#and dozens of drawings of them individually

[drawnbinary]

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[shesnake]

Spider-Verse Artists Say Working on the Sequel Was ‘Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts’

Why don’t more animated movies look this good? According to people who worked on the sequel, Across the Spider-Verse, it’s because the working conditions required to produce such artistry are not sustainable.

Multiple Across the Spider-Verse crew members — ranging from artists to production executives who have worked anywhere from five to a dozen years in the animation business — describe the process of making the the $150 million Sony project as uniquely arduous, involving a relentless kind of revisionism that compelled approximately 100 artists to flee the movie before its completion.

While frequent major overhauls are standard operating procedure in animation (Pixar films can take between four and seven years to plot, animate, and render), those changes typically occur early on during development and storyboarding stages. But these Spider-Verse 2 crew members say they were asked to make alterations to already-approved animated sequences that created a backlog of work across multiple late-stage departments. Across the Spider-Verse was meant to debut in theaters in April of 2022, before it was postponed to October of that year and then June 2023 owing to what Entertainment Weekly reported as “pandemic-related delays.” However, the four crew members say animators who were hired in the spring of 2021 sat idle for anywhere from three to six months that year while Phil Lord tinkered with the movie in the layout stage, when the first 3-D representation of storyboards are created.

As a result, these individuals say, they were pushed to work more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for more than a year to make up for time lost and were forced back to the drawing board as many as five times to revise work during the final rendering stage.

"For animated movies, the majority of the trial-and-error process happens during writing and storyboarding. Not with fully completed animation. Phil’s mentality was, This change makes for a better movie, so why aren’t we doing it? It’s obviously been very expensive having to redo the same shot several times over and have every department touch it so many times. The changes in the writing would go through storyboarding. Then it gets to layout, then animation, then final layout, which is adjusting cameras and placements of things in the environment. Then there’s cloth and hair effects, which have to repeatedly be redone anytime there’s an animation change. The effects department also passes over the characters with ink lines and does all the crazy stuff like explosions, smoke, and water. And they work closely with lighting and compositing on all the color and visual treatments in this movie. Every pass is plugged into editing. Smaller changes tend to start with animation, and big story changes can involve more departments like visual development, modeling, rigging, and texture painting. These are a lot of artists affected by one change. Imagine an endless stream of them."

"Over 100 people left the project because they couldn’t take it anymore. But a lot stayed on just so they could make sure their work survived until the end — because if it gets changed, it’s no longer yours. I know people who were on the project for over a year who left, and now they have little to show for it because everything was changed. They went through the hell of the production and then got none of their work coming out the other side."

[ettawritesnstudies]

Etta's Guide to Writeblr (March 2023)

So you fled here from Twitter/TikTok... Where to start?

Welcome to Writeblr! Pull up a chair, open those documents, and pour yourself a cup of your favorite tea, coffee, or cocoa. The first thing you'll want to do is start following other writers. Check out this post for recommendations! Search through the notes to find hundreds more. Since I made that post, a bunch of people mentioned they're lurking and still trying to figure out tumblr, so I thought I'd make this post to help people get settled.

How to set up your blog

Make your blog name something not resembling a pornbot - it can be whatever you want, anything fun goes, just not [name###]. If you include "writer" or "author" somewhere in the url it makes it easier to spot writeblrs at a glance but it's not a requirement

Change your profile to something that's not the default, Make sure you have a blog title, and add a little description in your blog header if you feel like it!

Make a pinned post introducing yourself (pls don't use your real name or any IDing information for privacy's sake, this isn't facebook), a short summary of your WIPs, and links if you have an author's website/newsletter/ao3/etc. You can check my pinned post for an example

Make intro posts for each WIP! You can spruce these up with graphics (canva and unsplash are both great free resources to make edits/moodboards), excerpts, lists of tropes, character intros, etc. Link to the WIP intro in your pinned post so it's easy to find! You can update these as often as needed

If you want to make character intros, go wild. If you can't draw, piccrew is a great option. Just start talking about your WIP!

Come up with a tagging system to keep your blog organized. I recommend individual wip tags or at least one for your original writing in general so it's easy to search for your work on your blog

Keep track of Taglists for your WIPs. Whenever you post a new thing about your story, tag the people who asked to be notified to make sure they see it! Only tag people who ask to join the taglist, but it's a good way to keep track of interest. It's normal to have multiple taglists for each story+ one general writing taglist.

How to make writer friends

Reblog their work and add nice comments, either in the tags, comments, or the reblog itself People notice regulars in their notes and appreciate the attention. I promise it's not weird to compliment a total stranger

If that's too intimidating, community events are your friend!

Weekly Ask Games: These are weekly events that are loosely themed where writers send each other asks about their WIPs! The most common are Storyteller Saturday (about the writing process), Blorbsday (aka Blorbo Thursday about characters), and Worldbuilding Wednesday (about the setting of your story). If you answer these late, nobody really cares, but it's a fun way to receive prompts and learn more about other people's stories.

Ask Games/Memes: These are posts with lists of questions you can reblog from other people, sometimes themed or listed with emojis. It's common courtesy to send an ask from the list to the person you reblog it from, then people can send you questions as well, so you can talk about your stories! You can search for dozens of them

Tag games: There's a ton of different types of tag games, but basically someone @s you with a challenge/question, you reblog with your answer, and then @ a bunch of other people to continue the chain. Some common ones are Heads Up 7s Up (share the last 7 lines of your WIP), Last Line Tag (share the last line you wrote), and Find the Words (ctrl+f the given words in your doc and share the results, then give new words).

Formal events: These are community wide participation challenges organized by certain blogs! @writeblrsummerfest is every July?? August? I think? It's run by @abalonetea a few years strong, and there are daily prompts and ask games! @inklings-challenge is a month-long short story entry for Christian writeblrs. I think there was a valentines event in February. @moon-and-seraph is hosting a pitch week soon! Since these are more organized, it's very easy to find similar blogs and support!

Misc. Notes on using Tumblr

Follow the tags #writeblr and #writeblr community to find other writers, as well as other tags that interest you like #fantasy for example

If you want to bookmark a post to read later, you can like it and/or save it to your drafts

The queue/schedule function is very useful if you want to space out posts or have a backlog to keep your blog running when you get busy. This is good for the community because it gives older posts a chance to be rediscovered! You can change the posting frequency in the settings.

REBLOG YOUR OWN STUFF. People aren't always on at the same times and so it's the best way to account for people with different schedules and timezones. If you're worried about being annoying, you can tag those #self reblog or something similar and other people can filter the tag, but otherwise it's a welcomed and accepted practice.

If your excerpt is pretty long, put it under a cut. On desktop you can do this by selecting the squiggly button on the far right when you make a new paragraph, on mobile type :readmore: then hit enter.

It's polite to add descriptions to images and videos for visually or auditory impaired people. If you don't know how to write descriptions, here's a good resource

In your dashboard settings, it's best to shut off the options "Best Stuff First" and "Based on your Likes". These function as the website algorithm and suppresses the blogs you actually follow, which defeats the purpose of the site, letting the dash be in reverse chronological order. Also turn off Tumblr Live because it's malware as far as anyone's concerned.

Curate your experience, block the trolls, and be nice

Update for March 2024

How to shut off AI Scraping on your blog

Go to settings and find the Visibility tab

Scroll down to the tag that says "Prevent Third-Party Sharing"

Turn that knob over so that Automattic can't steal your work for their language training model databases >_<

The other settings will just hide your blog from search engines so they're useful for hiding from nosy parents or other Tumblr users but if you're trying to build an author platform you can leave them off.

Again, welcome to the community! I hope you have a ton of fun!

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

[magicalmanhattanproject]

so i wanna talk about 2b2t, specifically as a backstory for qfit. because the thing is everyone talks about 2b2t as a wasteland and a wreck and a bombed out warzone and like. it sure as hell isn't not that. but it's also a server that people keep on coming to. it's a server that takes pride in actively murdering new members, but it's a server that keeps on having new members

so, what's the draw? what keeps people coming and coming back?

well, the thing about an anarchy server is that it has no rules, be they rules of society or rules of reality

the way i think about 2b2t is that it's a fucked up wonderland. like you know when someone makes a deal with a sinister fairy and it comes true in the worst way for them possible? that's how everything works on 2b.

you want infinite blocks for your builds? sure, the griefers have infinite tnt too. you want infinite totems to stay alive? sure, end crystal pvp means you're gonna need every last one of them. you want fame and fortune for griefing a legendary build? sure, you got a target on your back for the rest of your life though

but the thing is that the metaphorical fucked up fairies are busy. it's down to the individual server members to take care of the double dealing and the double crossing and the wreaking of havoc. and they do! with delight! but they can't* be everywhere at once.

so, you have a chance. you can get lucky. you can get lucky for a while. you can build a nice little life for yourself. you can even get it off the back of tearing other people down if you're quick and you're clever and that's much faster and easier than trying to grind your own resources the vanilla way when every moment is a race against the clock before your base gets found and griefed but you can try and you can do pretty well and you can try again and you can try to get revenge and you can make friends and you can make enemies and you can have everything you ever wanted for the low, low price of everything you ever had and why not pay it when you can just build it all back up again

the other things about 2b2t that i think points to fucked up fairy wonderland instead of standard wartime dystopia is so much of how the server works is really best understood as necromancy-adjacent. so every account is a different person, right? well, some people have a half dozen faces just in case someone finds out where one sleeps. sometimes. there was that one time one guy's shambling corpse** just got reanimated by a completely different guy who took over his identity and no one really minded when they found out

there's an entire population of bots that move and act like players and communicate in all the ways players can barring hte most intimate*** and they literally can't be distinguished from players in most circumstances but they're used as delivery drones so they'll bring you a package and then die in front of you so you can't follow them back to the cache

like this is just!! a thing!!! that people live with!!!!!!!

2b2t has highway unions!! it also has collectives who go around destroying the highways!! there are compassionate souls making community areas!! those areas are griefed to hell and back but not beyond recognizibility!!

it's all just an absolutely fascinating world and it deserves to be explored in how it affects fit's character a lot more than just "ptsd from bombs" even though that's also a massive part of it

*NOCOM notwithstanding

**To be clear bc it wasn't a roleplay bit, the original player is still alive, but he's got no intention of returning to 2b2t so his cubito is definitely dead.

