of writing a long and tedious TADC AU kind of thing for myself with my OC in mind, who has a mysterious backstory that the circus members don’t know about. This oneshot is also a part of that story. There’s a brief scene touching on that here, but nothing you can’t handle. 

CW: underlying themes of emotional damage / emotional vulnerability - from both Y/N and Jax | Jax gets bullied <3 | Y/N has hair, Kinger has brows and Caine has a grin?? i dunno man

Word count: 3044 | Masterlist

You woke up feeling like sleep had chewed you up and spat you back out. Maybe it was yesterday’s adventure – running from a giant serpent, getting lost in the woods, and, most amusingly, watching Jax try (and fail) to act like he wasn’t absolutely losing his mind.

On the surface, it had been hilarious. Seeing him crumble in fear, fumbling through excuses, pretending he was totally fine? Priceless. But now, lying here, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

You almost felt bad for him. Almost.

You stretched, your joints making an odd rubbery squeak – just another reminder that your body wasn’t really your body anymore. Sitting up, you replayed yesterday’s events in your mind.

Jax had tried so hard to keep his usual smug composure, but the moment that snake slithered too close, he practically levitated off the ground. His ears had shot straight up, his pupils shrunk to tiny squares, and, oh, the best part, his voice cracked when he snapped at you to “move faster, dammit!”

You snorted to yourself. Yeah, real smooth, Jax.

Still… the way he had reacted – it wasn’t just some overblown freak-out. There was real fear in his eyes. Not the dramatic, over-the-top kind he faked for attention, but something raw, something instinctive. And that’s what stuck with you.

You weren’t used to seeing Jax vulnerable. Hell, you weren’t sure if he was used to it.

With a sigh, you got up. Not my problem, you told yourself. He’ll be fine.

Probably.

You shook off the lingering thoughts and made your way out of your room. The hallway stretched ahead, bathed in that usual, eerie vibes – no windows, no real sense of time passing, just the same endless loop of artificial existence.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you nearly bumped into someone.

“Kinger?”

The old chess piece flinched like you’d just jolted him out of a deep trance. His eyes darted around before settling on you, blinking a few times as if trying to place who you were.

“Oh! Oh, yes, you’re… you’re…” he paused, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Wait, what was I–? Oh dear, I was– hm.”

Kinger always seemed lost in his own world, but today, there was something… different about it. 

“You alright there, buddy?” you asked, tilting your head with a half-smile.

He let out a nervous chuckle, then leaned in slightly. “I had a thought just now,” he muttered, his voice filled with confusion. “But it slipped away. Isn’t that strange? Happens all the time, but this one felt important.”

Your stomach suddenly twisted. You had a hunch of what this was about. He’s remembering. Not clearly, not yet – but it was only a matter of time.

Before you could respond, he straightened up. “Ah, well! Off to breakfast, are we? Yes, yes, me too! Or – was I going somewhere else?”

You forced a grin. “Nah, you’re doing just fine, Kinger.”

His eyes twitched. “Huh?”

You just patted his shoulder, ignoring how he flinched. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

Kinger hesitated but eventually shuffled along beside you. He kept glancing your way, brow furrowed like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces. You pretended not to notice.

As you two entered the main room, the others were already gathered, the air thick with anticipation. Your eyes immediately met Jax’s, who was already slouched on the couch, arms folded behind his head as if he owned the place. 

You tried to ignore the faint hint of amusement flickering across your face as you sat down next to him, your thoughts still lingering on the adventure with the serpent. You could still hear Jax’s high-pitched yelp in your head and the way he had tried – and spectacularly failed – to act calm. Not that you’d rub it in… too much.

"You still recovering from yesterday or have the nerves settled down already?”

Jax shot you a quick glance as he leaned back with a cocky grin. "Nerves? What nerves? I’m good as new, Y/N."

“Uh-huh,” you said, not buying it for a second. You crossed your arms, keeping your expression neutral, but you couldn’t help the small, teasing smile that tugged at your lips.

"Hey, I’m just saying, I’m extremely calm under pressure. One of my many talents," Jax continued, grinning wider. "You can admit it – you were impressed."

You snorted at his response. “Right, sure. Whatever you say, bunny boy.”

Before Jax could reply, Caine’s voice boomed across the room, cutting through the casual chatter like a knife. "Alright, alright! Settle down, everyone! Your favorite ringmaster has finally arrived!"

You could practically feel the collective groan ripple through the room.

Caine twirled in mid-air, his voice filling the entire room. "Ah, welcome, my fabulous team! Welcome, my precious superstars, my beloved troupe of dazzling individuals who make this circus the magnificent spectacle it is!" His eyes shined with excitement as he continued, his hands sweeping grandly toward the group. "Now, my lovely cast of unique and talented beings, it’s time for a very special event, one that will unite us all in ways you cannot yet fathom!"

He paused for dramatic effect, letting the silence hang in the air before delivering his next words with grand flair. "Today, we’re embarking on a marvelous journey of togetherness! The bond of a team is forged in the most delightful of fires. And what better way to nurture that bond than... a team-building exercise, of course!"

The room fell into a hushed stillness. You tilted your head in confusion, not entirely sure where this was going.

Caine’s grin widened as he spun in a slow circle. "This will not be some trivial, run-of-the-mill bonding experience, no! No, no, no... This, my dear friends, will be a roast! A chance for each of you to lovingly tear each other apart, but with words, of course! Nothing brings people closer than a little well-meaning verbal destruction, am I right?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then–

"Wait, what?" Jax sat up, grinning. "You’re saying we just get to insult each other? In front of everyone?"

"Precisely!" Caine exclaimed, beaming like he’d just announced the greatest prize. "Let’s see who can come up with the sharpest wit, the cleverest insult, and of course, the most playful jabs. All in good fun, of course!"

You could see Gangle and Pomni getting uncomfortable, probably being a bit concerned about what’s about to go down. Zooble let out a sigh, already regretting coming out of their room today.

Caine clapped his hands dramatically, bringing the attention back to him. "Alright! Let the games begin! I expect nothing short of absolute brilliance from each of you. And remember, we’re a team. A family! Just... with a little extra spice today."

"Alright, let’s get started," Jax cracked his knuckles. "This might be the best day of my life."

The others exchanged uneasy glances, half-expecting Jax to unleash all of his inner demons. Caine spun in the air. "Since Jax is clearly so excited, why don’t we start with him?"

Jax froze.

"Wait–"

But it was too late. The damage had been done.

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Ragatha leaned forward, a smile spreading across her face. "Oh, this should be fun."

___________________________

POMNI

#1: 

Pomni: Visibly sweating. “Uh… Jax… you, um… you’re really mean. Like, aggressively mean. If I had a dollar for every time you insulted me, I’d – well, I don’t know what I’d do, because there’s no money here, but I’d be rich in theoretical dollars.” Pauses, then mutters. “Wait, that sounded dumb. Can I start over?”

Jax: “Nah, keep going, this is hilarious.”

#2: 

“Uh… Jax. You, um… you’re really good at making people feel bad. Which is… impressive? In a terrible way? Anyway, I don’t think you have emotions, and I think if you did, you’d bully them too.”

#3:

“If you disappeared, I wouldn’t even question it…”

GANGLE

#1: 

Gangle: “Jax, every time you walk into a room, I have to mentally prepare myself. You’re like a jump scare, but instead of a scary monster, it’s just… pure emotional damage.”

Jax: “Aww, thanks, ribbons.”

Gangle: “That wasn’t a compliment...”

Jax: Grinning. “Sounded like one.”

#2:

“I-I-I just think it’s really funny how you call everyone else pathetic, but you literally have nothing going for you. You don’t even wear shoes."

#3:

“I tried drawing Jax once, but the paper crumpled itself out of self-respect.”

KINGER

#1:

“Jax reminds me of this guy I used to know in the war. Always running his mouth. We left him in a ditch.”

#2:

“You remind me of a mosquito. Annoying, persistent, and somehow always there when I don’t want you to be.”

#3:

“You know, Jax, I think I used to have a friend like you… Oh, wait, never mind… I wouldn’t do that to myself.”

Y/N

#1:

"Jax, I have to ask – do you actually do anything around here, or do you just exist to be a professional pain in the ass?"

#2:

"You’re like a kid who just learned what sarcasm is and decided to make it his whole personality."

#3:

"I think the real mystery of this place is how you’re somehow both the most annoying and the most avoidant person here."

RAGATHA

#1: 

“Jax, you act like you’re too cool to care about anything, but I’ve seen you spend fifteen minutes trying to get your reflection to wink back at you the ‘right’ way. So. Yeah.”

#2: 

Ragatha: “Jax, I’ve seen you laugh at your own jokes for a solid five minutes while everyone else just stands there in silence. You are your own biggest fan, and honestly? Even you deserve better.”

Jax: “That was almost clever. I’m proud of you.”

Ragatha: “Don’t patronize me. Also, I know for a fact you talk to yourself in the mirror.”

Jax: “Who told you that?”

Ragatha: “You did. Out loud. In the middle of this room.”

#3:

“If we haven’t already got a suggestion box, I’d make one with a ‘things that need to be removed’ label and slip a piece of paper in with your name.”

ZOOBLE

#1:

“Jax, you’re like a vending machine that only gives out insults and expired chips. Just once, I’d like to press a button and get, I don’t know, basic human decency. But no, it’s always ‘ha ha, Zooble looks like modern art that got hit by a bus.’”

#2:

Zooble: “Jax, you act like you’re too cool to care about anything, but let’s be real – you’re the kind of guy who’d fake not knowing what a hug is just so no one tries to give you one.”

Jax: “Oh, please. Like anyone here would want to hug me.”

Zooble: “You’d be surprised. Some people love a good ‘fixing a broken man’ project.”

Jax: No way that’s a thing.

Zooble: “Oh, absolutely. You’re the perfect candidate.”

#3:

Deadpan. “Jax is proof that some things just keep going, even when nobody wants them to.”

CAINE

#1:

“Jax, my boy! I’d roast you, but honestly, I think the universe already did that when it made you HAHAHA!”

#2:

Caine: “Jax, Jax, Jax… My favorite little nuisance! You know, if I had a nickel for every time you caused chaos, I’d – wait! I don’t need nickels! I’m already infinitely powerful HAHAHAHAHA! But if I did need them, I’d be filthy rich!”

Jax: “Wow, Caine. That was… whatever that was.”

Caine: “Well, you can’t roast perfection! Now back to you, champ! You may be an insult machine, but hey! At least you’re consistent! Consistently terrible HAHAHAHAHA!”

#3:

“Jax! My favorite little chaos gremlin! If I could actually feel regret, you’d be the reason why!”

BUBBLE

“Jax. You’re a #&@$! ×@% $#=?+% #$&@Đ÷ €$?¤#@! @ $÷!# that %&ß$#! %@&#ע! *?!&#@!+$ß×&Đ.”

___________________________

Caine’s voice boomed through the room, as energised as ever. “Well, wasn’t that simply spectacular? What a brilliant display of camaraderie! Look at you all, bonded through the magic of playful verbal annihilation! Why, I’d say this was the best team-building exercise yet!”

The room was buzzing with laughter and lingering amusement, the cast still fired up from the roasts. Even Ragatha, who had initially looked sceptical of the idea, was grinning ear to ear. Zooble leaned back with a smirk, Gangle wiped away what might have been tears of either joy or secondhand pain.

Jax was smiling too. The same lazy, smug grin he always wore. It was convincing enough that no one seemed to question it. But you had been watching him closely.

His smile wasn’t quite right.

Not enough teeth.

And his eyes – normally playful, always scanning for the next opportunity to push someone’s buttons – looked... distant. Unfocused.

The way he leaned back on the couch, his fingers tapping against his arm, his slight pull on his gloves, and his ears twitched every so often, like he was catching a sound no one else could hear.

No one else noticed.

But you did.

You knew what it looked like when someone acted like nothing was wrong, just to keep everyone else from seeing the cracks.

Caine, oblivious as ever, twirled in the air. “Alright, my wonderful wacky weirdos! This exercise is officially OVER! I expect nothing but besties for the resties energy from now on! Dismissed!”

The moment those words left Caine’s mouth, Jax stood up. Not too fast, not too slow – just natural enough to avoid suspicion. He stretched his arms over his head with a yawn, flashing his usual easygoing smirk. "Welp, that was fun. You guys almost made me feel something."

No one batted an eye as he wandered off.

You saw his hand clenching into a fist the second he turned away. The way his ears pinned back just slightly. The way his steps, while casual, had a certain... urgency to them.

You hesitated. For a second, you considered letting it go. He’d clearly rather be alone. But there was something about Jax that nagged at you. So, instead, you followed.

Jax moved with purpose, leaving the tent, weaving through the grounds, past the main attractions, past the places where the others usually went outside when needed “fresh air”. It wasn’t obvious at first, but after a few turns, you realised where he was going.

Your stomach twisted.

No way.

Jax slipped past a curtain of glitchy vines, making his way up a small hill behind the water park, where an old, gnarled tree stood. You had been here countless times before – it was your secret spot. The place you went when you needed to clear your head, when the circus became too much.

You hadn’t thought anyone else knew about it.

And yet, there he was.

Jax sat against the tree, his back pressed to the trunk, his arms loosely hugging his knees. His usual smug expression was gone, replaced by something emptier. He stared ahead at nothing, the glow of his eyes dimmer than you’ve ever seen it.

For a long moment, you just stood there.

Jax didn’t acknowledge you, but you could tell he knew you were there. His ear flicked slightly at the sound of your footsteps.

Still, he didn’t move. 

Didn’t say anything. 

Didn’t crack a joke or roll his eyes or tell you to scram.

That alone said a lot.

You approached slowly, stopping just a few feet away.

“…Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jax’s ears twitched. A beat of silence. 

“No.”

It wasn’t sharp or defensive. Just flat. Dismissive.

You exhaled through your nose, tilting your head slightly. “You’re getting dangerously close to a full-on therapy session, y’know.”

Jax let out something that was almost a chuckle – but it was faint. Weak. His lips barely twitched, but he still didn’t look at you.

You shifted your weight, rocking back on your heels, studying him. You didn’t know what to make of this.

Jax wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be an annoying little shit. The guy who found amusement in messing with people, who took nothing seriously, who never let anyone in.

You recognised this.

The way he sat, curled in on himself just enough to seem smaller. The way his usual sharp edges had dulled. The way he was pretending to be fine even when he so clearly wasn’t.

It was familiar.

And you didn’t like that.

Because it meant you understood him more than you wanted to.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair before dropping down to sit beside him. You rested your arms on your knees, staring ahead at nothing, mirroring him.

You didn’t say anything else. You figured, if he did want to talk, he would. And if he didn’t? Well.

You could at least sit with him in the silence.

Minutes passed. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Just… heavy. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty, but full of things that were left unsaid.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but it gave you time to think about all the similarities you shared with Jax. Hiding everything behind jokes. Pushing people away before they could get too close. Pretending you didn’t need anyone when, deep down, you did. Maybe you were just as bad at being alone as he was.

Then, finally, Jax shifted. Just a little. His legs stretched out in front of him, arms still loosely draped over his knees. It wasn’t much. But it was something. Like he was letting a little crack appear in the wall he’d built around himself.

That small shift told you everything. You weren’t sure if he even noticed, but you could feel the weight of it. The way he was letting himself be… here. Not perfect. Not completely okay. But here. And that was enough.

"…You’re not alone," you murmured, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t meant to fix anything. Just a reminder.

He didn’t respond. But you didn’t need him to.

You both sat there, in the quiet, for as long as it took.

[sabertoothwalrus]

I'm going to think out loud about the dungeon meshi ages for a sec

I'm going to preface this by saying that this is based on my existing knowledge, and fact checking is difficult because there is A LOT of contentious research out there.

First of all, I think a lot of people come at this from a modern lens, forgetting the context that this is fantasy medieval era. this is fiction. on top of that, this is specifically Ryoko Kui's understanding of medieval era aging. plus fantasy. So before anyone comes at me with a bunch of 'ermmmm actualy's just consider that I don't really care and also it might not matter in this context lol

as far as the "age of maturity" assigned for each race, something I don't see many people talk about is that "teenagers" are a fairly recent concept. For a long time, you were either considered A Kid or Not A Kid. but this doesn't necessarily mean kids were more/less developed then, just our cultural expectations for certain age groups have changed.

Laios says the age of maturity for tallmen is 16. I don't think that means 16 year olds in the dungeon meshi universe are necessarily "more mature" than modern 16 year olds, but moreso that they have more responsibilities. However, things like medicine, smoking, drinking, sun exposure, physical activity, etc all affect age, so it's possible that developmentally they're closer to modern 18 year olds? Izutsumi is 17 (less than two weeks from turning 18, actually), and very much acts like a modern 17 year old.

The age of maturity for half-foots is 14. Chilchuck was 13 when he got married and had his first two children. Even though, at age 29, he's the equivalent of a modern 50 year old, I don't think he was That much more developed at 13 than a tallman. I think if half-foot 14 is equal to tallman 16, then Chilchuck was Pretty Damn Young for a parent LMAO. Even if you're generous and say tallman 16 is a modern 18, he still would've been younger than that.

The long-lived races are interesting. Marcille is obviously a unique case, and not a lot of this applies to her. We do know what Senshi was like as a minor (miner, lol), and he seemed like a modern 15ish, considering he was 36 and dwarf maturity is 40. I think it'd be really interesting to delve into how a culture functions with people being developmentally adolescent for soooooo long. Imagine middle school lasting 20 years. that would fucking suck. I suppose it makes sense why long-lived races are so patronizing.

Moving onto lifespans, I want to emphasize that they're average lifespans. Even in the manga, they say some half-foots live to 100, it's just rare. So it's less that a tallman 60 year old is "older" than a modern 60 year old, it's that it's easier to keep people alive for longer nowadays. Modern medicine is a BIG contributor. Dental health as well, considering how much your health is affected by your diet (and how much the action of chewing alone aids in digestion). Curious to know what the FUCK elven dentistry is like.

It also makes me wonder if half-foots would have a longer average lifespan if they weren't like, used for bait and treated so poorly, but half-foot 29 does seem to be middle-aged for half-foots. so who knows!

In that vein, I don't know if I can see Mithrun quite making it to 400 😬 like, his experience as a dungeon lord took a lot out of him quite literally, and he's doing exceptionally well despite it! I imagine he'd eventually start to develop a lot of heart problems if he doesn't have them already. Perhaps early-onset dementia. His memory seems still quite intact (he corrects Kabru on his story's accuracy) and he doesn't act like, lobotomized. He doesn't seem forgetful or confused, and he has a sense of humor/sarcasm still. It's mostly his task initiation that's been affected.

I almost want to say that mana affinity could affect long-lived races' lifespans, except dwarves have very poor tolerance for mana, so it's probably not that.

okay anyway I didn't really have a point to this post so I'm just gonna end my rambling here

[ponett]

Aside from some of the basic premise and the space elevator (I think I see that in the concept art), were there any other elements from Maretropolis you were planning to incorporate in Andromi? (Sorry if you've already answered something like this elsewhere.)

Boy this is a blast from the past lmao. I can't even remember the last time someone brought up Maretropolis.

For context for anyone who doesn't know, Maretropolis was an MLP fancomic I started working on aaaaallllllllll the way back in 2012, set in a sci-fi AU. It starred a Rainbow Dash who had gotten into a bad flying accident and had several of her limbs replaced with cybernetic prosthetics by Twilight, who's a roboticist in this universe. It sounds a little grimdark when I describe a My Little Pony character losing multiple limbs in a horrific accident, but the heart of the story was just that Rainbow Dash had lost her wings, so she would have to try and figure out her place in the world now that she could no longer fly.

I had brainstormed a TON of ideas for this, thinking it'd be like my magnum opus as an MLP fanartist. I channeled my love of sci-fi into all sorts of fun little ideas for how a version of FiM set in a giant sci-fi city would work. Sweet Apple Acres would be a vertical farm in a high-rise greenhouse. Fluttershy would take care of stray animals found around the city. There were these giant spaceport towers visible in the city, and I'm pretty sure I wanted to eventually depict a city on the moon that Luna ruled over. A lot of stuff like that. Surprising no one, there was also going to be a yuri element to it with a romantic arc for Rainbow Dash... though, believe it or not, she was going to fall in love with Pinkie, not Fluttershy, in this story. (I was already exploring FlutterDash over on Fluttershy Replies and wanted to mix things up with another ship I liked, rather than running two blogs about the same ship.) Rainbow would be unable to fly up to her cloudtop apartment after the accident, so Pinkie would let her stay at her place, and then one thing would lead to another.

The problem I quickly ran into, though, was that I just wasn't built to be a comic artist. I'm not that confident as an illustrator to begin with, and I work very slowly, so doing entire comic pages was an ordeal. I'd bitten off more than I could chew, especially with the elaborate city setting that would've really challenged my meager art skills at the time. Before long I switched my focus to making games, since that was my main career goal in the first place. I considered turning Maretropolis into an RPG Maker game or something, but the project just sorta quietly died as my interest shifted. (Especially after I got my C&D from Hasbro that ensured I would never make an MLP fangame again lmao)

Fast forward to 2014, and I started working on an original sci-fi game, Andromi. (Anyone not familiar with that project can read about it here.) And, yes, you're definitely right in noticing some similarities. It was never intended to be a direct retool of the story of Maretropolis or anything, but since Maretropolis was basically just me throwing a bunch of my favorite sci-fi stuff at the wall it was inevitable that I'd revisit some things from that earlier project. Naomi being a cyborg is the obvious one. But I had realized over time that my fun cyborg Rainbow Dash AU was really a story about physical disability, and in hindsight I wasn't sure if 18-year-old Bobby was gonna be able to tell a story like that well. So Naomi has basically nothing in common with Maretropolis Rainbow Dash's planned arc, aside from the fact that they both have cybernetic limbs. (And also, y'know, they'd both be sapphic love stories. But, again, it's me, so that goes without saying.)

And, yes, you're 100% right that I reused some visual elements from Maretropolis in the city in the background of this piece of Andromi art, mainly the giant spaceport towers. Though Andromi was intended to be primarily a small town sci-fi story, so I'm unsure how much of that city we would've actually seen.

There ARE some other story ideas that originated in Maretropolis before evolving into ideas for Andromi. But, well... I'd still like to do something with Andromeda and Naomi someday, so I'm keeping those ideas to myself for now.

[bettelaboure]

⊹Two out of twenty⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

second part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: strong language and suggestive content, themes of manipulation and power dynamics, emotional tension and uncomfortable social interactions, entions of body image and self-esteem issues

⊹ Summary: Seung-Hyun, a shy trainee at YG Entertainment, faces pressure from the popular and manipulative reader, who offers him a deal—she’ll help him improve his chances with girls, but in return, he’ll tutor her in English. Despite his initial rejection and distaste for her attitude, Seung-Hyun finds himself grappling with his feelings after witnessing the reader’s cruelty and undeniable allure. After an uncomfortable encounter where she attempts to seduce him, Seung-Hyun wrestles with his emotions and, influenced by his friend Young-bae’s advice, ultimately agrees to her terms. Their complicated dynamic is just beginning, and the consequences of this deal remain to be seen.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Your phone buzzed against the plastic of your vanity, a faint vibration that barely registered over the sound of your playlist echoing off your bedroom walls. You glanced down at the screen out of habit, expecting another snap from So-ra or a comment on your latest post.

Instead, it was a message from a number you didn’t have saved.

[Unknown Number]: I’m in.

Your gum froze between your teeth mid-chew.

You stared at the screen, waiting for the context to correct itself. Surely, this wasn’t him. You tapped the message, confirming the number—yup, from the class chat. Definitely Seung-Hyun. A laugh bubbled in your throat, breathless, disbelieving.

"Am I glitching?" you muttered to no one, blinking like your brain needed to reboot.

You typed out your reply on impulse, fingers moving faster than thought.

Great. Send me a pic of you.

You hit send, then smirked—just imagining his face twisting in confused panic. Predictable. It only took five seconds before a follow-up notification hit your screen.

?

You didn’t let him stew too long.

I’m joking. Chill, trainee boy.

There was a pause. You could almost feel him internally short-circuiting through the silence. Then, finally, another buzz.

8pm. Library.

You sat up straighter, chewing a little slower. The smirk on your lips curled into something different—curious, maybe even a little impressed.

You’re serious now? Don’t flake on me, Choi. Bring your boring notebook.