***They can like spam crouch and send messages in chat and you're not gonna want to hop in a vc with a rando from 2b2t

[familyabolisher]

Would you elaborate on why you don't really believe in addictive personalities? I find that a useful descriptor for myself that reminds me how easy it is for me to get into unhealthy behavior patterns. I have to fully stay away from tiktok and gacha games(I will never go gambling) because I know I can't trust myself with them. I also have to be REALLY careful with alcohol, etc. I have adhd and bi-polar, and I like having a phrase that describes my experience without being too over-medicalized and relating everything to diagnoses. I'm curious why you don't like it as a construct/whatever your opinion is!

personal explanatory power is one thing and i wouldn’t begrudge you that but i don’t really see how it has any materialist usage; and ultimately, like, i’m a marxist, any way in which i evaluate a framework that’s supposed to explain something in the world has to come from the assumption that the world is best explained through historical materialism. ‘addictive personality’ with no further elaboration is an idealist claim which obfuscates crucial points of discourse around addiction and the conditions that give rise to it—and indeed the conditions which cause us to name one substance or action as ‘addictive’ over another in the first place. addiction is materially punished; through social stigma, but also through housing discrimination, workplace discrimination, policing & incarceration, psychiatry, the sorts of forces that add up to eventually facilitate the conditions of social murder. we only have to look as far as the war on drugs to understand how ‘addiction,’ the consumption and circulation of substances regarded as ‘addictive,’ is not a prediscursive state but one that can be leveraged to violently enforce conditions of hegemony and quell insurgence through carceralism and social murder. i also just heavily distrust psychology as a field and certainly don’t buy these appeals to an essential self as a self who ‘has’ xyz tendencies as though xyz tendencies (such as the traits given in the five-factor model which is applied to ‘explain’ a predisposition to addiction) are anything other than postdiscursive descriptors we’ve imbued with meaning relative to a postdiscursive normalcy. i think psychological theorising around personality tends to obfuscate materialist frameworks in favour of methodologies which presume and reify normativity (eg. the claim that those more vulnerable to ‘addictive personalities’ have a stronger tendency towards ‘social alienation’ and ‘nonconformity’ without defining what constitutes ‘alienation’ and ‘conformity’ in the first place—as though personality traits simply appear out of thin air).

as we’ve seen dozens of times, “addiction” is a slippery term easily wielded towards reactionary ends. “porn addiction” is a line taken by anti-sex work radfems; “food addiction” is infamously unscientific and preying on cultural predispositions towards fatphobia; “internet addiction” is similarly flimsy and frequently deployed in theories of cultural degeneration. this doesn’t mean that the clusters of behaviours we term “addiction” aren’t “real” in the sense that some people do develop dependencies on particular substances, but that the term can be used to draw connections between the reactionary attitude held towards addiction & its attendant connotations (of infantilisation, justified removal of autonomy, incarceration, psychiatric intervention, and so on) and whatever the wielder wants to malign (porn, food, using the internet). if we reify the idea of there being an ontological state within ourselves by which we are more or less prone to “addiction,” we by implication act against the necessity of interrogating what is meant by “addiction” and why it is being invoked in the first place; we also place all our explanatory eggs, so to speak, in the basket of the individual cast as “addicted,” rather than turning our attention towards the source of the “addictive” substance or object and its material origins + usage.

so it bears asking what we’re obscuring and what we’re facilitating when we give legitimacy to the idea of an ‘addictive personality’ in the public discourse, which is what i meant when i said that the term has no materialist explanatory power for me—casting someone in the role of an addict, even if only in the hypothetical, allows others to enforce the stigmas that such a role entails, through, for example, infantilisation, denial of autonomy, and reluctance to treat the individual’s behaviour as worthy of respect, compassion, and mature response. it creates a telos out of addiction under conditions wherein addiction means incarceration (literal or psychiatric), discrimination, ostracisation, everything i just laid out in the first paragraph. it makes addiction into a fundamentally individualist discourse which must therefore have individualist solutions, rather than a complex nexus of social conditions and discourses that we can describe and then fight against.

[extrajigs]

Finally finished my Whorl redesign. They were cute before but idk, I wasn't digging their eyes. I gave them a frisbee head and they are much better for it now! More in depth info to be found below!

Whorls are a sophont from the slime ball planet Backera, the planets crust is entirely covered in miles thick microbial mat so the floor is always very much alive. The main form of "animal" life on the planet are the pentapods, analogous to Earth tetrapods in terms of niches and all that. Pentapods are distinguished by their five limbs, five jaws, partial exoskeleton, and an internal boney limb girdle. Whorls are from a clade of predatory pentapods who branched into frugivory a while back, eventually leading to tighter knit communities built around maintaining their farm mats. Whorls live in towns with populations between a few dozen to a few thousand, their settlements are also how they get their name. Their buildings are spiral shaped, expanded by spiraling them outward! I'm getting around to drawing that, its v cool. They eat mostly 'plant' matter, fruiting bodies from sessile organisms and maybe some choice floor scrapings. Meat is also greatly enjoyed, but is typically reserved for older Whorls or very small children. Children who by the by, go through a little aquatic stage before committing to wet land. Babies are traditionally left to grow in slow moving rivers, but modern times find communal pools to be a lot more popular.

Whorl families consist of one 'bearing' parent and anywhere from 1-5 'seeding' parents. Whorls do not have sexes, but they do have a few genders! Mostly they have to do with who is stabbing/getting stabbed and gender will change throughout a Whorls life. An important note here though is that most pentapods, including Whorls, fertilize via traumatic insemination stab. This is understandably rough on the stabbee so generally only older, larger individuals will be the ones going through pregnancy. That's the basic gist, will get more into it as I get around to it. But just wanted to reboot them a little!

[sevikasbeloved]

I’d let officer Sevika arrest me…

(Real and you’ve inspired me)

You were a criminal, a real dirty crook, you did nothing for others benefit and everything for your own.

So, it was inevitable that you’d be ratted out eventually by some scum that couldn’t handle a couple pearls being taken from their high-rise.

___

You basked in the dark coloured drink before you, in the only bar that bordered piltover and the undercity.

It was the only place you could rob a piltie and nobody would turn an eye, mainly because fissure folk outweighed those pompous bastards in here anyways.

The drinks were cheap, music was better than anywhere else at this time of day, so it became a safe heaven, somewhere you’d put your feet up after robbing and stealing, without thinking to look over your shoulder.

At least, until today.

All of a sudden, and almost ironically, the bar door fell flat against the ground, a loud thud which seemed effective in quietening the room in an instant.

A gaggle of enforcers came trudging in, guns cocked at every inch of the room. A couple of screams and cries from the richer side of the room called the attention of two guards who headed towards them, one of them waving their arms up, saying something you could only just make out through their headgear,

“Stay calm, if you haven’t done anything wrong today, you’ll get home in one piece.”

You muttered shit, under your breath, your eyes darting around the room to find any other way out.

For the first time, there was really no way out.

Sure, you could probably bust a window open and run like hell, but they had guns… so.

You sat there, trying to shroud yourself into the cushiony booth in an attempt to hide yourself.

Quickly, you realised the futility of your actions as they began searched of every individual person, not letting anyone leave before then.

You reached your hands into your pocket, the smooth beads of pearls suddenly feeling red hot under your touch.

“Fuck this.”

You mumbled as you made the resolve to take your chance and run for it. You weighed it up - either you stay, and get caught or run and maybe not get caught, and you were going to really fucking bet on that maybe.

You slipped out of the booth not so soon catching the attention of the enforcers as they began arresting dozens of people native to the lanes - you rolled your eyes, how unsurprising.

You pushed ahead, through crowds of people all in uproar or disbelief at the sudden raid of the bar, most just trying to get out without being caught.

You found a door that sat in the back corner of the room, doing a double take before sliding between the small crack you made in the doorway so as to not draw any attention.

You quickly got ahold of your bearings realising you were in a kitchen/pantry of sorts, which could be useful depending on how long the siege would take.

You look around you, noting a metal slab repurposed as a kitchen counter, a storage space overflowing with cooking equipment and an unreasonable amount of eggs, and a small window that sat just above your head.

You attempted to push it open just from where you were stood but it seemed stuck to its framing. You moved to prop your knee against the kitchen counter, putting more weight on the window as you pushed with a little more force and…

Crash!

The sound of glass shattering rang through your ear as you braced yourself against the wall, your face scrunched together as though it would do much to muffle the deafening sound.

You put a hand over your mouth, listening very quietly for anything but the loud uproaring that was occurring outside.

Once you were sure that you’d gotten away with it, you looked up again at the window, now with glass shards dangerously lining it’s frame.

You grabbed a tea towel, that had clearly seen better days, wrapping it around your fist as you began punching out the rest of the glass until you felt it clear enough for you to make your exit.

A smile grew on your face as you realised that you’d gotten away with it, that maybe becoming more definite as time went on.

You hoisted yourself up with ease as you drag he yourself head first out of the window, it being to small to manoeuvre in any other position.

You found yourself on the outside, landed flat on your stomach, face rubbing into the dust and dirt on the ground.

You spat a couple pebbles from your mouth as you stood upright, dusting off your jacket before putting your hands in them, making sure you still had the-

“fuck! The pearls.” You exclaimed, louder than you wanted to, you looked down one way of the alley you were in, sure that there was no one there until you heard a voice rip through you.

“Ma’am, I think you dropped something.” Your skin rose violently on the back of your neck as you felt their breath fall against it.

You turned around with a feigned smile on your face, that smile dropping almost immediately when you realised you were face to face with an enforcer in that eye-sore of a royal blue.

You rolled your eyes, “let’s just skip this part, I’ve had a day.” You said, uninterested in stroking a cops ego.

They simply played with the pearls in their hand, their headgear frustratingly good at covering their entire face.

“Hey!” You called out to them as they seemed to stare you down, the pearls rolling between their fingers.

“These yours?” They finally said, stopping their movements at once, putting you on edge a little.

It was a trick question, and a question you’ve answered wrong many times. You held your wrists out for them, reiterating your earlier point without words.

“Shame,” they mumbled, pulling the string of pearls into a line as they stepped closer to you, “they’d look pretty around your neck.”

You scoffed, your brain quite literally short circuiting at what you just heard.

“Are you really a cop?” You whispered as though you’d just uncovered a secret.

You could just about make out a chuckle as they reached into their pocket, pulling out a badge. You narrowed your eyes at them before looking down at said badge, it reading;

Sevika Lanes

Piltover’s Finest Sheriff

You gulped, and you imagined it was loud as your hearing seemed to block itself out after that. You also imagined the sheriff was talking to you, but you couldn’t tell with the mask on their face.

“I can’t-“ you spluttered out, “hear you… under that.”

You heard her mumble something but before you could make out what she said she grabbed your hand, forcing it open as she placed your pearls in them. She held your wrist for a moment, the blackened eyes of her mask staring you down. You assumed she was making sure you wouldn’t run, you nodded, hoping that would be enough as words escaped you.

She let go, slowly putting her hands to her head as she pulled her mask off painfully slow. You thought she must have been testing you, because you could’ve run, at any point.

And for some inexplicable reason, you didn’t. You were curious, a sickening feeling when talking about a cop, but it was a feeling very real to you indeed.

Her mask fully off she shook her head, letting stands of her hair fall down out of its tight ponytail and onto her face.

Her eyes were dark yet light in colour, they stared at you with a lustful urgency and all too soon you realised her intentions, and you were more than happy to oblige.

She smirked deviously as she watched you take her in, as though she knew how alluring she was. You’d forgotten about the pearls in your hand until she went to grab them again, you, instinctively pulled back and just as you were about to reverse your choice, you realised you were still a thief and she was still the sheriff.

“Fuck, I am so confused right now.” You admitted, feeling a sudden honest streak course through you.

She stepped even closer into your space, “about what?”

You raised your head to meet hers, the hand clutching the pearls moving behind you as she did.

“You.”

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes flickering across your features,

“What’s so confusing about me, sweetheart?” She whispered, her eyebrows pressing together at their centre, wrinkles becoming ever more prominent.

“Everything.” You whispered back, taken so easily by her entrancing voice.

“Mmm.” She hummed, keeping little space between you as she pulled off her heavy duty gloves, revealing fingers that weren’t any smaller.

“Let me do my job then,” her hands found purchase on your waist, “and clear things up for you.”

You nodded, words truly escaping you.

You’d had fantasies before, sure, cops and robbers, it was a good fantasy, but you never ever imagined it to ever happen, especially considering the amount of pigs on the force.

But she?

A wolf.

Her fanged teeth dug into your neck, biting and sucking assertively as she easily had her way with you.

Your hands gripped in her hair as she growled at the sensation. She pushed you up against the wall that you’d just fallen from, one of her hands dropping to your thigh and another rising to your breast, both kneading ardently into your skin.

“You startin’ to get it, baby girl?” She mumbled from beneath your jaw, placing sloppy kisses along it as her lips made their way to yours.

She let them ghost over yours as she pressed her head against yours,

“Been casing you for a long time, y/n.” She smiled a wicked smile.

Your eyes pried opened, you realising just then that they had been closed.

“Huh…” you breathed, still in a state of pleasure and confusion.

“You’re good at what you do I’ll give you that.” She continued, not bothering to stop for an explanation.

Her warm hands left your balmy body, and you suddenly seemed to come to, despite never having really left.

She pulled out a pair of cuffs as she turned you and pressed you up against the wall, her body still flush against yours.

You couldn’t even find the words…actually you could.