The library smelled like old books and industrial cleaner, the kind of sterile scent that clung to the air long after the last class ended. Most of the lights had been dimmed, except for a few clusters near the front desk and the far tables. Rows of shelves loomed in quiet formation, casting long shadows under the fluorescents.

You were already there, legs crossed at a back corner table, tapping your pen against a paperback you had no intention of reading. When you saw Seung-Hyun walk in—hood up, backpack slung low on one shoulder—you straightened, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket.

He saw you and paused like he wasn’t sure this wasn’t all an elaborate setup to mock him in public.

“You’re late,” you said.

He raised a brow. “You’re always late.”

You shrugged. “Fashionably.”

He sat across from you stiffly, dropping his notebook and textbook on the table without a word. You watched him in silence for a second, noting the way his hair curled near his ears, slightly damp like he’d showered just before coming. He smelled faintly of soap and something warm, maybe cinnamon gum or laundry detergent. It didn’t suit him. It made him too… normal.

He opened the notebook to a fresh page. “So what’s your problem in English?”

“Where do I begin?” You leaned in dramatically. “I suck at tenses. Present perfect makes me want to throw myself down a flight of stairs. And don’t even get me started on prepositions.”

He blinked. “That’s… a lot.”

You grinned. “You’re the one who said yes.”

He began scribbling something down—simple examples, neatly spaced and painfully legible. You watched his fingers more than the words. They were long, calloused at the knuckles, a little ink-stained.

“Why’d you say yes?” you asked suddenly.

He looked up, pen hovering over the paper.

You cocked your head, voice softer. “I didn’t think you would.”

He didn’t answer right away. “I’m not sure yet if I regret it.”

Your lips twitched. “Wow. Brutal.”

He almost smiled—but didn’t. “Just being honest.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “So honest. So serious.” Then, with a mischievous glint: “Is this how you flirt? Because it’s tragic.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I’m not flirting.”

“Pity.”

He looked down, trying to hide the way his mouth threatened to betray him with a smile. You saw it anyway.

You flipped the notebook toward you and squinted. “Okay, explain this part again. ‘I have eaten’ versus ‘I ate’—why does one sound like it’s bragging?”

“It’s about context,” he said, adjusting in his seat. “Present perfect is used when the experience matters more than when it happened. Like if I say ‘I have eaten octopus,’ it means I’ve tried it at some point. ‘I ate octopus’ is just a story about the past.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So if I said, ‘I have kissed a boy,’ I’m flexing?”

He froze. Then coughed. “I guess. Yeah.”

You leaned in further, voice low. “Want me to try both in a sentence?”

“Please don’t.”

You laughed, loud enough to make the librarian at the front glance up over her glasses. You stifled it with a grin, flipping a page.

Seung-Hyun shook his head, but his eyes had that glint again. That mix of discomfort and fascination. You were chaos in lip gloss and eyeliner, and he had no defense for it.

He pointed to the next exercise. “Try this one.”

You took the pen, your hand brushing his. It was deliberate.

You didn’t speak on it.

Neither did he.

But something in the air had changed—less like rivalry, more like tension tied with invisible string.

The silence between you had settled into something like rhythm—pages turning, pens scratching, the faint buzz of a dying ceiling light overhead. You stretched your legs beneath the table, your knee brushing his just enough to feel it. He didn’t flinch, but he definitely noticed. The slight hitch in his breathing gave it away.

“You know,” you said lazily, closing your workbook, “you’re not as unbearable as I thought.”

Seung-Hyun glanced up from his notes. “That’s your way of saying thanks?”

“That’s my way of not throwing this grammar book out the window.”

His mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile, then vanished like it wasn’t allowed to stay.

You tilted your head. “You always that serious?”

“I’m just focused.”

“Focused,” you echoed. “Right. That’s what they call it now.”

He frowned slightly but didn’t answer.

You tapped your pen against your lips, watching him. “You ever think about relaxing, Choi?”

“It’s Seung-Hyun,” he muttered without looking up.

You grinned. “I know. I just like how your eye twitches every time I say it wrong.”

He gave you a sideways look—dry, tired, maybe slightly amused.

You let the moment sit, then leaned in, just enough for your voice to lower without needing to whisper.

“So. About our deal.”

He stiffened slightly. “I said I’d help with English.”

“Mmhmm. And I said I’d help you stop being an adorable little ghost that no one notices.”

His brows knit. “I don’t need help with that.”

You tilted your head again, fingers dragging through your hair like you knew what it did to a boy’s focus. “Don’t you? Because I’m pretty sure Se-mi didn’t even see you.”

His expression faltered.

Too far?

You softened your voice. “Hey. I’m not trying to be mean.”

“You’re doing a great job not trying,” he said, dry.

You smiled. “Fine. I’m blunt. But I don’t lie.” You paused, eyes dragging over him slowly—measured, not predatory, just seeing. “You’re not invisible, Seung-Hyun. You’re just... hiding. And if you really want someone to see you, you’re gonna have to step into the light.”

His gaze met yours then—longer than it should’ve been. Still guarded, but curious.

You leaned closer, your voice slipping into something softer.

“I could teach you, you know. What to say. What not to say. What kind of smile works best in a crowded hallway. The science of attraction.”

He pulled back slightly, blinking. “You make it sound like a formula.”

You shrugged. “It kind of is. People are predictable. You just need the right tools.”

He gave you a look—half skeptical, half intrigued. “And you’re offering to be… what? My dating coach?”

“Think of me as a… social translator.” You grinned. “You’re fluent in verbs and vocabulary. I’m fluent in chemistry.”

He stared at you. “That sounds—”

“Dangerous?” you interrupted, smug. “Only if you have something to lose.”

You stood, slowly gathering your things. “Same time tomorrow?”

He hesitated. “I guess.”

You stepped close—close enough to brush his arm as you passed. “Good. Maybe next time I’ll teach you how not to look like you’re about to bolt every time a girl gets within three feet.”

He flushed slightly, opening his mouth to reply—but you were already gone, walking out the door with the kind of sway you knew he was still watching.

Behind you, the sound of his notebook closing was quiet, but not quiet enough to miss.

Friday morning the school bell rang out over the courtyard like a warning shot. Students swarmed in waves, laughing, groaning about homework, phones out, sleeves tugged down over fingertips to fight the early chill. Somewhere near the front gate, a soccer ball rolled across the walkway and two boys chased it with half-eaten bread in hand.

You stood by the cherry tree near the main path, surrounded by your usual orbit: Jae-mi, glossy-lipped and whispering about weekend plans; Eun-ji, scrolling through her feed, eyes sharp behind her bangs; and Soo-ah, picking at her acrylic nails with the concentration of someone solving world peace.

“Did you hear Se-mi turned down three guys this week?” Jae-mi said, voice pitched for performance. “She’s on a power trip.”

You smiled vaguely but didn’t answer. Your gaze was fixed on something—or someone—past their shoulders.

He was walking with his head down, backpack slung low, hoodie up despite the clear skies. Seung-Hyun. Moving like he wanted to disappear into the crowd, invisible as always.

Until now.

“Hello, Choi,” you called, voice easy. Not loud. But clear enough.

His steps faltered.

He looked up. Blinking. Like maybe he imagined it.

You lifted a hand in a small wave. Not coy. Not dramatic. Just… familiar.

His mouth opened slightly. Then closed. He gave you a slow, unsure nod. No smile. Just confusion simmering behind his dark eyes.

Your friends froze.

Jae-mi tilted her head. “Did you just say hi to that guy?”

You didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

“Like—out loud?”

You finally turned back to them, unbothered. “He helping me with English. I’m being polite.”

“Right,” Soo-ah drawled. “Polite. To that guy. The YG trainee one?”

Eun-ji narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t he cry when that drama teacher yelled at him last year?”

“He didn’t cry,” you muttered.

They stared at you, then at each other, like something in the social weather had shifted.

You could feel the judgment simmering beneath their lip-glossed smiles. But you didn’t care. Not this time.

You watched Seung-Hyun’s retreating figure disappear up the stairs toward the east wing, and for a second, something tugged deep in your chest.

Seung-Hyun walked fast.

Not enough to draw attention, but fast enough that his steps had an edge—like maybe he was being chased by a thought he didn’t want to catch up to.

“Hello, Choi.”

He heard it again in his head, the way you said it like it wasn’t strange at all. Like saying his name in front of your friends didn’t cost you anything.

He reached his locker with a sharp twist of the dial and tried not to think. But the voices carried.

“That was weird, right?”

“I thought she hated guys like him.”

“Maybe it’s pity. Or a dare.”

He didn’t look back. Didn’t let them see how his fingers clenched tighter around his combination lock. He wasn’t new to whispers. But this one hit different—because this time, it was you.

Not mocking. Not dismissive. Just… acknowledging him. Like it meant something.

He pulled open the locker door and let it shield his face for a moment. Just long enough to breathe.

Behind the metal, his mind flickered through every interaction this week:

Your teasing smirk.

That moment in the library when your knee brushed his.

The joke text about a selfie.

The way you said "chemistry" like it was a secret.

What are you doing? he thought.

Not just you.

Him.

Because part of him wanted to disappear again—fade back into the background where no one asked questions.

But another part—the quieter, buried part—liked that you’d said his name like it belonged in your mouth.

He hated that part a little. It made him feel like he was standing on glass.

A tap on his shoulder snapped him out of it.

He turned. It was Young-bae, hoodie half-zipped and a lollipop in his mouth, eyebrows raised.

“Dude,” Young-bae said around the candy, “you look like you just got asked to prom by Satan.”

Seung-Hyun blinked. “What?”

“I saw her,” Young-bae said. “Her. Popular girl. The ‘I only chew cherry gum and date athletes’ one. She said hi to you like you weren’t a ghost.”

“I don’t know what that was,” Seung-Hyun muttered.

“Oh, I do.” Young-bae grinned. “That was social suicide—hers. You’re officially dangerous.”

Seung-Hyun shoved a book into his bag. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Young-bae leaned against the locker beside him. “Sure it doesn’t. And the moon is made of rice cakes.”

He paused, eyes narrowing.

“But... let’s say she’s not messing with you. Let’s say she’s actually trying to be cool. You still tutoring her?”

Seung-Hyun nodded.

“And she’s still gonna ‘teach’ you how to get girls?”

“I guess.”

Young-bae popped the lollipop out of his mouth. “Then maybe don’t run every time she gets within five feet.”

“I don’t run.”

“You bolt like the building’s on fire,” Young-bae said. “You’re allowed to like her, man. Or hate her. But either way, stop pretending you’re not in the middle of something weird and probably life-ruining.”

Seung-Hyun stared at the floor for a moment.

He didn’t like how true that sounded.

He should have felt in control. This was supposed to be transactional. Mutual use. But the moment you said his name like it mattered, something shifted.

It wasn’t about English anymore.

The school library at night felt like a different world. The lights hummed low and warm, casting golden pools across rows of aging encyclopedias and dusty fiction. Outside, rain tapped gently against the tall windows. The kind of sound that made everything feel slower. Closer. Like the world had narrowed down to just this moment.

You were already there, lounging in the far corner near the back window—the one with the soft green chair you always claimed during exams. Legs crossed, a hoodie slouched off one shoulder. Casual, but calculated. Your phone glowed in your hand, but your eyes flicked up the moment he appeared in the doorway.

Seung-Hyun hesitated. One foot in, one out. His hair was damp from the drizzle, curling slightly at the ends, hoodie clinging to his collarbones.

“You’re late,” you said, your voice a soft tease.

He checked his watch. “It’s 8:02.”

“Exactly.” You grinned and gestured for him to sit. “Every minute matters when you’re flunking.”

He dropped his backpack on the floor and slid into the chair across from you, already pulling out his notes. His movements were precise, like a soldier on a mission.

You watched him for a beat. The way his fingers drummed lightly against his notebook. The slight crease in his brow when he read. You’d seen boys try to look smart. He didn’t have to. It just... lingered on him.

You leaned forward, voice low. “Why do you look like I’m about to interrogate you?”

He didn’t look up. “Because you usually are.”

You smirked. “Touché.”

For the next twenty minutes, the tutoring actually resembled tutoring. You flipped through grammar worksheets. He corrected your sentence structure with calm efficiency. There were moments when your knees brushed under the table, and he’d shift just slightly, a controlled flinch. You pretended not to notice.