“Fuck you.” You spat as she tightened the cuffs on you.

She smiled, her laugh vibrating through your body.

“Cute.” She responded, pulling you off the wall, hiding you out of the alley and into the Main Street just before the bridge.

She collected cheers and congrats from her fellow officers and she placed you in the back of her car.

You looked up at her filled with rage over getting played by a pig in wolfs clothing. She seemed to noticed your seething rage, a smile on her face as she cupped your face in her now gloved hand.

“Sweetheart, don’t be so mad.” She whispered, her face in a false pout before returning to its natural smirk, “you’ll have me all to yourself in no time.”

[1d1195]

Traditional IX

You can read Traditional here.

This part is 7.5K words of almost entirely fluff. It's kind of a mess but I think it's a good mess. I thought of a few more things that I could do in the future so might squeeze an extra part or two out of it. Might involve some angst though :) :) :) Hope you enjoy!

Carefully, he leaned over the side of the basin, and tangled his fingers through her hair and started massaging the pads of his fingertips against her scalp. She sighed. “You gotta be careful or I’ll never leave this tub.”

If it meant he could always wake up and find her here, he’d massage her hair forever and draw a bath for her every day of their lives.

The phone only rang once before it was answered. She felt bad that he was probably hovering by the phone for the last two hours waiting for someone to call him back. “Is she okay?!”

She thought about the last time she saw her phone. It was either in the driver’s car or back in Niall’s office. But now that Harry had forgiven her, a little sliver of pain relieved after the horrible day, all the tears, sobs, plus lack of sleep caught up to her very tired mind. Her head was aching. She wanted to just lay in absolute silence and wish for sleep to come so she could just shut down for a while. But she had to make this phone call first.

Harry was in the kitchen, once more taking care of her. Gathering water and medicine for her tired body. “I’m fine,” she answered the panicked voice at the other end as gently as possible. Her heart rate was settling, and she thought she might fall asleep right there on the comfiest couch she had ever had the pleasure of sitting on. But she needed to make sure Louis knew she was alright. Since her phone was MIA, she used Harry’s.

First came the loudest relieved sigh she had ever heard. “Fucking hell, babe, what the fuck,” Louis sounded distraught. She remembered the last time Louis ever sounded so upset. Back when she was eighteen and asked if he could help her move out after he had gone away to university. After one of the hardest tragedies of their young lives she wanted Louis and Eleanor to just live two years post-grad in ignorant bliss of anything that was happening to her. They checked in so regularly, but she kept her life at home so hidden.

When Louis found out, saw, and heard…

It was the only other time because she vowed to herself that she would never be the reason for the anxiety laced in his otherwise happy-go-lucky attitude. But here they were anyway; both of them upset beyond words. “You scared me half to death!” He did sound scared. He sounded close to tears. Just like he never sounded distraught, it was even more rare of an occasion that Louis shed tears.

“I’m sor—”

“No, absolutely not,” he interrupted. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she could hear him shaking his head even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m not mad. I’ve just been worried sick. I thought you were at Harry’s this whole time...what took you so long to answer—”

“It’s a long story,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to ruin your weekend more than I already have.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Eleanor’s voice appeared at the other end of the line. It must have been on speakerphone.  “We were worried,” she said gently. “Tell us what happened, love,” She prompted.

So, she rehashed the story. The third time in half a dozen hours. Harry handed her water and medicine part way through. Sitting beside her, he watched as she spoke each individual word. Her voice was devoid of emotion through most of it. Louis and Eleanor must have asked questions, but she answered them all. Spared no details. But he caught the flicker of blush on her cheeks as she explained that awful story about the horrible woman that spouted lies about knowing Harry’s likes and dislikes.

“I’m at Harry’s now,” she shrugged. Harry worried about her well-being. That was a lot to happen in one day. A lot of emotions wreaking havoc on her body. Maybe it was shock again because she seemed so at ease chatting with her friends on the phone. Like they were catching up after a holiday. “I’m very tired,” she admitted. There was a pause before she smiled weakly then nodded. Harry couldn’t hear but he thought they were telling her to sleep. “I love you both so much,” she whispered. “Can I pay for you to get an extra day to make up for—” She pulled the phone from her ear quickly before her thought was finished. Harry couldn’t make out the words, but he definitely heard yelling from the couple. She giggled tiredly, her eyes drooping by the second.

“Oh, I’ll take that now,” Harry murmured putting the phone to his ear now that she was trying to take care of her friends all while draining the last bit of her energy of the day. Within seconds, as if she wasn’t in control of her own body, she leaned toward Harry, placing her head on his thigh and sighed contentedly and let her eyelids finally close. “Hello?” He said to the phone gently.

There was a moment of hesitation. A deep shaky breath. “Harry, if you break that poor girl’s heart, so help me God, I will murder you without a second thought,” Louis promised.

“Lou,” Eleanor said tentatively. El knew the poor girl would be embarrassed by Louis if she was awake to hear it.

Harry smirked and placed his hand on her head gently combing her hair around her ear and watched the evenness of her breath move her body while she laid quietly on his lap. Harry was so relieved she was okay. He was even happier she was right there for him to watch her and make sure she was okay. “Louis, I’d hand you the knife,” he promised.

*

He let her lay there for a long while—almost an hour. He scrolled through his phone shortly after she fell asleep, after he assured Louis and Eleanor that he would take care of her. He even suggested they do take the extra day for their anniversary weekend. “I think it would make her feel better if y’did,” he explained. “I know m’still new in her life, but I think we all know she’d feel unnecessarily guilty for worrying y’on your holiday,” Harry reminded them. After a hearty agreement, Harry also knew they were two of the people who loved her most in the world, they’d do anything to make her feel better too.

After that, he made his call to Niall.

“Is she alright?” He asked without any greeting. It wasn’t uncommon for there to be no greeting when they chatted anyway. Harry felt no jealousy at all. Especially after his conversation with Gemma. He felt good old-fashioned love for Niall who clearly cared deeply about the sweet girl laying across his couch and lap. “I tried calling her, but her phone was in the office. I have it with me because I thought if she was going—”

“Oh good, she was worried ‘bout that,” Harry mumbled. He didn’t want to move an inch because he just wanted this poor girl to rest.

“I’ll bring it by...is she okay?” He asked again.

“‘Bout as good as y’can expect.”

“She’s there?” Niall wondered.

“Where else would I let her go?” Harry smirked sadly. Niall informed him he really wasn’t sure. It was time for the story he heard twice now from Niall’s point of view. He only told Harry about her leaving and coming back in the simplest of details. How she asked him not to tell Harry about the harassment and so forth. Pair that with knowing her phone didn’t make it with her to the car, he wasn’t certain she was going to make it to Harry’s.

It was pitch-black dark outside. Since she fell asleep so suddenly, he didn’t have time to turn the lights on or anything. Only the kitchen light half illuminated the living area. He tilted his head against the back of the sofa, taking the new version of her story once more from Niall’s perspective. “Niall, m’sorry for being such a prick,” he said.

“It’s already forgotten,” Niall said kindly. “We all do crazy things for the people we love. Just make sure she knows she didn’t ruin our friendship,” Niall had a smirk in his voice and Harry felt a flutter in his heart at that not-so-little L-word. “Also, I would like to be part of the exit interview when you fire that horrific woman, if you want to truly make amends.”

Harry chuckled quietly. “That can be arranged,” he murmured. “Can y’pick up some food for us on the way? I imagine she hasn’t eaten today. I’ll wake her up and make sure she eats before bed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Course. Just let me know.”

It was another half hour before Niall said he had food in his car and would be ten minutes. In that time, he texted his lawyer asking what he could do about her situation to make it painless as possible. Then he sent another text to the driver requesting to follow her.

Once he received Niall’s message that he was enroute with food, he started to wake her up. “Hey there,” he hummed gently rubbing the length of her arm. “Kitten, wake up, please,” he whispered and gave her the gentlest little shake he could muster. “Niall’s bringing us some food, love,” he told her. At the same moment her stomach growled very loudly. He smirked feeling grateful he was waking her up to eat.

“I guess m’hungry,” she mumbled and slowly sat up. “Oof. My head,” she winced pressing one hand to each of her temples. A wave of dizziness and pain rolled over her exhausted mind like she was hungover.

Harry immediately brought his hands over top of hers and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It made her fuzzy mind warm over with adoration for Harry. While he pressed a simple kiss to her head, all he could think was he was going to have a hard time letting her go to the bathroom of all things. All he wanted was to keep touching her and consoling her. “M’so sorry, baby,” he whispered.

“Harry?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned. He sensed he wasn’t going to like her follow up question. “Yes, kitten?”

“If you’re not too busy, could I stay the weekend? I really don’t want to be alone,” she said rubbing one eye.

He didn’t like that she felt like she had to ask. Part of him thought it was understood she would be there all weekend. But he was glad she wanted to ask and did ask. If all this had happened a few weeks prior she might not have been asking. “Mi casa es su casa,” he answered simply. She smirked. “Of course, love.”

“I just need a moment,” she said standing and made her way for the bathroom. Harry nodded watching her like she might fall to pieces just by standing. His leg was numb from sitting in the same position for almost an hour along with her head resting on his thigh. There wasn’t an ounce of complaining about it in his body, but he got up and stretched it a bit—he called his lawyer back while he wiggled his leg and paced the floor a bit. He turned on some more lights so everyone could see. Especially the outside one for Niall’s arrival. He did show up shortly after that. “I’ll call you back,” he said to his phone as he held the door open for Niall to bring the food inside.

He smiled at her as she reentered the kitchen while he and Harry got the takeout boxes settled. “Hey darling, you look like you’re feeling much better,” he chuckled and gave her a side hug with a kiss to the top of her head.

Harry was thrilled he wasn’t the least bit jealous of their physical interaction. It really made it seem like he was jealous of her not talking to him. Even just thinking about that bristled him a bit. He was irritated that she didn’t feel comfortable talking to him the way she did with Niall.

How were they supposed to get married if she wouldn’t tell him her every thought? It was an irrational worry, but he couldn’t help thinking about it.

Harry smirked despite the nagging little thought, as he set her food out. “I think that’s damning by faint praise. I don’t think I could look worse than earlier,” she snorted. Harry rolled his eyes and Niall laughed a bit more.

“So hard on yourself, darling,” he shook his head. Harry let them chat while they all ate quietly. Harry wanted to put her to bed and massage her head so she could relax. But he liked that Niall was good at keeping her chatting, distracting her. Harry was too nervous and busy cooing about her to hold a real conversation right now. Plus, he didn’t want to make her cry any more than she probably would on her own—if only because her head was still hurting her. He could see it on the little pinch of skin between her eyebrows and he wished she would just go to sleep so she could feel better.

“Do you need some time off…the whole week to get things figured out?” Niall asked. His voice was quiet and gentle—like he didn’t want to ask her. Harry was glad he asked it because it was an important question, and he was worried he would accidentally force her to take the week off if he tried asking.

“No,” she shook her head quickly. “That’s the last thing I want,” she emphasized the word last as she put the forkful of food to her mouth. Niall and Harry glanced at each other for just one moment. Harry shrugged one shoulder hoping she didn’t notice. “I’m sad, not blind.” He smirked despite himself. Niall tried to cover his laugh with a throat clearing. “Mom probably doesn’t want me there,” she said casually. Like it wasn’t the death of a parent. Like it was a birthday dinner. Or a doctor’s appointment. Her tone and words broke Harry’s heart. How could someone not love her? He truly couldn’t imagine. He wanted to ask why her mother wouldn’t forgive her, but it wasn’t his place to ask. Plus, (even though he might disagree with her mother’s choice and ignoring her very much perfect daughter) who was he to judge how she chose to grieve for another child? He wished with everything in him that they cared for her the way they were supposed to...before it was too late. She was so special, and it was unfair she didn’t have the support she deserved. “I don’t know. Maybe Louis will know what to do when he gets back...so I’ll at least work through Tuesday.”