Until you did.

You waited until he was mid-sentence about verb tenses before interrupting.

“So,” you said, casually twisting a strand of your hair, “when do we start your tutoring?”

His pen froze.

He looked up, slowly. “My what?”

“You know,” you said, voice syrup-smooth, “the whole how to get girls part of our deal. Or were you hoping I’d forget?”

He blinked, visibly uncomfortable. “I thought you were joking.”

“You think I came up with that whole plan just to flirt with you in a library twice a week?” you said, cocking your head. “Cute.”

He hesitated. “I don’t... need help with that.”

You raised a brow. “Right. Because the whole Se-mi thing was flawless.”

That hit. He stiffened, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You said we’d help each other,” you said, softer now, less sharp. “I don’t make empty promises.”

He studied you. Like he didn’t trust the version of you in front of him. Like he was still looking for the catch.

"You want me to flirt with you?" Seung-Hyun said it like the words tasted strange in his mouth.

You were sprawled across the soft green library chair now, one leg tucked beneath you, hoodie slipping further down your shoulder, exposing a thin strap. Your smile curved slowly, lazily—like a cat stretching in the sun.

"Don’t sound so horrified," you drawled. "It's practice. You want to learn, don’t you?"

"I just..." He looked down at his notes like they might offer a better answer. "I’ve never... I don’t really do that."

"Exactly." You leaned forward, voice low, amused. "That’s why we’re here."

He hesitated. "What am I supposed to say?"

"You’re overthinking it," you said, shifting to sit straighter, eyes locked on him. "Flirting’s not about being perfect. It’s about making someone feel like they’re the only person in the room. That little moment of tension." You let the pause linger. “Of possibility.”

He didn’t respond, but you saw it—the way his eyes flicked to your mouth and back, quick and cautious.

“Okay,” you said, tapping your pen against your lower lip. “Let’s make it simple. Pretend I’m a girl you like. What’s the first thing you’d say?”

“You are a girl.”

You gave him a slow, amused look. “Wow. Killer instincts. No wonder Se-mi was swept off her feet.”

He sighed. "I’m serious."

“So am I,” you said. “This is how people flirt, Seung-Hyun. Not in textbooks. Not with flashcards. It’s energy. Look at me.”

He did.

Not cautiously this time. Not flinching.

Just... looked.

Something in your chest flipped.

“Better,” you murmured. “Now say something that’d make me want to keep talking to you.”

Silence.

Then, he said, carefully, “You look different when you’re not pretending to hate everyone.”

Your mouth parted, just slightly.

He blinked, startled at himself. “Was that—was that rude?”

You tilted your head, studying him. “No. That was... honest.”

He looked like he was waiting to be teased. Waiting for you to call him awkward, or weird, or hopeless.

But you just smiled. Small. Genuine.

“You know what the trick is?” you asked softly.

He shook his head.

“You don’t have to say the perfect thing,” you said. “You just have to mean it.”

He looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

You leaned in, voice like velvet. “Want to try again?”

He hesitated. Then glanced at you from beneath his bangs. “You look really good tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “A little generic, but points for effort.”

He groaned quietly, hiding his face behind his notebook. You laughed.

“Don’t hide. Confidence, remember?” you teased, nudging his shoe under the table.

“I don’t know how you make this look so easy,” he mumbled, cheeks flushed.

“It’s not about ease,” you said, the playfulness in your voice softening. “It’s about not being afraid to try. Most people never do.”

He looked up at you again. This time, something steadier settled in his eyes.

“What if I said... I notice when you laugh for real. Not that fake one you do with your friends.”

The smile on your face stilled. Your pulse ticked in your neck.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

He blinked. “Was that—?”

“That was good,” you said, barely above a whisper.

The air between you shifted—electric in its stillness. The quiet hum of the library faded into background static. You didn’t look away. Neither did he.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t a performance.

It was connection.

The kind that sneaks up on you. That sinks in beneath your skin.

“I think,” you said slowly, “you’re gonna be better at this than you think.”

“I think,” he murmured, “you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

You grinned. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”

You both laughed, soft and close, the moment easing just enough.

Then you pulled back slightly and tapped his notebook.

“Okay, lover boy,” you said, tone shifting. “Back to grammar. Unless you want to fail and die alone.”

He groaned. “You’re evil.”

You smiled at him over the rim of your textbook. “Yeah. But I’m the kind of evil that’s helping you win.”

He shook his head, but that smile—half shy, half real—lingered on his lips.

And for the rest of the hour, he didn’t look at his notes the same way.

Monday came faster than you wanted. You were sitting in the cafeteria with Jae-mi, talking about the upcoming week.

“What are we talking about?” the irritable voice of Se-mi popped up beside you. If only human bug repellent were a thing.

“None of your business.” You replied.

“C’mon, Y/N. We’re all friends here.” You looked towards Jae-mi to see if she felt the same about Se-mi. You couldn’t stand her after witnessing her humiliate Seung-Hyun. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Jae-mi tiredly asked Se-mi.

“Don’t you have a diet to start?”

“Don’t you have some small dicks to suck?” You fired back. You could deal with Se-mi coming for you, but not your friends. 

“No need to be so rude, Y/N. I was only playing around.” She giggled and flicked her hair behind her shoulder, and left your table.

You looked back at Jae-mi.

“Remember that the part of me teaching Seung-Hyun about girls stays a secret. I cannot have anyone finding out about it. It’s embarrassing enough that I need a tutor for English.”

“Loud and clear, Unnie! But don’t forget to give me all the juicy details afterwards.” She winked and you got confused. You weren’t sure if there ever will be any.

Near the end of school, you managed to find Seung-Hyun by his locker down an empty hall. 

“Hi, I wanted to know what times you can do for tutoring this week.” 

“How’s about tomorrow at lunch?” He answered, pulling a book from his locker.

“Where?”

“The library.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Can’t we go somewhere with a little fewer people?” You suggested and he turned around to look you down in the eyes, obviously irritated. 

“So you said “hi” to me this morning, but then you don’t want anyone to see you with me?”

“That’s not it.” Seung-Hyun wasn’t buying it. “I’m just a little embarrassed to be tutored.” That wasn’t a lie. Showing a weakness meant people would be ballsy and you did not want that. 

“Okay.” He nodded understandably. “How about your place after my dance practice?” 

Your place? That was a no.

“Your place.” You corrected. “My parents are having a dinner party and it would be a little bit disruptive.” You bit your lip, hoping he’d buy it. He did.

“Okay, my parents won’t be home tomorrow. Are you okay with that?” What a gentleman. 

“Sound good, text me your address.”

You were late.

By exactly forty-seven seconds, not that anyone was counting. But judging by the look on Seung-Hyun’s face when he opened the door, he had been.

His neighborhood surprised you. Quiet. Too clean. The kind of place where the streetlights hummed gently and the air smelled like laundry and trimmed hedges. You pulled your coat tighter around you, hood still up, and stepped into his world like you didn’t belong.

“You’re late,” he said, deadpan, stepping aside.

“Relax. I’m not a whole minute late,” you muttered, brushing past him.

He led you to the kitchen, and it was almost laughably domestic. The table was covered in neatly stacked textbooks, printouts, and pens lined up like soldiers. Seung-Hyun’s version of war.

“I’ve made a schedule,” he said, already sounding exasperated.

You blinked. “A what?”

He turned to look at you, gaze sharp behind his bangs. “If you ask that again, I’m kicking you out.”

You lifted your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, geez. Chill, Mr. Corporate.”

“It outlines what we’ll cover in each session,” he continued, ignoring you. “No questions. No whining. I’ve got dance, vocals, and now tutoring you, so forgive me for being efficient.”

“Give me the damn thing,” you muttered, grabbing it from his hand.

Your fingers brushed his. Warm.

You ignored that.

The paper was... thorough. Grossly so. Charts. Time blocks. Tiny notes like "focus on past perfect" and "reinforce participles." You grimaced.

“Is this your version of foreplay?” you asked sweetly, flipping the page.

He didn’t answer. You took that as a win.

Two hours later, you were practically cross-eyed from conjugating verbs you didn’t care about. Seung-Hyun sat across from you with a red pen and an expression that read deep disappointment.

You watched him sigh, rub a hand through his hair, and mark something down.

“Well?” you demanded, crossing your arms.

His eyes met yours, flat and unimpressed. “You don’t know anything about English.”

You snatched the test sheet out of his hands. Bold red ink glared back at you: 2/20.

“Two?” you hissed. “Are you kidding me? I thought you were supposed to be some genius tutor.”

“I never said you’d magically become literate in two hours,” he muttered, already packing up his notes.

“It’s not me. It’s your methods.”

“It’s not the method. It’s you,” he snapped, glancing at the clock. “We’re done anyway.”

You grabbed your bag and stormed into the living room, flopping dramatically onto the couch. You hated English. You hated past tenses. You hated that he was right.

A moment later, Seung-Hyun stepped in, arms crossed, watching you like you were some strange animal loose in his house.

“What are you doing?”

“Recovering,” you replied. “That was mental warfare.”

“On me, maybe,” he muttered. “That was basic grammar.”

You patted the cushion next to you. “C’mon. Your turn.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “What?”

“Your part of the deal. I suffer through verbs. You suffer through girls.” You raised a brow. “Or was the tutoring thing just one-sided?”

Understanding dawned in his face—and with it, color. A faint red dusted his cheeks. You watched it crawl up like a slow sunrise.

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. “Relax. I’m not gonna make out with you on your mom’s couch.”

He looked like that exact thought had just sprinted across his brain. Twice.

You patted the cushion again. “Sit, Choi.”

He did, slowly, like it might be a trap.

You turned to face him fully, elbow on the backrest, head propped in your hand. You were close enough to count the faint freckles near his temple. Close enough to see how fast he blinked when you looked at him too long.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” you asked casually, like you were asking about the weather.

He froze. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You shrugged. “If we’re gonna teach you how to talk to girls, I need to know what kind of damage I’m working with.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a protest. “I... I don’t think that’s relevant.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice. “So that’s a no.”

He swallowed. “It’s not—none of your business.”

You smiled slowly. “That’s adorable.”

He looked like he wanted the couch to eat him.

You didn’t press further. You just let the silence sit for a moment, not awkward but heavy—charged. Like the edge of something that hadn’t tipped yet.

Then you reached over, gently nudging his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” you said, voice softening just a little. “You’ve got me now.”

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[yuukiiqwq]

Dandelions: Sukuna Ryomen x Reader

His heart beats only for you while yours beats for someone else, so he made a wish on a dandelion, hoping it would come true.

Context/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Soft!Sukuna, swearing, unrequited love, flower language, a bit suggestive

Wc: 2.7k

Part 2

It's not like he wanted to fall in love with you. It was actually your fault. You weaseled your way into his life and then his heart. If only you had left him alone, then none of this would have happened. But you were too god damn stubborn to leave him alone. It was all your fault.

It was so stupid how he fell in love with you. Sukuna absolutely hated cliché stuff. And here he is going through the stereotypical cliché plot. He even told you how much he hated it. He remembers telling you how he rather die than read those stupid romance books you like to read. They were full of stupid plot with disgusting mushy feelings. Basically, it's the same thing in every story. He always felt like his ears were going to fall off listening to you talk about those stories. Recently, you started to read this one-shot called Dandelion. Something about a guy having unrequited feelings for a girl for years and the girl liking someone else.

Absolutely fucking ridiculous.

Sukuna remembers how he met you. It was a few years ago, back when they were still in school. He was minding his own business and then you fucking popped out of nowhere. He wouldn't tell you but you scared the shit out of him when you suddenly appeared.

"Yknow, smoking is bad for you."

He turned around to see you at the door smiling.

"Y'know, not minding your own fucking business is bad for you," he scoffed. "Get out of here. This is my spot."

You walked up to him and snatched the cigarette away. You tossed it onto the ground and put out the light.

"They can cause many health problems," you say as you crossed your arms. "And I don’t see your name anywhere on this rooftop."

He glared at you– "Listen here, you brat. What I do has absolutely nothing to do with you. So skip along to your friends and go bother them instead."

"What if you are my friend?" You said smugly. Your eyes were shining with mischief. "And since you said to go bother my friends, that's what I'm doing."

"You must think you're so fucking funny," he snarled at you.

You put your hands on your waist– "I am actually very funny."

He took a step towards you and towered over you. "Leave."

You looked up at him with a deadpan expression.

"No."

"Last warning. Leave."

"Make me."

News flash – He wasn’t able to get rid of you. He was unsuccessful no matter what he did.

You decided to bother him every single god damn day. Somehow, you always showed up at the rooftop whenever he was there. You just wouldn't leave him alone, so he decided to ditch the rooftop. To say he failed was something he didn’t want to admit. He didn't fail. He just decided to ignore you. But then you showed up in front of his classroom. You somehow found his classroom.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and quickly tried to leave before you could catch up to him.

Mission escaping the brat– failed.

You were a fast little thing. You immediately caught up to him and were now walking side by side with him. This caused a lot of people in the hallway to stare at both of you. You two were an unexpected duo to see together.

"Sukunaaaaaaa"

Great. You even found out his name. Amazing. Whoever told you his information is dead. He's going to kill them.

"Sukuna, if you keep looking like that, you'll end up being super ugly. No wonder you don't have a girlfriend."

Sukuna turned around to face you– "You trying to pick a fucking figh–"

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence as you stuffed a mochi in his mouth. Where the fuck did that mochi come from?!

He quickly chewed the mochi and swallowed.

"Did you fu–"

"Was it good?" You quickly interrupted. "It's a new flavor that came out recently. A friend gave me some to try."

"I don't car–"

"It was a limited edition sale. My friend camped outside the shop for a whole day just to buy all the stocks."

You continued talking about it, and Sukuna wanted to just smack you. You were so annoying.

"I am going to smack you if you keep talking."

You immediately stopped talking and walking. You looked up at him and grinned mischievously.

"Wow, Sukuna. Didn't know you were kinky like that. It's ok, though! I like it rough, but take me out to dinner first. Bedroom activities can come later~"

This caused him to explode in anger. You were teasing him. He immediately stomped away from you. He could hear you laughing as you tried to catch up to him. Fuck. You were annoying as hell. Sassy and challenging him in every way.

Your eyes were gleaming with mischief. Did you have to say that? Now he wanted to put you in your place. Bend you over under him and–

Oh fuck. Now you implanted a curse in his head. Fucking minx.

After months of you constantly pestering him, he grew used to your presence. He started to enjoy it. Wait, no. He meant he was just tolerating you.

Yeah. That's right. He's just tolerating you.

"Sukuna! Stop!!!"

Sukuna immediately halted– "What's goin–"

"You almost stepped on some dandelions," you say as you knelt down to the floor.

Sukuna felt like he was going to pop a vein. He can't believe you stopped him for a weed. Can you let he walk to a restaurant in peace?! It was fucking Saturday. He should have never allowed you to follow him home back then.

"Are you fucking joking with me right now?" He looked down at you as you pluck the dandelion. "You stopped me for a fucking weed?"

"First of all, it's a flow–"

"It's a fucking weed."

"It's a flower!" You huffed. "And it's a wishing flower! You make a wish and then blow away the seeds!"

"Great, now you've gone crazy. Just the thing I need from you. As if you're not annoying enough."

"I have not gone crazy! People make wishes on dandelions!"

"And do you know if any of them got fulfilled?" He raised his eyebrow at you. "And I'm sure the people you talk of are kids."

"Well um–" You try to think of something to say as a comeback but come up with nothing.

He smiled smugly– "That's what I thought."

"That's not the point!" You quickly shoved a dandelion in front of his face.

"Get that weed away from my face. I'm starving for food, and you're stopping me for a weed."

"Geez, stop being a party pooper," you sulked. "Make a wish! Maybe it will come true and prove you wrong!"

"I am not going to do something so childish," he said as he pushed your hand away.

"I'll buy lunch!"

Sukuna stopped and thought about it for a second before saying– "And dinner."

If he was going to indulge in your childish antics and look like an idiot, he better get something out of it.

You reluctantly agreed, and he snatched the dandelion out of your hands. He made a wish and then blew the dandelion seeds away.

"There. Made my wish. Now I hope your wallet is ready."

"Whatever, you glutton! What did you wish for?"

"None of your fucking business brat."

The two of you spent a lot of time together. You eventually introduced Sukuna to your other friends. Which surprised Sukuna because at this point, with the amount of time you came and bothered him, he believed that your friends were imaginary.

A girl named Shoko Ieiri, who looks like she's sleep deprived. A guy named Suguru Geto, who, in his opinion, looks weird. Why is he smiling like that!? And finally, a guy named Satoru Gojo. He was the worst out of all your friends. He didn't do anything to him, but just looking at him makes Sukuna want to get rid of him. Cut him in half. Sukuna didn't understand exactly why until he looked at you, looking at him.

Although Sukuna personally knew nothing about love, he knew what he saw. He seen enough people do what they do when in love. He heard enough about the stupid love stories you like to read. He can see it in your eyes when you look at your friend. You liked him.

The way your eyes light up whenever he comes toward you. The way your cheeks start to turn red with a small blush. The way you nervously play with your hands. The smile you give whenever you're around him. A smile that can rival the sun. He felt a pain blossom in his chest as he clenched his fist. These are things he has never seen or gotten from you before.

He hated everything that was going on right now. He hated the way you would sneak glances at him when you think no one was looking. The way you lean into his touch. The way you looked at him with pure adoration and love.

He absolutely hated it.

It took a while for Sukuna to understand why he hated Gojo so much. Why just the sight of Gojo annoyed him. And it's all your fault.

He didn't even know when these feelings started. Was it when you guys first met and you stood your ground with him? Was it when you teased him? Was it when you kept bothering him? Was it when you guys would go out for lunch or dinner together? Was it when he took care of you when you were sick? Did he fall for your looks? Your personality? Was it because of the times you've spent together?

Fuck. He was pissed. Here he is, catching those disgusting mushy feelings for you. Something he sweared would have never happened, and he doesn’t even know how it even happened.

"Fucking hell," Sukuna sighs as he run his hand through his hair.

It should be fine, right? He'll just ignore this. Move on like he didn't realize he fell in love with you somewhere along this journey. These feelings won't last anyway. It will disappear soon. You liked someone else, too, so it should be easy to move on. Right?

Fucking wrong. He's never been more wrong in his life.

All of you have graduated and are now doing your own thing. You all meet up regularly to hang out. Although Sukuna made an effort to see you daily as much as possible–

Wait, no. Correction: He sees you daily because he knows you'll do something stupid if he wasn't watching over you. Nothing else, really.

It's not like Sukuna had trouble moving on. He's not dreaming about you daily. He doesn't want you. It's not like that at all. He obviously moved on from you while you still liked Gojo. No point in these feelings since they're a nuisance.

Deep down, even if he ignores it, he knows he still likes you. But it's not like you'll ever look his way like the way you look at Gojo. Unless an opportunity arrives and it just so happens to arrive. That opportunity came knocking at his door, and he isn't going to let it slip away.

After years watching you love someone else, now he is watching you get your heart broken by that same person. Honestly, he never understood why you fell in love with this guy. That guy was a child in a man's body. Like, who even drinks those sugary, coma-inducing drinks??

But here you are smiling through the pain. He saw small tears forming in your eyes before you quickly wiped them away and said there was dust in your eyes. Others may not notice it, but he does. He saw the hurt in your eyes when Gojo told them that he fell in love at first sight with someone.

Great. Now he wants to murder Gojo even more now for hurting you.

However, he can't help but feel happy? Relief? He doesn't know what he felt. He just knew that an opportunity was given. But he isn't going to be a shitty person and confess to you right when you got your heart broken. He'll wait until you heal. If you ever will. After all, he had already kept his feelings to himself for years. What's wrong with waiting a bit more?

He could make you happy. He would give it his god damn all to make you happy. He would never hurt you. He wouldn't make you cry. At least not cry in a sad way. You crying under him, though, is a different story–

He quickly shakes his head to get rid of that thought. He's getting distracted. You got him wrapped around your fingers, and you don't even know it. He couldn't help but sigh. He really is still in love with you.

He watches as you and Geto try to give Gojo advice on how to win over the person he likes.

"You're an idiot," he interrupted.

He stared at Gojo as he said it, but it was meant for you and himself, really. Both of you two are idiots. Both of you have unrequited love, like in those shitty stories you read. He really is living in the stupid cliché plot he hates. And it's all your fault.

A few months have passed since then. He knew you had mostly moved on. He can still see the hurt sometimes, but it's fading. He knew he should make a move soon. After all, if he doesn't, what if someone else approaches you? But he also knows that just because you moved on doesn't mean you'll see him as he sees you. So he's willing to wait for that day. The day you look at him the way he looks at you.

So here he is. Standing in front of a flower shop. Looking extremely out of place. If you told his past self that he fell in love with you and is now trying to pursue you, he can see his past self attempting murder. He really can't believe he's going to order flowers.

He took a few deep breaths and walked in.

The minute he walked in, a florist greets him– "Hello sir! How may we help you today?"

"Can you make me a boutique?"

"Of course, sir! What type of flowers would you like for the boutique?"

He wanted something to convey his feelings and message. He's done some research about flowers and their meaning. Many websites showed different things, but he eventually settled for one.

"I want..."

When he finally finished ordering the flowers, he went home. On his way back home, he noticed a dandelion.

"...it's a wishing flower! You make a wish and then blow away the seeds! ...People make wishes on dandelions!"

He stared at the dandelion for a few minutes before he clicked his tongue. He bent down and plucked it. He then made a wish and blew the seeds away. He didn't know why he did it. It's not like the dandelion would make his wish come true.

"Tsk. Can't believe I did this. It's fucking stupid."

You really made him a god damn softie so it's about fucking time you take responsibility.

A few days later, he asked you to meet him at your usual spot. A place that only the two of you knew. When he arrived with the boutique, you were already there. You were sitting on the bench, looking over the city.

He quietly stared at you for a while. You were so beautiful sitting there. If angels did exist, you'll be one of them. But then again, your personality was more like a devil. You cast a curse on his heart, and honestly, he didn't mind it. You can curse him for his entire lifetime as long as you accept him.

"Hey, brat. Look behind you."

When you heard the sound of his voice, you quickly turned around. You looked at him and smiled until you noticed the boutique in his hand. You gasped as your eyes widened.

Red chrysanthemum and astilbe. I love you and I will be waiting for you.

[alexanderlightweight]

Happy Wednesday! Hope all is well! Give nightshade a scritch and a treat! There is something wrong with my brain because you and saeths have labeled things as 3DNE and I read them and couldn’t figure out what was bad? I’ve been reading fic for too long.

Anyway I love Frost of Fury and All your cracks painted gold so could I prompt an update for either? :)

the night is going a lot better than the day so I think it's good enough ^_^

I have given nightshade several apple slices and some extra fish snacks so i assure you he has been happily pampered with extra care due to this ask. i mean he's spoiled af but he also got extra spoiling (I almost gave him a second chew bone but he's boycotting his kibble and topper again today and I don't want to reward him too much or fill up his stomach when he needs actual sustenance but is being a picky little biscuit). I try to rotate his food enough that he doesn't get bored but the problem is just because I rotate it doesn't mean he wants what I make or he doesn't like the texture the kibble becomes and will refuse. and he will spit it out if he doesn't like it!!! and he won't eat any kibble that falls on the floor and sometimes depending on how tasty the treat is, he won't eat those if they fall on the floor either.

sorry, moving on from my silly pupper. it's taken a while but this is for all your cracks painted gold and I hope you like it. some team immortal in that verse and soft malec ofc

also I mean something is wrong with my brain but I don't think it's that and I agree with you. i'm never quite sure which of my fics are 3DNE myself but I know quite a few of them are so I just assume they'll end up there at some point or another and plan ahead. plus while it's a soft obsession/possessive/violent adoration/literally salt and burn the world for you. it's still not healthy or condoned in real life context so therefore i'd rather be safe with my tags

<3 lumine

Ragnor’s cottage is warm and cozy despite the insidious dampness of the wet wind that presses against the windowpanes and the cold pitter patter of rain on the roof.  The fire dances merrily and Alec watches it, mesmerized in the way only those half asleep can truly be.