“Well, whatever you need,” Niall shrugged. “I don’t want to hold you from sleep. You could use a ton of it. Thanks for the food, Harry,” he smiled. The poor thing was getting droopy eyed again. Niall kissed the top of her head and gave a wave as he headed out. “Call if you need me!”

*

She claimed it was much too early to go to bed. It wasn’t, but Harry would have agreed the sky was red if it came from her lips. He wasn’t arguing with her at all this weekend. Whatever her heart wanted, it was all hers. Her sleepiness wore quick, and she fell asleep almost immediately as The Good Place played while he rubbed her feet in his lap. Or at least, he thought she was asleep. “Harry,” she mumbled.

“Yes, kitten?” He asked curiously looking at her half sleeping figure.

“Would you ever do all this for…a regular companion?”

He shook his head. He would do anything for her, answer any question, but he wished she wasn’t worried about this right now. “No, but you’re very different than all the other ones.”

“You don’t have to pay me as much…since I don’t…” she trailed off.

“Kitten, I’d simply pay you more if y’did,” he had a sad smile on his lips as he spoke. That’s not why he wanted her. He meant it from the moment he responded to her over six months ago.

“Hardly seems fair,” she muttered. “I think you need to reevaluate our agreement. I know I’m not CEO, but I know a thing or two about supply and demand and cost efficiency.”

He chuckled. “Love, why are y’worrying about this right now?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. Her eyes were still closed. “I worry a lot about other people,” she told him.

He couldn’t argue with that. “I noticed.”

They were quiet for a long while. Harry pressed his thumbs into the soles of her feet noting every little sigh that escaped her lips. Eventually he noticed her light snores. He carefully moved her feet to the side and slid off the couch. With a blanket he had tossed over the back, he covered her lightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He didn’t want to leave her there, but he wanted to take the next step in making sure she had everything she needed to recover from such a horrible couple of days.

*

She doesn’t know when she woke up, but Harry was backlit by the TV, knelt beside her. His hands were gentle as he rubbed her arm. “Hey, love. I ran you a bath.”

The last time she took a bath was surely in childhood. But Harry looked so proud that he did the right thing. She felt woozy again as she stood. Her brain aching but she wasn’t due for medicine for a while. A bath and some sleep might do some good. Harry led her to the bathroom and started to pull her clothes off: the cozy sweater, the silky blouse, and the dark dress pants that tied around her waist.

She wanted to protest out of awkwardness and shyness. She couldn’t believe Harry was undressing her again without the pretense of more, but Harry was acting like this was normal. Almost as if he was pretending, he didn’t notice what he was doing fully. His mind wasn’t on the fact she was naked before him, he was just taking care of her. She didn’t even blush as he did so.

He had a little towel folded where her head rested, and she sank into the warm water. Of course, Harry made sure the house was a comfortable room temperature given the winter air outside, but until she was slipping into the water, she was reminded it was the dead of winter and the water was so warm against the cold air. “Hmm,” she sighed. Harry rolled his sleeves up—she noticed he changed into a pair of joggers and a long sleeve T-shirt. Carefully, he leaned over the side of the basin, and tangled his fingers through her hair and started massaging the pads of his fingertips against her scalp. She sighed. “You gotta be careful or I’ll never leave this tub.”

If it meant he could always wake up and find her here, he’d massage her hair forever and draw a bath for her every day of their lives.

*

After the water started to cool and she was nearly back to sleep once more, Harry gently coaxed her to stand. Harry had the fluffiest towels. Like a hotel. She loved his washer and dryer. Everything about him and his house was a warm hug. She was going to hate leaving it in the spring. He wrapped her in one of the fluffy towels and helped her step out of the tub. “M’sleepy,” she mumbled.

“I know, beautiful,” he hummed. “Just wanna get y’dressed.”

“I don’t have clothes.”

Harry bit his lip and in her sleepy, grief-stricken mind she swore his cheeks had turned pink. “I…I may have had Gemma order some things for y’back when y’were all burned so y’always had stuff here,” he gestured to the folded pile on the sink counter.

If she wasn’t so tired, she probably would have asked a hundred questions. Did he snoop through her clothes looking for sizes when she wasn’t looking? Why did he get expensive brands like Lulu Lemon?  That seemed so excessive even for him. She didn’t even own it. How much did he get? And of course, had he ever done this before for someone else?

But the gesture was so sweet she was rendered speechless. Without any kind of fanfare, he handed her the pair of underwear still packaged in plastic while he pulled the tag off the shirt while he waited for her to slide them on. He did the same with the sweatpants. This was by far one of the kindest things any man had ever done for her.

Harry stepped out of the bathroom and headed to “her” bedroom. He tugged the covers back and left the room. She frowned sliding between the sheets thinking he was leaving her just like that. Harry returned quickly with an assortment of items in his arms. Her phone, a glass of water, pills, and a book tucked under his arm. “I…I don’t read much. But I do like this one. Thought y’might like it,” he sounded so shy. “And I know y’like t’have a book nearby.”

After having his sister order clothes for her, this had to be the second sweetest thing a man had ever done for her.

For the last half hour, the bath, the head massage, the book, and the clothes…she almost forgot the last day and a half was so terrible. Harry was pure medicine for her tired body and mind. She wished she was there for a normal circumstance.

“Do you have everything you need?” He asked. “Can I get you anything else?”

You. She shook her head. “I feel like a princess,” she mumbled. He smiled and brushed his thumb on her cheek.

“Think y’are one, love,” he pressed a long kiss to the middle of her forehead. “Shout if y’need something. Sleep well, beautiful,” he whispered.

As he turned to leave, at the last second, she grabbed his hand and pulled lightly. He stumbled a bit as he turned back to her. She clutched her hand around his instinctively. Held tight. It took her a minute to realize she had even reached for him.

He couldn’t believe her beautiful doe-eyed expression. Surely, she was the most gorgeous thing to ever exist. Harry swore his heart softened into mush as he looked her over for signs of tears or sadness. He knew he looked on with confusion, but he loved how her hand felt wrapped around his.

She didn’t say anything, and after a second, she just lifted the covers up in invitation.

Harry didn’t hesitate to slip in beside and wrap his body around hers. He flipped over to the other side of her. She pressed her face against his chest. He held her so close. For the last thirty odd hours she felt so broken emotionally, mentally, and physically.

With Harry wrapped around her, she finally felt whole.

*

Harry woke up still snuggled up to her. He carefully reached over her sleeping figure for a sip of her water and did his best not to disturb her. But she was pressing her fingertips over his chest like she was playing an imaginary piano. “Are y’awake, love?” He whispered. She nodded. It was so dark and so quiet in the room. “Are y’okay?” He asked.

She nodded again. “You worry too much about me,” her voice was soft and quiet. The only kind of voice that could be used at one thirty in the morning.

He had one arm wrapped beneath her neck and pillow, crooked around her so his arm wouldn’t go numb, but he could still hold her tight. The other draped over her waist. He nodded in response to her statement. “You gave me quite the scare over the last day.”

“I’ve been dealt worse hands,” she responded dryly.

“You certainly use humor as a main coping mechanism.”

“It drove my therapist nuts,” she had a touch of laughter in her breathy whisper. Harry never gave much thought to her family because she didn’t. As far as he could tell, Louis and Eleanor were her family. But it made sense she went to therapy for all she had gone through at sixteen. He wondered if she ever still went but didn’t want to ask something so personal. “Whatcha thinking about Mr. Styles? Me in a straitjacket?”

He snorted quietly. “Hardly…how long did y’go t’therapy for?

“Two years, every two weeks. Then once every other month all through university. I don’t go anymore,” he was a little grateful she volunteered the information without him having to ask. He would worry endlessly if she wasn’t feeling up to par and felt like she had to hide something that was helping her well-being.

“No?”

“I mean. I’ll probably make an appointment now but no. I haven’t had an appointment in a while.”

“Why’s that?” He had to know.

She didn’t respond to that question, however. She thought telling him that she met a guy who actually worried about her in such a casual way would send Harry into cardiac arrest. “Do you like the night?” She asked instead.

Harry didn’t mind that she didn’t answer. It wasn’t that important. “Hmm?”

“I’m a morning person. But I think when you can’t see the other person, night is better. Much more revealing.”

“Tell me something then,” Harry lazily drew shapes along her arm that looped back over his torso.

“I just told you about therapy. Your turn.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I’ll tell y’anything y’want t’know.”

She waited a minute. “Do you really like pineapple on pizza?” She whispered.

He laughed almost loudly. Especially for nearly two in the morning. “Yes, kitten.”

She sighed. “I really had a chance of falling for you and everything.”

“Is that so?”

She didn’t want to repeat that mainly because it was a lie. She had already fallen so hard. So, she moved onto her next question. “What did you do on movie night?” She asked.

“I went to the gym and took m’frustration out on a punching bag.”

She ignored the idea of angry Harry. Especially because of her. “Do you go to the gym a lot?” She wondered.

“Usually at the company one during the day.”

They chatted for about half an hour. Talking about random things. Harry laughed a lot at her jokes, and she enjoyed the feel of his fingers continuously running along the inside of her arm and sliding up to comb through her hair. “Kitten,” he mumbled as she got sleepier. Her answers and questions less vibrant in tone as she started drifting back to sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember when I was sick?” He asked. She nodded against his arm. “You called me baby a lot when I was getting less foggy,” he said. “I didn’t know why.”

Harry could feel the smile moving her cheeks with her face pressed to her arms. “You asked me to. Said it made you feel better.”

He smirked, felt his cheeks warm knowing he asked her for such a silly but somewhat intimate thing. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Sorry.”

She was quiet for a moment. Harry almost thought she fell asleep. “I didn’t mind.”

His heart felt so warm. “You can call me ‘baby’ anytime,” he told her.

She yawned and nuzzled her nose against his T-shirt in response. Again, he thought she’d fallen asleep when she answered him once more. “Night, baby.”

“Good night, love.”

*

Harry once more stilled her hand as she reached for the car door once they were parked. He got out quickly and hurried to her side of the car to open the door. “I didn’t know you knew how to drive,” she giggled.

“Hardy-har,” he rolled his eyes holding his hand out for her as she exited the car. They were outside an electronics store. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he went shopping in person and out from behind his computer screen. It seemed like fun to get out of the house. Especially since she only had one request when she woke up that morning in the circle of Harry’s arms. “I don’t want to think about it today. Is that alright?”

“Harry,” she said alertly, alarm in her voice and pulled on his hand with a quick tug right before he walked into traffic as a car passed by. He smirked and looked back at her. Apparently, it had been long enough that he wasn’t as mindful about parking lots as he should have been.

“Thanks kitten. Keep hold of this for me? Don’t want to get hurt,” He said squeezing his hand in hers. His smile was flirty and adorable. She loved weekend Harry. The last time she spent the whole weekend with him was when she wasn’t up to par. Maybe emotionally she still wasn’t up to snuff, but this was better than him having to worry about her burns by far.

How was Harry going to deny any request for the girl he was so enthralled with?

She kept hold of his hand and she thought from the outside they must look like a regular old couple. No one would question it. He guided her through the doors and to the back where the laptops were displayed. She perused them for a while. “M’so sorry love. I’m getting a phone call,” he gave her hand a squeeze and made way for the exit in case he needed better reception outside. “Styles,” he spoke clearly. She smirked and continued her search.

She looked at the different brands. Sure, Harry had a ton of money but of course she wasn’t going to pick the most expensive one just for the sake of it. She didn’t do much on her laptop except type her reflections these days, shop online every so often, and watch Netflix. “Can I help you?” The person working in the computer section asked. “That’s a fairly good one you’re looking at,” he told her.

She touched the keyboard. “My current one died,” she explained. “But I liked it. So, I figured maybe I’d just get a new one of the same kind.”

“Can I persuade you to a different brand? It would be much better,” he said with a smile. “I wouldn’t want you to have a poor laptop.”

She knew where this was going based on the way his eyes sparkled. It didn’t seem to matter if she thought so poorly of herself. She was a girl in the electronics section and if it wasn’t the employee, it would have been a random man showing off his knowledge trying to convince her that he could take care of her needs. She sighed. “I’m not sure...I like this one.”

He was about to launch into a story about why it was better. She was prepared to listen politely but ultimately, she would probably pick this one. However, he kept encroaching on her personal space, and it was making her a bit weary as he explained the better quality of RAM and storage on the other brand he wanted to suggest. She was nearly bored to sleep when he brushed his hand on her arm. With little notice of just how close he was, she jerked back awkwardly and bumped into something solid behind her. Whatever it was, it only gave just enough to cradle her before she fell completely backward. “Hi beautiful,” Harry muttered holding her up. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head as he kept her steady. Then he looped his fingers back through hers. “Find one you liked?” He asked but he was staring at the employee who looked shocked.

“Umm… yeah. This one,” she pointed confused by how calm Harry was being. He nearly broke his friendship with Niall when he saw him touching her. How was he so rational over a stranger? Her heart fluttered violently. Harry glanced at the specifications printed on the little display model and then turned to the worker.

“Can we have the top version of this one,” he asked.

“Harry,” she whispered. “I don’t—”

“Right away,” the poor guy said hurrying behind the doors nearby to get the best model.

“Stupid idiot,” Harry grunted under his breath. How could he not know she was here with someone? How could he think she would fall for someone that was trying to dissuade her opinion of which laptop she wanted? Harry needed to be more careful when he left her alone.

Oh. He was very mad. She felt her face warm. “Harry?” She asked tentatively. He squeezed her hand.

“Yes, love?” He murmured.

“I don’t need to get the fanciest one,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand again, reassuringly.

“Mmm…”

“Harry, I swear I didn’t flirt or anything,” she promised.

He scoffed. “Kitten,” he shook his head. “You’re not seriously apologizing for someone else’s behavior?” She bit her lip. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and placed another kiss on the top of her head. “Shh,” he hushed as the worker returned. “Thanks,” Harry said grabbing the box from his hands and turning the two of them away from the display. He brought her along the back wall to look at laptop cases. “Want one?”

“Umm…I don’t know. I don’t think I really need one...I already have one that would probably fit this—"

“I like this one with the sunflowers on it. It looks like something you’d like,” he said pointing to one of the cases on the wall.

She blinked. “I remind you of sunflowers?”

“You wore this dress with sunflowers on it back in September when you first started,” he shrugged. “Thought you looked adorable.”

Her cheeks warmed at his assessment, and she grabbed at the case immediately. “Yes, I want it.”

He smiled. “Do you want anything else?”

She shook her head. “No this is plenty.”

He steered her toward the checkout line. The guy at the counter rang her stuff quickly, Harry accepted the five-year warranty that she normally skimped out on because it seemed useless. Harry slid his black AmEx card through not even registering the total at all. She did though, and she couldn’t imagine spending that much on something for herself in one go.

Harry opened her car door for her as she got inside. She was buckling herself when Harry got in on his side and in one motion, maneuvered so the back of her head pressed firmly against the headrest and his lips attached to hers. He devoured her breath. Making her already cloudy head spin. Pulling back, he pecked at her lips a few more times. She felt totally breathless. All Harry did was smirk at her and then reached up to brush his thumb over her cheek. Then starting his car up, he drove off without a word.

She would never intentionally make Harry jealous. But she liked it when the rewards of his jealousy resulted in kisses for her.

*

They were almost finished with The Good Place. A few more episodes were left when she felt a bit hungry. “Can we have breakfast for dinner?”

“What am I gonna make y’in the morning, then?” He smirked at her giving her arm a squeeze. They were snuggled up on the couch, again like an ordinary couple.

She frowned so cutely. Her little pout made his heart melt. He would have made her breakfast any time of day she wanted, multiple times a day, and he would eat it happily. “Well, I’m going to be sad tomorrow, and I don’t want to ruin breakfast by being sad,” she explained.

It was his turn to frown. “You’re gonna be sad tomorrow?” He asked.

“I think I have to deal with it, no?” She muttered.

Harry sighed. He hadn’t gotten an update from the lawyer since he stepped out of the electronics store earlier in the day. He was hoping for better news before he gave her information. Before she had to be sad. He didn’t ask them to go in guns ablaze. He just wanted to make sure her mum had everything she needed and that all would be taken care of so that she wouldn’t shorten the poor girl that had already lost so much. After the terrible day she had, he just wanted to give her the quiet and perfect weekend she deserved. Filled with kisses, good food, snuggles, and TV... and maybe a book if she wanted.

“Maybe y’should wait until Louis and Eleanor get back?” He suggested casually. “Gives y’more time t’recover...and if y’need t’take a day or two, love—”

“Okay,” she interrupted quickly but it was still sweet as syrup the way she said it. “I’ll think about it. Maybe Tuesday or something would be better.”

He sighed with relief quietly. Grateful he’d have the weekend to spoil her and figure out more details on the law end of things. Maybe he could even run it by Louis to get a bit more of the picture.

But for now, he would make her an omelet, pancakes, French toast, or even crepes if she wanted.

*

After their breakfast for dinner, Harry had her lying against his chest while the last of the episodes played. She was a quiet thing when she slept. He didn’t notice she had fallen asleep until the show was over, the screen dark, and he heard the quiet, rhythmic breaths coming from her. He kissed her forehead and shifted awkwardly until she was cradled against him, and he carried her down the hall to his bedroom. If she was okay with sleeping together last night, he hoped she wouldn’t mind tonight.

Plus, his bed was larger. He placed her in the middle and managed to shimmy the covers beneath her body. He slid in beside her and kissed her forehead once more. She cuddled against him silently, without waking. He sighed, completely content with the scent of her shampoo filling his brain. It was like a potion clouding his mind with overwhelming emotions of adoring her.

“Baby?” She hummed after several moments. Harry was almost asleep himself when she spoke.

God, he loved that word coming from her mouth directed at him. “Hmm? Need something, love?” He whispered.

“Did you carry me?”

He chuckled. “Yes, kitten.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“No promises.”

She pinched his shoulder without any pain. “Cheeky.” More silence. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Course, angel. Wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”

“I meant your bed.”

“I did too.”

*

At one in the morning, they shared more secrets. Harry told her about some of his university days. Told her about a couple of his girlfriends and why they didn’t work out. He even chatted about some of his companions. She talked about the ex that cheated on her. How he never really understood her grief. “Sounds like he did y’a favor, love,” he said distastefully. He played with a strand of her hair running it against the side of her cheek. Harry adored her so heavily it shocked him that she didn’t have droves of men asking her to marry them.

“Well now I think he did...because I have a taste of the life I always wanted. A cute little office, almost finished with my second degree, and a cute guy that makes me breakfast and owns a porch swing,” she said dreamily. “What else does life have to offer?”

He chuckled. “A porch swing?”

“I would sleep out there if it was acceptable.” He kept that in mind. He wanted her to live here so badly. He would do anything to have her wake up in his arms always. He would chat with her at one in the morning every day as long as he lived. This was the most whole and perfect he felt in a long while.

“When’s your graduation ceremony?” The reminder she was almost done with her degree prompted him to start planning the rest of their lives. Also, he wanted to get her a really good gift.

“I’m not going,” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” his tone was admonishing. “You have to.”

She shook her head. “I went to my brother’s and Louis’ right before it happened...I wouldn’t want to upset Louis again thinking about it. Course Mom would never come,” she almost had an eyeroll in her voice. “I don’t see much point. It’s usually a family event...and I don’t really have one of those.”

He frowned. Of course, she was worried about everyone else. “Love, y’should be celebrated. S’a big deal.”

She shrugged. “I’d go by myself. I wouldn’t get any pictures...I just...I don’t know. I told El and Lou they don’t have a ceremony for my program...” He bit the inside of his lip. He would have to figure it out. Her best friends would love to go. He, of course, would be there with confetti for her. And he was certain Niall would love to go, too.

“Can y’think about it some more?” He asked quietly.

She nodded. “Sure.”

“No, really,” he rolled his eyes at her quick response.

Sighing, she took another deep breath and nodded firmly. “I will, baby.”

“Don’t distract me by calling me baby,” he said kissing her forehead.

“Did it work?” She giggled.

“Yes.”

*

Harry woke up smushed against his pillow. She was sitting up and reading the book he selected for her. Her hand was massaging against his scalp while tangling her fingers in his hair. He would love to live like this forever. It felt like magic. “D’you like it?” He mumbled and wrapped his arm over her lap.

She nodded. “It’s very good.”

He smiled and enjoyed the feel of her fingers in his hair for a little while longer. “D’you want more breakfast?” He asked. She put the book aside and wiggled until she was face to face with him. She slid her fingers over his face and admired how perfect he looked. Just a bit of sleep was still in his eyes as he tried to wake up. An adorable smile filling his face and the greenest eyes she ever had the pleasure of looking at. He looked a bit scruffy because he hadn’t shaved in a while. He didn’t usually need to shave all that often, but she noticed he hadn’t done so in over a week and a half. “What?” He asked with the most adorable smirk on his face.

He was way too good for her. Paying her for any reason, taking care of her, all of it was way too much. Especially after her terrible days. This wasn’t why he paid her. All she could think about now was sunflowers when she looked at him. The book he recommended on the side table. How he carried her to bed. In a couple months this would all be over. She would have a new job, a new apartment, and Harry wouldn’t make her breakfast anymore.

The thought saddened her so much. Once more she wished she had met him online. Or didn’t intern at Styles Incorporated. Maybe if they weren’t so tied together, they could have something more. Harry never pressured her in the rapidly approaching seven months they’d known one another.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his as she had many times before. He looped his arm around her, pulled her closer while he ran his tongue along her lip while reaching for the side of her face with his other hand. She sighed contentedly as he held her and kissed her for so long.

“Kitten,” he said pulling away from her mouth abruptly as her hands drifted down his torso and fiddled with the elastic of his pants.

Blushing, she glanced at him awkwardly. “Please?” She whispered.

“Oh hell, love,” he moaned. “Don’t need t’do that,” his voice was so deep as he mumbled the words. Her soft pleaded request, the doe-eyes...almost had him finishing before they even started. “Are y’sure?” He asked. She nodded silently. Harry kissed her again and again and again and again...

*

She was so quiet afterward. Hell, she was quiet during it. Harry was terrified that she didn’t like it...or worse regretted it. She rested her head against his chest, eyes closed. “We missed breakfast,” she whispered so casually Harry was grateful she finally spoke.

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Can still have it,” he told her.

She shook her head. “Want pasta...and garlic bread.”

“Whatever you want,” he promised.

“Whatever I want?” She hummed. You. You. You. She thought.

“M-hmm...” Forever. Whatever you want, forever. He wanted to say.

“Don’t think you’re ready for that just yet,” she whispered drawing a tantalizing little circle just below where his belt would sit.

“Insatiable,” he mumbled and rolled over, so he was hovering above her. He smiled down at her and then pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. “Give me a minute,” he said and bent down to kiss the length of her jaw, down her neck, over her collarbone, the length of her sternum...down further until there was nowhere else to go.

She giggled and Harry wished with everything in him that Monday would never arrive because this was the most perfect Sunday in existence. Just her right there in his bed. A book by her side. The most beautiful smile he could dream of on the most perfect girl he could imagine.

--

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[carionto]

Nothing is safe from becoming "exciting"

I've read a bunch of HASO stuff and often when I'm writing something I know I'm drawing from a ton of somewheres, to the point where I can't pinpoint anything, it's all a big mush that my brain then spits out here. This one, however, I know was inspired by jpitha's writings, specifically the bit about Gene's High G Gym (I think that's the mostly correct name anyway). Shamelessly shilling their work cuz it's great, go read it!