“He’s exhausted,” Magnus says from above him and Alec tries to protest but the words don’t make it past his lips, caught on the heaviness of his tongue.  “The Herbal Anthology you sent him had him up all morning. I woke up to find him still in the garden at noon and was going to make him nap when your fire message arrived.  There was no hope for him resting after he asked me not to use magic because he wanted to learn how to harvest the plants from me.” 

Magnus’ voice is soft and soothing, lulling Alec even further from consciousness as he blinks slowly, the room fading under the haze of sleep.

—

“I wasn’t expecting him to find so many of the plants I needed in that wild terrain you call a herb garden.” Ragnor mutters and Magnus finds himself shocked into silence by the sheer gall of his dear cabbage. If Magnus’ rooftop sanctuary is wild than Ragnor’s own garden — herb and otherwise — can hardly be called anything other than rabid. Even the few trails that only exist because of Ragnor’s frequent use can be described as nothing more than a faint impression in a landscape of bedraggled flora.

“Well, Alexander is quite clever in anything he dedicates himself to.” 

For a moment there is a peaceful quiet, the rain and the fire the only noise until Ragnor gets up to go put on another pot of tea and set up his phonograph to play a soft but hauntingly poetic violin. Magnus leans back into the sofa Ragnor had thoughtfully summoned so that it would be easier for Magnus to coax him into slumber.

There is a dreary comfort in the ambiance as Magnus accepts a hot tea from Ragnor, appreciating the warmth of freshly brewed tea through the delicate fine bone china cup.

Alexander makes a soft whuffling snore even as he turns, shoulders digging sharply into Magnus’ thigh before he settles, content to nuzzle his face against Magnus’s belly.

“How is he handling it?”

“Better every day, but still slowly.” Magnus smiles softly as he pets his fingers through Alexander’s hair while taking a sip of tea. “When I first met him I never imagined how wounded and tender he was under all his strength before I found him broken.  It was heartbreaking but also painfully beautiful, to see him find joy and hope again.” Magnus pauses for a minute and his smile turns sharp, “and of course I can’t deny how delicious his ardent devotion and dedication to me is.  I never imagined it would be like this.” 

—

Ragnor watches as Magnus smirk fades and he sighs in contemplation, “I never imagined someone could feel these kinds of things for me, not truly.  Especially not after my father and Camille. To be able to experience it is... indescribable. Whatever comfort I thought I’d found in life I realize now I was merely settling.  I could never give him up and he could never bear to leave and this—” Magnus pauses and then sets his cup down so he can press his own fingers to his heart.

“It’s freedom, Ragnor.  For us both from shades and wounds of the past.  If Camille asked me for help, I’d burn her on sight knowing that her mere presence is a danger for Alexander.” 

The confession is such a shock that Ragnor chokes on his pipe but he recovers easily enough and uses it as an excuse to blow his nose, carefully hiding any tears.  

Magnus would never judge him for crying but it would hurt him to witness just how deeply Ragnor’s relief and joy is.  It would give him a glimpse into how deeply Ragnor and Catarina have both worried and agonized over Magnus’ unhealthy but lingering attachment.  It’s deeply rooted in the night she saved Magnus — the only worthwhile thing Ragnor and Catarina think she’s done and one they are deeply grateful for — but she’d used that against him far too many times for them to ever help her again.

Camille lingers  like a festering wound even with decades upon decades between her and Magnus’ last meeting but finally, finally the stranglehold she’s had on him is gone.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ragnor cheerfully admits. “Now shall we leave your boy to rest and move to the study?”

Magnus’ glare is downright frosty at the mere suggestion and Ragnor chuckles and instead lifts his hands, summoning a new and larger table while Maguns quickly snatches his cup back up — saucer and all — before it can fall. Magnus' left hand hasn’t left Alec’s hair since the moment he started petting his shadowhunter and Ragnor would lightly mock him if he weren’t still so delighted by it all.

Maybe in a century or two the euphoria of Magnus finally having found someone to truly treasure and love him in the ways that he needs will wear off, but until then Ragnor will gladly enjoy this.

-

so the reason it says Alec stayed up all morning is they should have gone to bed before dawn and magnus fell asleep while alec read in bed and then Alec got too invested and ended up not actually going to bed and going back to the garden where Magnus found him when he eventually woke up because there was no Alexander cuddling against him.

and i've mentioned it before but ragnor, magnus and catarina really truly love and adore each other in a deep ride or die kind of way that will not break and betryal would never happen and they're never going to suspect each other. ragnor and cat were grateful to camille at first until she started fucking with Magnus and then basically gratitude didn't mean she could fuck with their friend.

ragnor is just truly fucking delight and he can't wait to portal over to cat the moment Magnus and Alec leave because he's going to spill everything and share memories so cat too can experience the joy of Magnus healing and being happy and confident in his joy and his own self worth which is all they've ever wanted for him

alec is asleep in an unfamiliar place after basically being tortured and that's part of the reason Magnus won't leave him and also why would he leave when he can pet Alec and keep an eye on his rest and make sure he doesn't have nightmares while also enjoying that it's his touch, voice, scent and magic that comfort Alec enough to let him sleep in a strange location especially unarmed and still learning what kind of powers come with his new runes or weapons he can wield.

ragnor is also thrilled because before Alec got interested in the garden it was a side hobby that Magnus only worked on or in when he remembered about it and was interested or wanted ingredients of higher grade

[jasper-pagan-witch]

Hi please ignore this ask and save it for a day when you’re in an emotional space to discuss it. I would wait and send it another time but I know I would forget 💚

How do you navigate being a nonbinary pagan when so many of the sources reinforce a gender binary? Between divine masculine/feminine and different crystals and herbs being assigned masculine or feminine I’ve been struggling with negative feelings surrounding being left out of the set standards and I was wondering if you have any advice!

I have both a funny answer and a serious answer for this.

The serious answer is that I grit my teeth and get through it for whatever scraps of information I can peel with a knife from the body of the text. Every book (or nearly all of them) has something to learn from, even if the work on the whole is garbage. Sometimes you must excise the useful bits and store them somewhere safer, somewhere where they can make sense on their own and develop a clearer meaning when put in the context of your practice. And the thing about carving out the information - whether that be from transcribing, actual cutting and pasting, or something else - is that you can alter the language to be clearer. You can remove the male/female connotations from active/passive. You can add more genders or feelings or remove them entirely. You can say "No, actually, this is not what we're doing here," and then proceed to not do it.

My particular brand of being nonbinary is that of being agender. I joke that I'm "none gender with left boy", but ultimately I have no particular gendered feelings about or in relation to myself. This means that, most of the time, I see nothing in relation to myself, because the type of nonbinary experiences focused on tend to lean more towards genderfluidity or being both man-and-woman-as-one (not to be confused with intersexed folks, that's something else). This is not a bad thing! I am glad that these experiences are being talked about! But with the exception of when I open my big mouth, I don't see a lot that I relate to.

We do get left out. That's part of the problem. And even when others try to include us, well... *glances at some of the queer witchcraft books I own* it doesn't always work out well outside of very particular paths. What I do, and what you are finding you have to do, is crack open the bones and force our way in regardless of whether we are meant to be there or not. Break a window and slip into the abandoned mall, raise a knife and bring it down in the flesh, take off running into the grass and yell at the top of your lungs - no matter how you do it, make room for yourself despite others not wanting you there. We're here, and they can't ignore it.

The funny answer is that I make a game out of getting mad at the lack of feminism in occult texts by men and the borderline-tradwife bullshit in Llewellyn-published witchcraft texts by women.

I don't know if any of this helped, but I hope it gave you something to chew on.

~Jasper

[sleeplesssmol]

Reverse 1999 Connections to History: Wandering Womb & Hysteria

Isolde, Evangeline, and many other women were diagnosed with these "afflictions". This is a SFW run-down of Wandering Womb & Hysteria. I won't go into graphic details about anything, but its still one of the darker aspects of history. If this makes you uncomfortable, please skip over this post or stop reading!

For those who read on, we have a special historical figure with a last name you should all be familiar with! I'm excited to share my findings with you! All sources will be listed below.

Please feel free to add on or correct anything I got wrong. I left out A LOT for the sake of brevity and sensitivity but there is a lot to chew on in this topic.

Wandering Womb Concept:

Definition: Belief that a displaced uterus caused various medical issues in women.

Description: Aretaeus (2nd century AD) described the uterus as moving freely within the body, reacting to smells, akin to "an animal within an animal."

Scent therapy: Like an animated creature, the uterus was believed to be attracted to sweet and pleasant perfumes and repulsed by foul smells.

However, future generations would move away from blaming the womb and pin the blame on women's "weaker" minds and bodies. It's one of the "illnesses" used to demonize or claim superiority over women. The way this illness was weaponized is extremely sinister but I'll leave it to the reader to look further into that if they want to. A Victorian woman going through menopause was often considered to be emotionally unstable. During this 'climacteric period', she may well have been prescribed leeching or bloodletting from the ankle. Her doctor would have advised against reading novels, going to parties and dancing. For a 45 – 50 year old Victorian woman, an onslaught of instability and madness was considered inevitable. Interesting how the "curse" on the women in Isolde's family killed them before they passed the age of 40.

The bullshitters (There's more well-known men with opinions but I'll keep this short and relevant to Reverse 1999):

Aretaeus: Advocated the mobile uterus theory. The origin of bullshit.

Edward Jorden: Popularized the concept in the 17th century through his treatise "The Suffocation of the Mother" (1603), linking it to hysteria and witchcraft. The spreader of bullshit. The Suffocation of the Mother connected the phenomenon of hysteria with actions like singing, laughing, crying, and choking.

Hysteria:

The idea of hysteria linked to the wandering womb, evolved from ancient Greek "hysterical suffocation." It was described as exhibiting a wide array of symptoms, including anxiety, shortness of breath, fainting, nervousness, sexual desire, insomnia, fluid retention, heaviness in the abdomen, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, even sexually forward behavior, and a "tendency to cause trouble for others". It is no longer recognized by medical authorities as a medical disorder. Its diagnosis and treatment were routine for hundreds of years in Western Europe. Even though it was categorized as a disease, hysteria's symptoms were synonymous with normal functioning female sexuality. In the context of hysteria, every symptom and negative thought was linked to sex (also it was problem if you didn't want sex either). Essentially, you were "sick" because you were a woman. Woman disease. How dare females exist 😰

Hysteria was thought to affect only women until the early 1600s. Thomas Willis' concluded Hysteria originated in the brain, not the uterus, implying it could affect men. Despite Willis' findings, hysteria remained a common diagnosis for women, particularly in Victorian times.

Franz Anton Mesmer advanced the theory of hysteria, influencing John Elliotson and James Braid. Elliotson believed mesmerism was particularly effective for hysteria, noting it was not exclusive to women and also affected boys and men. Mesmerism is hypnotic induction held to involve animal magnetism, but we usually use the word "hypnotism". This man appeared in an old journal I was skimming and jump scared me!

Freud's Influence:

Freud shifted focus from physiological to psychological causes. He moved away from Charcot’s hereditary theories, emphasizing psychological rather than genetic or physiological triggers (mind rather than body). Repression is the basis for hysteria. Traumatic memories must be repressed to cause hysterical symptoms. Freud’s therapy aims to bring repressed memories to consciousness to alleviate symptoms. We can see Kakania using this method on Isolde.

Seduction Theory: Freud initially believed that actual childhood sexual abuse caused hysteria but later revised this to include fantasies. This shift was influenced by public resistance and scientific criticism.

Freud's Contributions to Hysteria Theory

Etiology based on nurture, not heredity.

Pubescent experiences as triggers, not causes.

Hysteria redefined as a psychological, not physiological (this one is a very big deal. He was quack, but this shift in perspective is why we've progressed so far in caring for people with PTSD, depression, and so on).

Emphasis on sexual infantile experiences and repression.

Gender distinctions in hysteria based on psychological attitudes towards abuse.

Modern Diagnoses and Connections: Symptoms previously labeled as hysteria are now diagnosed as:

Somatic Symptom Disorder: Characterized by physical symptoms that cannot be explained by medical conditions.

Dissociative Disorder: Involves a disconnection from reality, often linked to trauma.

Conversion Disorder: Involves neurological symptoms without a neurological basis, often linked to psychological factors.

However, there are many other potential diagnosis since hysteria is so broad and vague.