______________________________

Humanity has begun expanding their hold over their native system. Like an insect hive, ships ferry just about everything to and from Earth, building stations both in planetary orbits and around the Sun. Nearly all experimental of some kind - a lot of ideas they couldn't try built up over the thousand years they were isolated.

They do also have countless small space worthy vehicles, nearly all with varying superficial designs and patterns, but also quite a few rather different underlying mechanical principles.

Soon we noticed a lot of activity throughout the entire system not affiliated with any organization or group. Just... individuals and small family units doing their own thing. We quickly gave up trying to categorize such behavior. When we asked, they said:

"Anyone with a license to pilot their craft can go pretty much wherever that isn't restricted. For some places and activities they do need to get a permission first though."

Worryingly lax on account that many of the larger "civilian" craft are still powered by their "Mini-Suns" as they call them.

One particular individual craft got our attention. It created a spike of thermal activity in one region of their Oort Cloud, so one of us went to ask this Human. Abigail was her name:

"Yo space dudes and dudettes, what's up?" Our translators were still incorporating the various Human linguistic peculiarities, but their liaisons are very helpful. We inquired as to what she was doing here so far out.

"Oh you are gonna love it!" another phrase we are learning to be wary of. "Victor, that's this bad boy right here," she affectionately slaps the armrest of her, now that we are closer, disturbingly modified vessel. Is that a second engine cluster bolted on the back? And a... weird exposed device with a large neon label - Space BBQ. We instinctively fear her and her next words. "He and I are making a race track with these here ice cubes. I got this idea when I was a kid, and it is going to be. So. Awesome!"

All of the red flags triggered. Then, Abigail demonstrates by shooting a harpoon claw... thing... at a nearby object the size of a few skyscrapers and begins pulling it towards a cluster of other planetesimals. Normally, these kind of clouds have stabilized over billions of years and each object is thousands and millions of kilometers from one another.

There were dozens stacked so close to each other that you could barely fit an escape pod between in some places. One in particular was surrounded by a small cloud of its own.

"Ooh, that one right there." She enthusiastically pointed out its somewhat flattened ovoid shape. "Doesn't it just scream to you that it wants to be the ultimate doughnut? Hector thinks so, he's my cat by the way - Say hi Hector! [hiss] (Fine, be that way, ya bum) Love that bastard. Anyway, just gotta finish blasting a hole big enough and it'll be the perfect finish line."

Not wanting to hurt our sanity further, we decided to leave her be, but not before she proudly exclaimed over all open channels:

"Remember to tell your folks if they ever wanna race to come here to Abby's Action Asteroids [quick whisper] (trademark pending)! Soon it'll have laser obstacles!"

[novacqnes]

hi hello!! may i request a ellie x wife!reader (cause i love ur detective ellie fic so much oh my) where’s the reader is jealous of this new girl in jackson being mentored by ellie on shooting lessons and the girl is being flirty towards ellie to a point where she’s caressing ellie’s muscles 🙄 ellie notices the reader’s jealousy that leads to taking the reader to a “private” shooting lesson and they just show that they only belong to each other 🤭

lesson learned // ellie williams

warning: angsty; guns, jealousy, possessiveness, smut; face-sitting, oral, dirty talk, fingering (switch!ellie)

pairing: ellie williams x fem reader

a/n: this is by far the longest fic that i’ve written so it took me a while but it is finally done! thank you for sending a request :)

to say you saw red would’ve been an understatement. sure, it acknowledged the magnitude of anger behind an individual, illustrating it as one of the most powerful colors— one of vengeance, fury, and rage. yet for that very reason, it rendered the phrase useless to you because the emotions you experienced weren’t that of blinding rancor. rather they were that of a distinctly unique type of jealousy. it was the type that blurred the lines between anger, drawing in facets of passion and love that transformed the film of crimson over your eyes into a piercing navy blue.

through the blurry hue of your gaze stood a vast field that made your passion seem almost minuscule in comparison. dozens of people stood in the dry grass, thick beads of pestering sweat clung to their skin as the sun’s wrath strengthened. in your ears the loud reverberating sounds of bullets whirred by, enough to be heard from a mile away however you weren’t phased by it. your attention was centered elsewhere just a mere few feet away from where you stood.

monique? or maybe it was monica? you watched as she stood clueless with bright red cheeks that served as nothing more than a taunt to you. her fingers snuck tightly around the grip of the gun and her posture deformed. it all seemed purposeful. you couldn’t fathom how she could survive for so long without even knowing how to hold a gun properly let alone fire one? by no means was she a pro, yet every giggle and glance at her mentor seemed like a ploy to get closer to the woman.

unsuspectingly ellie stood behind the woman, a bit too close for your own comfort. she wore a white tank top and tight blue jeans that molded against her body. offering you and monica the clearest of views. repeatedly your eyes were drawn to her arms, their shape, and more specifically how her muscles contracted with each slight movement. the sight stirred a pit of warmth inside of you but the flirtatious glances from monica morphed it into gut-wrenching nausea.

“like this, el?” she cooed, her voice light and ditzy. she loosened her grip around the pistol as she leaned into ellie’s touch. her gaze cautiously trailing back towards your wife’s arms. her name mimicked a wretched poison rolling off the tip of monica’s tongue. it felt foreign to your ears, spurring a loud ringing sound through them.

“here, i’ll show you.” she moved, taking the gun from monica’s hands as she demonstrated the right form. the newbie watched carefully as ellie extended her arms out, lacing both hands along the black grip. words flowed from her mouth yet you couldn’t make out a thing. fierce nearby bullets made it so ellie’s voice was beyond distorted and the only source of reliance was the stomach-churning image right before you.

much of it was a blur although you remember monica’s fingers gliding along the smooth surface of your wife’s skin. they trailed over her biceps lightly before making their way to her shoulders. her movements were subtle and slow, causing your chest to tighten with each one. fresh hot tears brimmed the corners of your eyes and a distinct bitter taste plagued your tongue. all you could do was watch for what felt like hours as the woman you loved was touched by someone else— in such a casual manner.

there was something so arrogant and brazen about the way monica looked at ellie, even in the way she caressed her. it was as if it was all a game to her and with that, you couldn’t stand to remain in the scorching field anymore. with your vision blurred with tears and hazy blue splotches, you turned sharply on your heel, narrowly dodging the onslaught of incoming bullets.

jumbled, poorly pieced-together thoughts clouded your mind on the way back to the home you shared with ellie. the memory of her and monica seared its way into your mind despite your best efforts to suppress it. you needed to believe that it was nothing. otherwise, you were bound to drive yourself insane. you trusted ellie and there was no denying it, she wouldn’t allow it to go any further. nevertheless, it didn’t feel good having to witness it.

at home you curled up on the couch, basking in the serene silence as darkness fell. she was late again. it wasn’t entirely unusual for practice to run late yet it didn’t soothe your doubts. you loathe to admit it, truly, but you couldn’t really breathe without her. even now, your lungs felt like they were closing in on themselves, the longer you waited, the more it hurt, and you cursed yourself for caring about the stupid lesson.

the loud creak from the wooden door yanked you from your thoughts. ellie emerged from behind it, her collar drenched in sweat. short auburn hair was pulled back between her ears giving you a prime view of the freckles splayed across her cheeks. they were flushed pink, only deepening as she set her sights on you seated across the room.

“hey, i missed you earlier…” she whispered, shooting you a quick grin. a deep warm feeling engulfed you as she sauntered over collapsing beside you on the couch. dark crescents took shape under her eyes and the fatigue was palpable but nothing beat the feeling of having her all to yourself.

“thought we were gonna walk back together?” ellie trailed her fingers along the side of your face, brushing the pad of her thumb on your cheek. you shrugged, moving closer. her skin felt warm and dewy pressed against yours. it nearly distracted you from the memory that hung over you like a looming gargoyle.

“i was tired,” you muttered, your voice bordering on a sharp but short tone, easy enough for ellie to detect. she didn’t address it right away but her eyes did. for a moment they settled on you, hints of confusion glimmering in them yet neither of you dared to bring it up first.

“you feeling okay?” specks of doubt reflected in ellie’s gaze as she studied you, concern seeping from her voice. maybe you really were losing it. jealousy had a way of manifesting itself through physical symptoms, stomach aches, chest pains— sudden changes in behavior. ellie brought her hand to your forehead feeling for a temperature as she leaned down. you weren’t entirely sure if she was aiming for your lips or temple, to be honest, you didn’t spare a moment to figure it out. you couldn’t kiss ellie— not without the image of monica pervading your thoughts. hence you didn’t, dodging the small peck from your wife’s lips.

ellie’s brows furrowed into an arch, “what was that for?” small, but prominent lines formed on the top of her forehead. confusion flickered in her expression as instant regret mounted onto yours.

“it’s nothing— just not in the mood. are you mentoring monica again tomorrow?”

ellie shrugged, “probably, why?” there it was again, that fucking look that made ellie want to drop down to her knees and apologize— and for god knows what? it all made sense. however, your response further solidified it. ellie hadn’t thought about monica since their lesson. but even the smallest mention of her from your mouth was drenched in envy that she couldn’t quite fathom. she was yours and yours entirely— surely you should’ve known this?

you hated this kind of silence, the kind that in its true form was the loudest. draining out every inch of sound in the room. it remained that way as ellie inspected you, piecing apart every aspect of your being, from the shift in your pupils to the steady inhale of your breath. abruptly you rose from the couch mumbling a low “forget it,” as you left your wife behind.

ellie felt more confused than she did conflicted. she wanted to call after you, maybe even follow yet she couldn’t bring herself to move. surrounded by silence she sunk back into the linen couch, bringing her arms behind her head. she needed some way to prove it— some way to reassure you and it was apparent that she wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight, but she could at least try.

icy tension filled the room faster than ellie could blink. unmoving, you remained on your side of the bed, eyes fixed on the cream-colored wall. the mattress dipped down beside you, accompanied by a warm earthy scent that filled your nostrils. slowly ellie brought her arms to your waist, pulling you towards her chest. the immediate reaction was cold although you didn’t move away. neither of you uttered a word, but in truth, the lingering uncertainty said more than either of you could for the rest of the night.

bright rays beamed through the curtains, followed by the sounds of clinking steel that yanked you from your slumber. the bed felt lighter, even more lonely. it was normal for ellie to leave in the morning and that wasn’t the issue— it was who she was leaving for that agitated you. that smug face and whiny high-pitched voice that would consume your wife’s time for hours on end. and you feared this morning would be no different.

you ambled into the living room to find ellie prepped for yet another shooting lesson. she wore a brown flannel shirt that fit loosely around her arms. blue jeans that clung perfectly to her legs, offering you an ample view of the soft skin along her waist. on the table, in front of her a black duffel bag stuffed with bullets, guns, and glass bottles.

“up early again?” you whispered, joining her alongside the wooden table. an ounce of annoyance crept into your tone despite your attempts to suppress it.

ellie slipped a hand around your waist, pulling you towards her as a small smile took place on her lips, “i’m taking you out today….”

quick palpitations reverberated against your chest with ellie’s words and the pesky fleeting feeling of jealousy seemed further than ever. you flung your arms around her neck, sucking her into a warm embrace. for just a slight moment there wasn’t an inkling of doubt— with the exception of the next few words that sounded an awful lot like “….to the field.”

“i’ll pass,” you said sternly, dropping your arms at your sides. any semblance of prior excitement that you’d exhibited vanished, leaving ellie beyond conflicted. this was the only way for her to prove that you had nothing to worry about. the only way for her to truly do so is with your trust. which she wasn’t sure she had at the moment.

ellie began, “y/n—“

“i said no. if i wanted to watch monica stick her tongue down your throat i would’ve stayed yesterday….i don’t even need shooting lessons,” you spat, with a bit more venom than intended. the guilt gradually began to creep in— marriage was built on trust. there was no reason for you to feel this threatened— this possessive.

secretly you wanted ellie to protest, another side of you, tucked away even further would’ve even liked to see her beg. although none of that came. rather she merely stared at you with pools of olive green peering into your soul. after a few seconds, they flickered between yours, and an unlikely sound filled your ears— low chuckles?.……was she laughing?

“what?” you sputtered, fervent heat rushing towards your cheeks. a vibrant peach hue reddened ellie’s cheeks as she shook her head fighting to contain the outburst.

“you missed the target yesterday… each. time.”

“so?” your entire face felt like it was set ablaze. you’d been too occupied with monica and ellie to truly put any effort into your shooting. to be completely honest you had no idea that ellie was even watching you begin with— that thought alone made you feel more secure.

“nothing— but you’re getting kinda rusty, no?” she smirked, loading the first round into the magazine of her gun.

“oh please— i’m as good of a shot as you. i was just having an off day,” you blurted, crossing your arms over your chest. she could sense it, the restless urge emitting from you. with each retort you grew even more defensive and right where ellie wanted you to be and she took great pleasure in stirring it up.

she outstretched her palm, in it lay a black revolver. she whispered her voice low and enticing, “listen i hear you… but you wanna prove me wrong?” her offer hung in the air— longer than anticipated. there was something provocative about the lack of subtlety in her tone, and the microscopic gleam in her eye that only urged you to take her up on it, so it was settled.

the field was vast, populated by expansive patches of brownish-green pasture. short hazel-colored tree stumps were scattered about at various distances, making it a prime spot for target practice. the sky was a misty blue, struck with a fiery orange and lemon hue that engulfed the area surrounding the two of you. high-pitched chirps ran through the air and slowly you realized just how quiet it was. in fact, the two of you were the only ones there.

“where’s everyone else?”

“it’s a private lesson,” ellie said, propping up the last of the bottles. the smirk in her voice was as palpable as it was scheming. she’d failed to mention that the two of you were going to be alone and surely it was purposeful, however, you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

you removed your gun from your belt, joining ellie on the outskirts of the field, “you didn’t mention that.”

a small grin crooks the ends of her mouth as she turns towards you, “does it make a difference?” her eyes appeared even more radiant with the rising sun brimming the horizon. you shook your head lightly, sneaking one last glance at them.

“the first person to clear all the bottles wins.”

“what’s the winner get?”

“depends on you, babe,” ellie announced, extending her arms out in front of her body. fuck— it was difficult not to look at them. bright rays from the sun illuminated her muscles so that the skin you could see appeared as if they were glowing. the sight struck a mild but nevertheless alluring chord deep inside you. so much so that it nearly caused you to miss ellie’s cue.

her voice echoed, “three, two, one,” ripping you from your thoughts. immediately the loud crack of bullets whipped into the air, as the two of you mowed down the first round of glass bottles. there wasn’t much time to think before you were onto the next, sprinting to the next row of targets with ellie on your heels. the steady pump of your heart escalated to a rapid thump that pounded against your poor chest. you could feel her eyes on you, watching— calculating your every movement and it only pushed you to move faster.

it was down to one more row at the very edge of the field. your legs felt like they were bound to give up at any moment but you forced yourself to continue, stomping on the brown weeds beneath your feet. out of the very corner of your eye, you could see her drawing closer with each step and the sound of hasty fire trailing behind. slowly, your breathing became more labored and your form even more sloppy— if this was ellie’s fucked up way of trying to improve your shooting then she was doing a terrible job at it. you stepped towards the last bottle gearing up to shoot when you were met with a low…..

click.

“no—no out of all the goddamn times—“

click.

the chamber was full— you were sure of it. this was not the time for a fucking gun jam. you extended your arms out once more, hoping— no praying for a miracle when you were met with that same disparaging…

click.

quickly you realized there was no gunfire looming behind you. in fact all that was left of ellie’s targets were meager green glass pieces that littered the tops of tree stubs. the only sounds pervading the air were the pathetic clicks that left your gun and the vile language that left your lips.

ellie began, “here let me—“

“i don’t need your help,” you muttered, sharply turning your body away from her. the words were uttered with an underlying layer of her that you hoped she wouldn’t be able to detect. her hands were the first to make contact with you, settling along the small of your back. the touch was gentle and meticulous, reeling you back to reality.

“y/n, look at me.”

her voice was smooth and velvety, clashing with the tough exterior that surrounded you. she moved her free hand over yours, slowly taking the gun from you. a part of you was afraid to look up, afraid of what it meant. looking into ellie’s would force you to be vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t been in your marriage yet. still grappling with the cracks of insecurity that fractured it.

“i canceled those lessons so i could be here with you,” she whispered. the air was perfectly still and so were the creatures that existed in it. although it felt like the two of you were the only organisms there. ellie was close enough so that you could hear the light beat of her heart against you, ushering you to return her gaze.

“but what about—“

“nothing else is more important to me,” she cooed, bringing her hand up to your face. there she ran her hand along the underside of her jaw before taking your hand in hers. the two of you walked towards an empty tree stump where you sat in silence. allowing the remnants of her words to linger in your mind. the stern emphasis behind each word made your heart skip a beat and nearly forget why you were so upset in the first place.

ellie spoke first, “i need you to hear me when i say this— i don’t think about anyone else, it’s almost like there isn’t any room to think about anyone else. and i didn’t really get it at first when you ran out.”

“get what?”

“why you’d be jealous of her? I thought about talking to you, trying to reassure you but… i don’t think any of that’s gonna work,” she shrugged rubbing a hand against your thigh. there was something so subtle, even more so suggestive about her word choice— hell even the way she said them. blatant arousal was laced behind her voice and it shot straight to your core.

“you have to tell me what you need. how can i prove it to you….” her voice was so unbelievably calm and hot. feverishly hot. it took a moment for a proposition to process. she wanted you to tell her how to please you— and she was completely surrendering herself. this was her way of proving it— proving that she was all yours.

“what do you want?”

“take your clothes off.” it came out faster than you could think but nevertheless ellie complied, beginning with her brown flannel she undid the white buttons, stripping the clothing from her scarred skin. she then moved onto her jeans, pulling them from her sculpted legs. ellie made sure to prolong the process, her eyes never leaving you as she removed each and every piece of cloth from her body. soon she stood bare, ready for your next command.

“you wanna make me feel good?” you purred, ushering ellie closer. she sank to her knees before you, nodding as you cupped your hand to the side of her face. you pressed a slow, magnetic kiss to her pink lips before glancing over at ellie’s duffel just a few feet away. in it was a small black tarp that on regular occasions was used for collecting the glass left behind, but you had other plans for it. following your gaze ellie reached for the plastic laying it down on the grass beneath her. there was something so infatuating about her compliance that drove you insane— in the best way possible. she seemed so eager, so desperately ready to please you.

“i want you to lay down— don’t touch yourself.”under ellie’s watchful eye, you stripped yourself down to nothing, giving her an ample view of your naked body. she bit down on her lip, wrestling with the urge to touch herself and you. soon you join her on the tarp, straddling her as you lean forward.

“you can touch me, baby,” you whispered, softly nipping at the sensitive skin along her neck. her hands trailed up your thighs, sinking her fingernails in before moving towards your back. you clasped onto her face, pressing your lips against hers fiercely. ellie’s lips moved south, showering your exposed tits with sloppy kisses. in both hands she cupped them in her palms, sucking a nipple into her warm mouth. she ran her tongue along the sensitive flesh, feverishly sucking as you clutched onto her.

“how’s that?”

“fuck— it’s so-so good,” you hummed in between moans. ellie’s pace continued leaving you at a loss for words. you spared just a few more moments before pulling away, breathless. her eyes were hungry and lustful glimmering in the midst. just below, her sweet lips appeared so soft and tempting. sexy wasn’t nearly enough to describe it. a sudden urge plagued you and it began at your wet core. you needed to feel her, more specifically her mouth against it.

within a few mere seconds, you instructed ellie to lay back, bringing your wet pussy to her lips. the contact was cold, sending a brisk chill up your back. she started off slow, tentatively dragging her tongue against your lips before fully pushing them forward.

“don’t— fuck— tease me,” you writhed, bringing the pads of your thumb to her nipples. you circled them around it, drawing muffled moans from ellie’s lips. she spat up, lapping up the wetness from her core. she hummed at the taste, sucking your sensitive clit into her mouth as you pushed yourself against her. your hips began to take up for themselves, grinding against ellie’s mouth with no end in sight. you could feel it— parts of your vision beginning to blur and simultaneously the frenzied flicks of your wife’s tongue sped up.

“like that? like the way i fuck your face?” you spat, pressing your eyes closed. it was practically impossible for ellie to answer yet everything about the way tasted pointed toward a yes. her hands raced up to your ass as she squeezed it in her palms, desperately trying to find a way— any way to push herself closer.

“you want me to finish all over your face? is that what you want?” your movements became much more rushed, vigorously chasing after a high. white spots slowly came into view and your posture was unsupported. ellie took advantage of your weakened state, craning her neck upward. she focused on your clit sucking it torturously slow until you were a blubbering mess above her. she pushed on, singalong out the sensitive flesh as streams of pleasure tore through your body, faster than you could fathom. soon with enough strength, you pulled yourself from ellie’s body, collapsing alongside her.

“what else do you need?” she mumbled, twisting her neck in your direction. her face was beet red and slick with your fluids, and it only fueled the twisted pleasure at the center of your pussy. you shifted toward her, slowly kissing up the blue vein that decorated the side of her neck. once you reached her ear you nibbled on the lobe, ever so softly running your tongue on the top, “i’m gonna take care of you now.”

quickly, you repositioned yourself at ellie’s pussy, hovering above it as she spread her legs. they were covered in goosebumps that seemed to multiply as you drew closer. between them you settled, kissing along the inner part of her thighs. you could feel her tremble against her, pressing her eyes closed in frustration.

“i want you to look at me el….i wanna see those pretty eyes,” you cooed, bringing your lips to her core. she jumped back but you eased her towards you. once she was comfortable you brought your tongue to her dripping slit, sucking her needy clit into your mouth.

“holy—shit.”

tears brimmed the corners of ellie’s as she forced them open. you kept your gaze on her refusing to look away, she looked so beautiful like this, so exposed. you adored the way she simply melted on your tongue allowing you the chance to taste the deepest parts of her. after a while you spat down on the pads of your fingers ushering to ellie’s pussy. slowly you pushed in your index finger, watching as your wife’s walls clung to it— hot and even more desperate.

“fuck y/n— i need more,” she panted, gradually moving her hips your hand. you were more than delighted to grant ellie her wish, pushing your middle in. filthy sounds of her wetness and choked moans filled the air, replacing the peaceful calls of songbirds and insects. you worked your two fingers inside of her, pressing up into you felt the spongy tissue of her g-spot. without hesitation you curled your digits up to meet them, teasing ellie to no avail.

“i’m gonna come— please let me.”

she soon began to writhe against the tarp, allowing even the foulest obscenities to fall from her lips. you could practically feel her getting closer, along with the vehement grip of her feverish walls.

“go ahead baby…so fucking wet for me, and so so beautiful,” you whispered, gingerly talking her through the rapture that engulfed her body. ellie’s legs shook violently against you and her vision briefly became blinded by hot tears. you crawl upward to the top half of her body, placing soft kisses all over her face. there, a moment of stillness left the both of you breathless.

upon first opening her eyes you were the first thing she saw. she moved swiftly pulling you in a fierce kiss that lasted for what felt like ages. for a moment the two of you held each other in a moment of newfound trust and understanding. there was no need to say it. undeniably ellie was yours as you were hers. and nothing felt more satisfying than having physical proof of it.

“i’ll stop if you want. the lessons with monica,” she whispered, tracing circles into the side of your arm.

“no need.”

surprise struck ellie’s face as she gazed down at you, eyebrows drew back “you sure?”

you grinned at her with a new, vibrant light beaming out of the corners of your eyes. you pressed a quick kiss to her chest, propping yourself up against the soft skin as you smirked, “never been more sure.”