Sources

[ticklygiggles]

Miya&Mia's 12 days of Tickles Day 10: Lights

HuaLian

A/N: as a disclaimer, I'm not Chinese and know nothing about Chinese traditions, so I apologize if this is out of context(? Not well explained(? Or incorrect, of course I don't mean to offend anyone 💖

“Say ‘aaah’, gege.” 

Xie Lian chuckled, but he obediently opened his mouth. “Aaah, hmmm~!”

The tangyuan melted in his mouth. The sweetness made his tongue tingle and his mouth salivate as he chewed on the sweet green ball Hua Cheng had just fed him.

The Demon King looked at him with a sweet smile and he chuckled. “Is it good, Your Highness?” 

“It is!” Xie Lian said, biting into another ball, this time a pink one. “San Lang always outdoes himself!” 

Hua Cheng chuckled again, raising a white tangyuan to Xie Lian's lips and the god ate it happily. “It’s because I do everything thinking about gege.” 

The winter solstice had arrived and Hua Cheng was not going to let the celebration pass by without pampering Xie Lian with delicious food. Besides, wasn't it human tradition for them to eat together as a family? 

Well, it wasn't like they weren't together all the time. In fact, they rarely separated from each other; only when it was strictly necessary, such as when Xie Lian had to ascend to the Heavenly Capital or Hua Cheng had to resolve some problem in the Ghost Realm. 

Otherwise, they were often seen together walking around different cities, smiling and talking to each other or maybe hiding in Paradise Manor or Qiandeng Temple.

Even then, they were eating side by side, their legs touching and their arms bumping into each other with every movement.

So, in other words, this was just a little excuse to have a special time with Xie Lian. 

“I had never celebrated the Winter Solstice Festival before,” Xie Lian said after eating a couple more tangyuan. “No one lit incense paper for me before, but now I have received many merits!” 

Hua Cheng chuckled. “His Highness has worked hard, it is only natural that he reaps what he has sown, isn't it?” Xie Lian chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. “But, Your Highness, would you mind telling this lowly one about this celebration?”

“Oh, there is actually something our smart San Lang doesn't know?” Xie Lian teased and Hua Cheng rolled his eye playfully, causing him to laugh.

“Well, in short, it symbolizes the victory of light over darkness. After the Winter Solstice Festival, it is said that Yang energy will increase, bringing more positivity and light to everyone.”

Hua Cheng hummed, grabbing yet another tangyuan with his chopsticks and gently raising it to Xie Lian's lips, he ate it with a happy hum. 

"You know, gege, I think we're also like ying and yang," he said in a hushed tone, a smile on his lips. "You are the light and I'm the darkness, and you always have victory over me."

Xie Lian laughed, his face flushed. "W-What are you saying, San Lang..." 

Hua Cheng moved impossibly closer to him, his cold lips touching the sweet, warm skin of Xie Lian's ear. "I'm saying that you are my weakness, gege. My weak point." 

Xie Lian shuddered, his body responding to Hua Cheng's touch. The Ghost King could hear Xie Lian's racing heartbeat and his smile became more playful. 

“Is that so?” Xie Lian asked and Hua Cheng felt a shiver run down his spine when their eyes met. “I think…” Xie Lian said lowly as he lifted himself, swinging a leg across Hua Cheng's lap to straddle him. 

Hua Cheng's hands immediately found Xie Lian's waist and he shuddered when his husbands warm hands touched his face, making him look up at him. Hua Cheng didn't have a heart, but he certainly felt something fluttering on his chest and stomach. 

“... That I know one more weakness of yours.” 

Hua Cheng felt heat gathering right under his navel and he smirked at Xie Lian, relishing on that lustful look in his chocolate eyes. “Oh? And what could that be, gege?” 

Xie Lian smirked, moving his face closer to Hua Cheng's until the tips of their nose were touching. “Well… that is…” 

Hua Cheng closed his eyes, feeling Xie Lian's sweet breath fanning across his face and his lips brushing against him. They were going to kiss.

“Tickling, of course!” 

Hua Cheng snapped his eye open, but before he could even think of stopping Xie Lian, the god was already squeezing his hip bones expertly. Hua Cheng's laughter was uninterrupted, a continuous and joyful sound that seemed to have no end.

He fell back against the wooden floor and writhed beneath Xie Lian, desperately trying to push his hands away from his poor ticklish hips. 

“HAHAHA! G-Gehehehege! Nohoho plehehease! Not thehehere!” 

Xie Lian giggled above him, “I told you, didn't I? I knew your other weak point~” 

Hua Cheng nodded, “you dohoho! You DOHOHO! Ahahaha, n-nohoho!” 

Xie Lian's laughter filled his ear as his husband stopped and leaned on top of him, pressing a kiss to his smiling lips. 

“You might be right, San Lang,” Xie Lian said, teasingly poking Hua Cheng's hips to have him jumping and squeaking. “You and I are like Ying and Yang, however, I have to say… you are the light of my life.” 

Oh, how much he loved Xie Lian. 

[whyse7vn]

KIM TAEHYUNG

HERE:

[ recommend that you read this for context ]

“You’re…. here?” Taehyung is confused.

It’s not like he was unhappy to see you or anything, in fact his insides felt as if they could fucking explode out of joy right now you’re here. He could of sworn you were mad at him, like reallly mad at him like i’m not talking to you for at least 24 hours, running you over with a car in my mind i’ll push you off a bridge type of mad at him but like he said you’re… here, at his front door. Kinda weird he notes, you definitely do have a key that you make very frequent use of but he decides he’ll call you out on it later.

“Problem?” You voice seems hoarse.

Taehyung frowns. Had you been crying?

You immediately notice the frown that boy in front of you wears and let out a small cough in an attempt to clear your throat.

“Problem?” You try again followed by an awkward smile.

Taehyung can’t help but mirror your small smile with his own boxy grin “Never”

———————-

You now sit on Taehyung’s soft brown couch legs crossed holding one of his many decorative pillows to your chest. You inhale deeply and a musky wood scent fills your nose as you exhale his automatic air freshener, located on a shelf near his tv, goes off and a sickly sweet rose scent fills the room. You scrunch your nose up in disgust but choose not to comment on it knowing that your complaints will fall onto deaf ears as Taehyung claims the smell is “super romantic and alllll the girls love it” You giggle at the memory.

“Water right?”

You break away from your thoughts and look over your shoulder to find Taehyung’s eyes staring right back at you over his kitchen counter. You’ve always liked the way Taehyung’s place was laid out. The open plan really helps his home feel connected and has become your groups go to when hanging out.

You give Taehyung a small nod and turn back around. Something’s…. missing. Your gaze falls to the floor. Oh. You now notice one of Yoentan’s chew toys tucked under the corner of Tae’s fluffy carpet, the toy is purple in colour and what seems to be in a bone shape. Your lips pull into a smile.

“Where’s Tan?” You question.

Unbeknownst to you Tae freezes. “I— erm he’s with my parents right now” He internally cringes he hates lying to you. “Schedules have been real busy lately had to put him somewhere” At least that part was true.

Realistically there was no need to lie you about Yeontan’s whereabouts. I mean sure you would have looked at him funny probably asked a bunch of questions too but ultimately he could have told you. Yet he knew as soon as that question left your mouth he wasn’t going to tell you the truth.

Simply because he’s afraid.

Afraid that you’ll be ok with where Yeontan is right now. Who he’s with right now. And knowing you as much as Taehyung hates to admit it you most likely would be okay with it. You’ll probably read into it congratulate him on finding someone. Taehyung physically rolls his eyes at the thought. He wants you to burn like he did, like he does. He wants the thought of him choosing to leave Yeontan in the care of her instead of you consumes you whole. He wants it to devour you to haunt your every waking thought he wants it to—

“He’s all the way in Deagu? You know i would of taken him if you needed me to”

Taehyung blinks “I know”

He definitely does know.

But call him jealous, call him petty he didn’t care the thought of you and Jaehyun, Joon, Yoongi, Kook and fuck even Hoseok now consumed him. Consumes him. And that’s practically why he felt no shame in calling that number buried so deep in his contact list a week ago.

Now though, he must admit as he sits around an arms length away from you on his couch this whole “no shame” thing he was feeling before had just turned into pure guilt. Taehyung desperately tries to find your eyes but you refuse to make contact the air around you both suddenly awkward. Do you know he’s lying to you perhaps? Or is this just you upset because of the breakup? It’s very rare for Taehyung to be at a loss of what to say most of the time, so with everything in him he decides to break the awkwardness that has somehow found you both.

“Soooo…you went to see Hobi?”

Your eyes lighten up instantly thankful that Tae had taken the initiative to break the silence “Yeah i just wanted to make sure he got that the whole situation wasn’t actually his fault you know he gets in his head about that kind of stuff”

Taehyung nods along with what your saying

Another wave of awkward silence takes over.

You sigh and begin to get up off the couch.

“Maybe i should lea—”

“Did you fuck him?”

Both you and Tae’s eyes widen after the bold question leaves the man’s lips. Taehyung even slaps his hand over his mouth to had to the dramatics of it all.

“I’m sorry?” You begin

“No i’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to ask that i just— i just noticed you are wearing Hobi’s hoodie and i just thought that— you know so i asked and—” Tae rambles trying to save himself.

You look down at the light blue hoodie you’re wearing very clearly not yours and equally clearly Hoseok’s due to the bold “J-HOPE” printed on each hoodie cuff and it entirely being a little too big for you. You look back up from the hoodie to Tae finding him still rambling on.

“I mean with you Jaehyun it’s like crazy so if you—”

You make eye contact with Taehyung and he shuts up almost immediately.

“What if i did?” The air shifts.

“Huh?” Taehyung is quick to reply

“Fuck Hoseok, what if i did fuck Hoseok?”

“T-thats cool” Taehyung suddenly feels small under your intense gaze.

“Is it?” You press

Taehyung nods unable to trust his own voice right now.

“Are you sure Taehyung?”

“Super sure. I don’t care”

“Then why ask?”

Taehyung turns his head away from you breaking the eye contact you both once held. The Tension in the room in the room is thick, suffocating. Taehyung takes a deep breath.

You’re here.

And Taehyung is still confused as to why. You’re making him feel guilty. Taehyung has nothing to feel guilty about. You’re still here you shouldn’t be here. Not after what’s happened today no. You’re here, why are you still here? This isn’t fair, not on him on you, on Hobi, on Joon Yoongi Koo—

Your delicate fingers on his jaw pull Taehyung both out of this spiralling thoughts and his head to face you again.

“I’m here” You speak slowly to him.

Taehyung can’t breath, he won’t breathe he refuses to breathe so many thoughts, too many thoughts it’s-it’s all not fair. Hot, his body feels hot his mind feels hot everything is just hot and the way you’re looking at him is just so…

Hot.

Fuck it. Taehyung throws all the nonexistent composure he had out the window and tugs you closer smashing his lips onto yours. His hands immediately find you hair while yours find rest on his neck your tongues dance in each other’s mouths for what feels like hours your kiss filled with so much passion and unspoken words before Taehyung pulls away for some much needed air. His hair just as disheveled as yours and lips just as swollen he smiles at you. He doesn’t say anything just stares and smiles. You go to open you mouth to say something but he’s quick to cut you off by diving back into your lips. He does this partly out of fear you’ll ask him to stop say this isn’t right and leave and party no fuck that definitely because if your lips aren’t on him in the next five seconds he’ll actually pass away.

In this moment Taehyung is happy. He’s happy and you’re here.

—

i don’t know where tf this came from shocked at myself actually

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @sopebubbles-replies @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp

[marsreds]

yeah, no, the more i think about it, the more i realize that i'm actually really upset about the whole "your imperfections make you beautiful" speech.

like. this is how we meet Viktor:

this is not a character who has a problem with his "imperfections". look at his body language, look at the hand in the pocket. he oozes self-confidence. a man who saw the hand the universe* gave him and decided to make it a winning one, everything else be damned. hell, he says as much:

(sidenote, insane foreshadowing (heh) with having Viktor always be positioned in the background and/or in the shadow of the shot)

this is not a character that is ashamed of himself, his body.

the whole framing of Viktor's choices in season one is that he doesn't want to die. he wants to keep going, he wants to leave a legacy behind, he wants more time and yes, part of it is because he's arrogant, because he thinks no one can do what he can, and part of that arrogance is simply confirmation bias because, indeed, so far no one but him has been able to do what he (and Jayce) did.

and that's what makes it work!! "i don't want to die, i want to keep going, i'm good and moral and useful** and i deserve to live!!"

it works in the context of Viktor's transformation—in the pursuit of freeing myself from the weakness of the flesh i come to the conclusion that true weakness is in our (emotional, irrational) attachment to life—and it works in the context of the narrative being woven—tragedy is tragedy because it's completely avoidable if only it weren't inevitable—and it works in the context of how it fits with other characters—Jayce, Man of Tomorrow, Modernist Ideal™ breaking every single promise and crossing every single line in order to do what Viktor has been trying to do the whole season and then turned away from because, unlike Jayce's, Viktor's moral's aren't relative—

to take all of that! all of that!!! and turn it into a "cindy, you're beautiful even with your glasses on." feelgood romcom moment is just... it just feels bad. it feels bad.