[snowywinterevenings]

For the wip game 🧡

First time seeing the other be silly/carefree or Help them

This is one of the prompts I received on tumblr, and I just love the idea of one of them seeing the other smiling and happy and relaxed for once instead of dealing with the many horrors of the war. Cody’s instance is going to be seeing Obi-Wan interact with the younglings on a planet they protect from falling under Separtist control, and Obi-Wan’s is going to be seeing Cody experiencing a bit of life that has nothing at all to do with the war.

Cody has a lot of preconceived notions about his Jedi general, and Kenobi destroys all of them within a few days of their initial meeting. Where Cody expects the coldness of the Kaminoans combined with the harsh attitudes of the trainers, Kenobi is curious and kind, committing dozens upon dozens of names to memory and remembering each individual in a sea of identical faces. Where Cody expects to be treated like a subordinate, Kenobi makes him a partner in all things and eagerly welcomes suggestions from other officers as well. He does not allow the natborn officers to treat them poorly, his gaze far sharper than the nasty insults they fling at Cody and his brothers.

Kenobi is lethal on the battlefield, whirling blue plasma that carves through squads of droids like they’re nothing, and Cody knows he’s not the only one that sometimes has to pause and stare as their general tears through enemy lines. Even without the Force behind him he is a terror, any sparring session in which he participates drawing a crowd. The one time Cody had dared to go toe to toe with him he had found himself far too quickly pinned to the mat, cheeks flushing red, clearly from exertion or so he told himself.

[corvidist]

Alright, Equatorial nomads (They don’t usually get that far south but it’s the Equatorial Desert regardless.)

These groups have been around in various forms since the Yellowstone eruption around 250,000 PA, when large numbers were pushed south when a global cooling effect took hold. As temperatures warmed back up, these groups in many instances either left, or in the case of these ones often began to follow vultures in order to find sources of water, eventually developing into a symbiotic relationship that lasts into the present day. The vultures get protection from ground predators and higher quality food, Directors get water. The cultures started off in the Americas however have become present in Afroeurasia as well.

The original cultures’ use of gliders largely began in response to widespread heat-related death due to exposure to ground temperatures and general idolization of vultures through stories and observation, who seemed to be able to stay in the air almost indefinitely when compared to Directors. Initially, it was believed that families each would collectively reincarnate into vultures. When they allowed Directors to get close enough, much like with corvids in western afroeurasia, groups of Directors would decorate the vultures with a variety of dyes and such. With time, northern desert populations grew, tools became more complex, and flying techniques developed to keep individuals in the air for longer. This led some groups to wonder about the idea of craft that could help them stay aloft for longer, carry tools, and make it easier and safer to move from place to place. 

The first gliders were modeled pretty closely after vultures, essentially being half-dangling, half-gliding knockoff airsleds that individuals would harness to themselves to carry supplies and would regularly go out of control and detach themselves or in some cases bring down the Director as well. Still, techniques improved with time and eventually the idea emerged that much of the issue with the individual sleds resulted from failure to be able to control them directly. Some essentially scaled them up into light surfaces that could (hopefully) be picked up by the wind in the right conditions or after being pulled by Directors, and be controlled afterwards. 

These improved with time, eventually developing into craft that could be lifted up with high winds and the right pitch, kept aloft by the desert’s strong updrafts and controlled by the crew directly manipulating flight controls. The most aerodynamic usually carry a maximum of about a dozen adult directors, with gliders traveling in groups from water source to water source, in many cases using vultures that are found along their path as indicators. When they land, depending on the craft and culture they may take off again using their own power, wait for the wind to pick up, or in later periods use propellers and such to get them in the air. 

These craft have also helped contribute to perhaps some of their most utilitarian and collectivist cultures, as the craft themselves, tools, etc. are made from the carcasses and bones that they come across, from snakes and coyotes to vultures and Directors in their groups, as there simply isn’t much that’s as simultaneously sturdy and lightweight that far in the desert. As such, in some places the gliders are treated as family members, carrying the collective consciousness of the beings that comprise them. These groups regularly will speak to the gliders, decorate them heavily with paints, dyes, and ornaments, purposefully fly over interesting areas as a means of showing them, etc. If a glider crashes, they will be repaired, and if it can't it is considered a major tragedy among the group, and whatever parts that can be salvaged are. Individuals in some of these groups don’t take names, instead opting to be identified by their role in operating the glider, with each role being held in equal value (hence the varied colors of feather dyes in the drawing, also serve the purpose of helping cool them down). Religions, spirituality, and lack of either are present among these cultures as there is an incredible degree of variation among them from family to family. 

It is common for groups that spot one another to merge, following one another to their destination where it is common for a period of celebration (or just general relaxation if it gets long enough) to occur that often lasts until the next time winds are strong enough to pick up the craft by themselves. Groups will exchange food and other gifts, young adults will often engage in courtship, and by the end of it, you typically have some individuals joining one crew or another if things have gone well. These cultures are also known to salvage from crashed airships and abandoned beacons, and to work with both for rescue and recovery. It is not uncommon for stricken airships to be greeted by one group or another to assist in navigation or repairs. It is also common in the present day for beacons to originate in or cease operation and join glider cultures, and many regional Beaconer cultures are heavily influenced by glider cultures.

[woodlaflababab]

It never fails to make me sad to see people call Aang's arc stagnant or claim he didn't change. His arc is unconventional. It's not a well established trope so there's not obvious cues we can draw on that we've seen dozens of times before. (Not that there's anything wrong with well worn tropes. The classics are classics for a reason.) But the unwillingness to examine his story outside of trying to spot familiar patterns just saddens me.

Maybe it's because I relate to his arc so much, and it's a lesson that I see so many people struggle with yet a lesson I rarely see truely represented.

Aang's arc is about balance. It's not like Zuko's, it's not about having a set of ideals and having to challenge and ultimately discard them for new 'better' ideals. Aang already has some pretty solid ideals, but the problem is, he sits in extremes. Throughout the entire series he is tettertottering between extremes of many different kinds, with these changes becomes less drastic as he goes on and builds his balance.

One of the things he has to balance, that I wish people saw because it is so so important, is the balance between protecting yourself vs protecting others. In the water you hold a child above your head, but in a falling airplane you provide yourself an oxygen mask first.

It's self-care vs matching expectations.

Which is such an insanely relevent contemporary subject and only becomes more so as we go on. Too often you see the hero must learn to be willing to sacrifice everything, whether for the world or for a person, but that's not healthy and is an ideal that can go wrong very quickly.

I just wish people saw this. I wish people saw Aang's climax of his arc as validation that they are allowed to be themselves, that they don't have to be what everyone expects of them, that bring true to yourself and being what people need are not mutually exclusive. I want people to see Aang and understand the value of being an individual made up of your background and personality and not a being formed to fit what's most efficient for society.

I want people to see Aang and know that it's possible to have this balance, that wanting to do things differently does not mean failing. I want people to see Aang and know that they don't have to lose childhood in order to grow and improve.

Some characters start out with incorrect answers, and they learn the correct ones, and we recognize this, but it's just as important to learn that sometimes you do have the right answer, it's just that there's more than one right answer and you can't cling to a single one as the pure singular truth.

Idk. I want people happy. I want Aang happy.

[stealingyourbones]

GL Jazz Anger Management

Ok this shit is like half made but I know that I Will Not finish this so fuck it we ball.

Heavily influenced (and encouraged) by @gilbirda

Jazz is an Arkham Asylum Psychologist who’s been on staff for roughly three years at this point. Jason has been assigned to work undercover as a Arkham Security Guard to try to scope out and stop the next breakout that Batman has heard whispers about. 

Jazz and Jason have very similar shifts. Jason is instantly pinned as someone who could handle their stronger patients. This makes him almost always automatically assigned with helping transport the more physically menacing asylum patients to their therapy sessions. Jason and Jazz had similar shifts so Jazz frequently saw Jason in the staff break room or assigned to follow her patient into her office to make sure they didn’t try to attack any other patients or staff. (Jazz could handle herself no problem, but protocol is protocol.)

Sure enough, the rumors for the breakout were true. Jason overheard their plans but just a tad too late. The breakout was happening tonight and he was severely underprepared for handling something this big with this short of a deadline. Damn it. Jason was just getting to know Jazz really well. He asked her on a date set for next week but he might be too preoccupied trying to wrangle these villains to show up. 

Low and behold: There is a breakout. Head of the breakout being Scarface (The Ventriloquist) and Two-Face. (Jason doesn’t know which shift fucked up and managed to let an entire ass veltriloquist doll get a green light past security but he damn well knew it wasn’t his.) Dozens upon dozens of patients were out of their cells and stormed the building as alarms and lights blared at nearly deafening levels. 

Suddenly, a deafening crash shakes the building. Chunks of the ceiling rain down onto the angry mob of Arkham patients as something small and green flies through the wall of the building and finally rests on Jazz’s hand. Jason is far too far away to do anything to help. In his Red Hood uniform, he’s busy subduing the angry mob one criminally insane patient at a time. The design was reminiscent of the Green Lantern rings but a strange skull shaped emblem on the top of the skull made him think otherwise. 

Jazz knew that this was the ring of rage. It was calling to her. She somehow just knew that Danny had rejected the ring and that she was the nearest liminal on earth with the strongest will to be an acceptable wielder of the ring. Jazz looks at the angry mob and back at the ring. Sure, she could take on a few dozen goons and patients before getting overwhelmed, but with the ring she could do something about this. Protect the people she cared for, fight for what’s right. 

Jazz puts on the ring. 

-Draw Jazz GL outfit but inspired by the Ring of Rage. 

-Jazz closes her eyes as she can feel knowledge of how to control the ring suddenly flood her brain. A strange suit of green light envelops her body that glows a bright toxic green. Bright green fenton blasters, hammers, force field barriers, and mixed martial arts to subdue the rowdy patients. Balls of green light encase the unconscious patients and float them back into their rooms, keeping them out of the fight. Jazz is a force of nature, plowing a clean line of goons and criminally insane individuals down to get to Two Face and The Ventriloquist. 

Jason blinks heavily because Jazz is now holding a strange bazooka that seems to be cobbled together out of household items, duct tape, and pure willpower because there is no way that thing should be functional. 

The mortar doesn’t shoot Two-Face but instead turns instantly into a net the second it makes contact with his body. 

-Jazz then gets to work fixing up her workplace. Using her constructs to repair and fix the broken bits of ceiling and hallway until they looked like they were never broken in the first place. 

-Jason, staring at the now fully fixed Asylum with every patient locked in their appropriate room, is still reeling from what just happened. He no longer has to worry about the threat of his date being put off, but now he has another issue. 

-Jason tells Jazz that he’s gonna need to bring her to the watchtower for questioning and to meet the other GL’s. 

-They go to the watchtower and The GL’s that Jason tells to meet them there instantly clock that Jazz isn’t a normal Green Lantern. 

-the GL’s are kinda shocked because they haven’t seen a Ghost Sector GL before. They thought they were just a rumor. Jokes on them, they’re real. It’s a subset of Green Lanterns that patrol various sectors of the Ghost Zone like the regular Green Lanterns patrol sectors of the universe. 

- Their chest emblem is more like that ghost skull on the ring of rage. Her hair is more flamelike and etherial and she looks physically more unreal. Jason is shocked that the one girl he thought he might have something going for him got superpowers. Just his luck. He’s not complaining tho, he’s happy that Jazz can fully protect and defend herself and doesn’t have to worry about her. (He still very much so worries but not as much)

- Jazz and Jason have a sorta long distance/short distance relationship. Jazz spends her time patrolling the GZ but whenever she’s needed on earth, she always takes time to visit Jason. They are very very sweet with each other and are a fuckin literal power duo. You mess with their S.O.? Next second be prepared to be staring down the barrel of either a corporeal or incorporeal looking gun. Either one will hurt like hell. 

-fin-