*i genuinely think that his leg/spine deformity has nothing to do with Piltover. sometimes you just get fucked by the forces that be. (the disease is another matter.)

**the idea of "usefulness to society" as a metric of who "deserves" to live that s1 had in the background making me chew at the bars of my cage

[transmutationisms]

tagged by @atthecenterofeverything to list 10 books im planning to read next yayyyyy. i actually revise my tbr in my head every five seconds so this is vibes based and i make no promises <3

Doctor Glas by Hjalmar Söderberg -- i reread Love in the Time of Cholera recently and discovered i disagree with my taste at the age of 16 💔 but i love reading about fictional doctors so ive been tearing thru some of those and this is next on the stack

Necropolis by Basil Copper -- also teed up from ^ this batch

Le Berceau des dominations - Anthropologie de l'inceste par Dorothée Dussy -- recced by a friend, looks really great even though i SAID i need to read more fiction in french bc it really is better practice for variety of phrasing lol

The Purchase of Intimacy by Viviana A. Zelizer -- also recced by a friend, has been on my mental tbr for a few months, related to some things ive been chewing on lately

Querelle de Brest par Jean Genet -- I loved the fassbinder adaptation the only question is when will i be brave (patient) enough to tackle genet in french lol

L'art et la matière: Les artisans, les architectes et la technique, 1770–1830 par Valérie Nègre -- nobody look at meeee it's not fiction again but i read either one book or multiple papers by paola bertucci about the contemporaneous formation of the categories of artiste vs artisan vs savant & that one focusses more on the intellectual production side but this one i think is more what i want in terms of. i like to look at buildings and understand why they look how they look

Kara Kitap by Orhan Pamuk -- just been on my list for a hot minute, i loved my name is red

Un enfant à l'asile. Vie de Paul Taesch par Anatole Le Bras -- i think this is going to be bad tbh but it's 19th century child in an asylum in the rare case in which the author isn't having to 100% read the archive backward so i rly can't resist

Madness, Architecture and the Built Environment: Psychiatric Spaces in Historical Context (edited vol.) -- edited volumes are rarely very good & i think the scope is too wide here but the topic is one ive been meaning to get more granular on since i read sun-young park on the architecture of paris deaf-blind institutes so i'm at least going to use it to get more oriented in this sub sub field of lit

Poisoned Eden: Cholera Epidemics, State-Building, and the Problem of Public Health in Tucumán, Argentina, 1865-1908 by Carlos S. Dimas -- the paris cholera epidemics following the 1830 and 1848 revolutions are so rich for historical analysis and i stumbled across this book recently working with some of the overlapping public health–politics concerns in argentina, looks great can't wait

i have noooo idea who's already done this or who wants to lol but if you see this please do it and tag me i get so many reading recs off random tumblr posts xx

[unlust-fvck]

something, anything

word count: 1.7k

pairing: gregory house x james wilson

description: house shows up at wilson’s door, a usual occurrence. but this time, it’s different.

warnings: very angsty, slight fluff, house being closed off n stubborn. wilson is sad and a people pleaser if you squint. close ‘friends’.

a/n: trying to get into writing for house md and this is what my brain thought of :’) sorryyyy. i listened to ‘let down’ by radiohead on repeat while writing this lolz

Something was wrong.

As Greg stood in front of the apartment door, his arm raised, knuckles ready to softly knock on the door. He hesitated.

He wasn’t sure why he was even here in the first place. After a multitude of missed calls from James, would he even give Greg the light of day? He wouldn’t. Yet, here he stood, leaning more than ever on his cane in hopes it would alleviate the heavy, pitting feeling in his stomach.

House finally made up his mind and gently knocked on the door, not even sure what he would say. As he attempted to formulate something, anything, he was met with soft, brown eyes.

James’ eyes met Greg’s; like an old friend. Someone that you weren’t even sure you could call a friend anymore. Someone you’d see in passing and exchange a courteous smile that meant something a lot more.

As Greg stood there, he opened his mouth, yet faltered. His eyes never left Wilson’s, which spoke volumes.

The younger man’s brows furrowed, drawing up in something Greg couldn’t decipher; pain? No, maybe pity? Whatever it was though, he immediately regretted coming here. At the end of the day, his problems were his own anyway.

Wilson finally spoke, “Hi.” Though only one word, it spoke volumes. His mouth remained open as he thought of anything to say, yet failed. This wasn’t the first time House had shown up at his door with little to no context. It was nothing like this though.

The older man’s typical sarcastic, cynical demeanor seeming almost foreign to the shell of a man that stood before Wilson. Greg’s eyes were glazed, his stance almost cowering away from the doorway.

Greg’s grip on his cane increased as he chewed at his lip, still failing to come up with anything to say. James opened the door wider, enough for House to saunter in. It was a wordless invitation.

Wilson’s expression grew more concerned as House plopped onto the couch, his cane lazily propped between his legs. House’s walk was nothing like it typically was; a slow, uneven wobble as opposed to his steady limp. He just stared in front of him at nothing in particular in the all too familiar apartment, mouth feeling particularly dry.

James closed the door behind him and stood in front of House, hoping for him to say something, anything. When the older man did nothing but meet his eyes with a broken, defeated look, Wilson sighed.

“Where have you been?” He asked. A simple question that was yet difficult for House to answer.

Where hadn’t he been? In the past twenty-four hours, himself and Wilson had gotten into a blowout, he’d been to a bar for almost six hours straight in attempts to forget, and when all that gave him was a headache, he was then back at home, self-loathing. The place he spent the most time however, was his head.

His thoughts bounced around his head like a ping-pong ball. He had definitely screwed up with Wilson. From growing increasingly distant, to yelling at him in defiance when asked what was wrong, House didn’t deserve him. All Wilson wanted to do was help, but his problems were his own, Wilson of all people should’ve known that.

These thoughts had swirled around Greg’s head for the last day leading up until he found himself at the brown eyed man’s door.

His thoughts were silenced.

House had chalked it up to being selfish, or maybe a bad childhood? No matter the cause, he knew he was in the wrong as much as he hated to admit it.

“Home.” was what he settled with, the first words he had said to James since their argument. He wasn’t sure how this visit would end. Every beat of silence caused his stomach to flip. He thought he was going to be sick.

None of these internal conflicts were visible. All James saw was a fraction of an exhausted man before him. “Really, and you couldn’t return my calls?” Wilson asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice, although he regretted it almost immediately. James was frustrated. He was ridiculed for trying to help, but he couldn’t sit idly by while Greg destroyed himself piece by piece.

House let out a breathy sigh and his eyes finally left Wilson’s. He resembled an injured dog, tail between his legs. There was only one way he could resolve this, though it wasn’t ideal. He fiddled with the handle of his cane for a moment, before speaking up.

“I’m sorry James.”

Wilson’s eyes never left House. The words came crashing at him like waves to a break wall. House’s voice was ragged, dull almost. Wilson wanted to curl up at his side and hold him to reassure him things would pass. He decided against it. He’d learnt his lesson with that anyway.

He wanted to settle for a simple ‘It’s alright’, but he’d be lying. It was never alright. The pushing and shoving away and apologies laced with sarcasm that James accepted anyways. He was so… tired? No. He could never get tired of House.

“What is going on with you?” He settled with. Nothing else he’d say would be productive anyways.

Greg’s eyes met his and for the first time, Wilson saw a flash of vulnerability make itself known. House had never been one to talk about his thoughts, let alone his problems. But, it was growing increasingly more obvious that it was becoming harder and harder to manage with every argument and slammed door.

“I’m not okay.” House admitted, the words leaving his mouth feeling like bricks being taken off of his chest. “I’m sorry for hurting you and I shouldn’t have yelled yesterday,” He added, wanting to go on but feeling as though anything else he’d say could be used against him.

Wilson nodded, eyes flicking from House to the floor. He then sat beside the older man, elbows rested on his knees and fingers interlocked into a balled up fist that his chin sat upon.

Greg’s eyes followed every move, picking up on every mannerism and noting them. He was an observer after all. Yet, he couldn’t decipher what the right thing to do was. House was a logical man with little room for emotions to take the reins. Maybe that was why he’d gotten himself into this mess into the first place. Relationships… Well companionship was foreign to him in the first place. If no one was around to hurt him, how could he be hurt?

Wilson stuck out; always coming back after every argument, every mistake, every day. He was always back. Just as nothing had happened.

House pitied him; he watched James take in the information, avoiding House’s eyes.

Wilson nodded, “Thanks.” he said finally, feeling small. “I want to help you,” he started, awaiting protest. When none came, he continued, eyes flickering between Greg and anywhere else in the room. “All of these fights.. fights because you don’t want help. You’re destroying yourself. You’re destroying me.” Wilson admitted, voice cracking ever so slightly. He had tried to choose his words carefully but abandoned that idea. House needed to know exactly where he stood. No more sugar coating.

House nodded, the words stinging. He felt a buzzing, hazy sensation in his head. He began to lie back into the sofa, sinking into the leather cushions. Wilson followed suit, observing House’s frame.

His bum leg was outstretched under the coffee table, the other bent in a way that would support his cane to rest between the two. He reached into his pocket and slipped his medication out of the bottle, swallowing dryly.

“I know,” House responded hoarsely, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.” He added, his voice dropping into somewhere between a whisper and a mumble.

Wilson nodded. Maybe that was a start. Or who knows? House could just be making these empty promises in attempts to keep him for a reason he didn’t understand.

Although the voice of reason screamed at Wilson not to, his hand fell upon House’s knee, rubbing gently circles into it. No matter what happened, James would do what he could to keep House content, or at least alive.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, neither of them having the courage to say anything else out of fear. Fear of argument. Yelling. Isolation. It was the last thing they needed.

Wilson stood, holding a hand out to House. Another wordless invitation.

House’s eyes fell to his hand. He pondered it, then stood up slowly, his cane in one hand, the other taking Wilson’s.

Wilson lead him to his bedroom. “It’s late, I want you to stay with me.” Wilson said, an order without room for objection.

House just nodded, setting his cane against his side — the empty side — of the bed. He emptied his pockets onto the vacant nightstand and sat atop the side of the bed, feeling numb.

James handed him spare clothes, swallowing thickly. The air was tense, just the sound of cars passing and the occasional dog barking diffusing it ever so slightly.

Wilson sat upon the other side of the bed, facing away as House changed. This wasn’t a new scene for the two, but it was different this time around.

Their relationship was complicated. Neither one of them admitting to anything other than friendship. The definition of friendship being too casual for the two, however the definition of relationship being too much commitment for either.

But, when Wilson’s eyes caught House’s now and again, something unsaid exchanged between the two. A pact, a union, whatever you’d want to call it. Something that said ‘I’m yours’. Something vulnerable. Something meaningful.

Sure, they’d bicker like a couple, not speak, then make up. They’d hold each other when things were too much. They’d reassure each other when they needed it most. Everything they did fell under a relationship-feeling category.

But saying it aloud was nothing more than a nuisance. They were friends. Friends leant on each other all the time. But as Wilson laid back, his neck against the pillow, something lit ablaze inside him when Greg’s head found its way to resting on his chest, eyes still refusing to meet his as they laid together.

House laid in his bed, on his chest, in his clothes, but friends did that too, right?

All of the definitions of friendship slowly melted away into an undefined companionship.

Maybe when things were better. Maybe when House was better. Maybe when they were better.

Wilson was content with the idea. After all, he’d be alright with something, anything.

Having some of House was better than none at all.

© unlust-fvck 2025