#fun ways to teach fractions

[infinitymathcreations]

Empowering Education: Fun Ways to Teach Fractions, Celebrating Inventions by Black People, SAT Math Hacks, and Fraction Matching Games

Education is a journey that should be both enlightening and enjoyable. When it comes to teaching complex concepts like fractions, engaging and interactive methods can make all the difference. This article explores fun and effective ways to teach fractions, celebrates the remarkable contributions of Black inventors, provides SAT math hacks, and introduces the engaging Fraction Matching Game.

Fun Ways to Teach Fractions

Understanding fractions can be challenging for students, but it doesn't have to be a tedious process. By incorporating hands-on activities and visual aids, teachers can turn fractions into a fun learning adventure. Utilizing everyday objects like pizza slices, fruit, or building blocks allows students to grasp the concept of fractions by visualizing and interacting with these tangible representations. Fraction bingo, where students match fractions to corresponding images or numbers, also adds a competitive element to the learning experience. Moreover, digital tools like interactive apps and games can make fractions more accessible and engaging for tech-savvy learners.

Celebrating Inventions by Black People

Black inventors have made remarkable contributions to society, often overcoming adversities to create groundbreaking innovations. It is essential to celebrate these trailblazers and include their stories in educational curricula. By incorporating lessons on Black inventors, students gain a more comprehensive understanding of history and learn to appreciate the diverse perspectives that have shaped our world. From Lewis Latimer's pioneering work in electric lighting to Marie Van Brittan Brown's invention of the home security system, each inventor's journey can inspire and empower the next generation of innovators.

SAT Math Hacks

Preparing for standardized tests like the SAT can be daunting, but with the right strategies, students can approach the math section with confidence. SAT math hacks offer valuable shortcuts and tips to navigate the exam effectively. Familiarizing students with common math concepts tested on the SAT, such as algebraic equations, geometry, and data analysis, helps build their problem-solving skills. Teaching time-saving techniques like plugging in answer choices, eliminating obviously wrong options, and identifying patterns can significantly improve students' performance and reduce test-taking stress.

Fraction Matching Game

Fraction Matching Game is an engaging activity that reinforces students' understanding of fractions. This interactive game presents visual representations of fractions and challenges students to match them with corresponding numerical fractions. This hands-on approach helps solidify the connection between visual and numerical representations of fractions, promoting a deeper comprehension of this crucial mathematical concept. The game's interactive nature fosters active participation, making it an ideal tool for both classroom settings and remote learning environments.

Conclusion

Education should inspire curiosity, celebrate diversity, and equip students with practical skills. Incorporating fun ways to teach fractions, celebrating the contributions of Black inventors, sharing SAT math hacks, and introducing interactive games like Fraction Matching, all contribute to a holistic and empowering learning experience. By embracing innovative teaching methods and diverse perspectives, educators can ignite a passion for learning within their students and empower them to succeed in their academic journeys and beyond.

[avelera]

Man, there’s all these little beats in OFMD S2 1-3 where people keep EXPECTING Stede to be upset or horrified about Ed’s actions and then he’s just. Not. In a way that reminded me of how a lot of fanon kept softening Stede into someone who doesn’t swear and is horrified at Ed for setting those ships on fire when imo to my eyes he was horrified for Ed because Ed was still so clearly distressed about it.

- Zheng Yi Sao asks Stede how he’s doing now that he knows Ed did horrible things to his crew and there’s this beat and Stede just pivots to, oh yeah, sometimes Ed is troubled. Like it didn’t occur to him to be upset on the crew’s behalf he’s worried about Ed.

- Izzy keeps trying to spare Stede’s feelings and cover up Ed’s spiral, but Stede clocked what was going on with Ed immediately and wasn’t the least bit intimidated or bothered. The knives brought the room together. Of course Ed’s trying to burn the world down or die trying. Duh. And I genuinely don’t think the STUFF in the Revenge mattered even a fraction to Stede as much as the signs of Ed’s breakdown broke his heart. It’s just STUFF, who cares.

- Lucius had to SPECIFICALLY call out Stede for not being surprised or bothered by what happened to him. What Ed did. Stede has to almost consciously remind himself to express polite concern. He just doesn’t actually care, instinctively or automatically, about what happened to Lucius. Part of it is he blames himself more than Ed. Part of it is he just doesn’t care, Ed is the priority.

They’re little blink and you’ll miss it pauses in some cases. Micro-expressions. The absence of a reaction. But honestly, I will scream it to the end of time, Stede is not some nonviolent creampuff scared or upset by Ed’s evil ways. He wants to join Ed in the atrocities. The man ran away to become a pirate. He asked if Lucius was taking notes during a murderous raid.

Stede’s at least a little on some kind of whackadoodle pirate comedy neurodivergence spectrum to the point where he actually really actually struggles to empathize with people, even people he cares about!, if their feelings conflict with his hyperfixation (piracy) and the love of his life (Ed Teach). He’s always, ALWAYS going to pick Ed over Lucius or Izzy or his crew or even his own feelings, if the option is there. He will literally throw himself overboard to get to Ed’s side. No pause. No consideration of anyone else or even his own safety.

Stede sometimes seems to have to consciously remind himself things like, oh yeah, the crew, I need to see to them. Not because he’s heartless or doesn’t care, but because it takes a bit of conscious effort for him to see beyond the laser-focused spotlight of what and who he does care most about, he has to remind himself of social niceties and other people’s feelings (just see him running away in the first place!) when he gets an idea in his head. It’s as if he had to train himself to consciously care about some things other people care about and as a neurodivergent person myself, that felt very familiar in a comedically writ large sort of way. I’d even argue that’s where all his aristocratic social niceties come from. They were his guidebook for how to do things “right” in a world that otherwise made no sense to him outside his hyperfixations. He practiced being a person through the aristocratic training because it was all so foreign to him from the start, including caring, actually caring, about the needs of others. Not because he’s consciously evil or consciously a jerk. The instinct just isn’t there unless he practices at it until it becomes reflex to ask how others are doing, because on his own his brain just doesn’t really notice or care.

I just… hope the fandom notes and has as much FUN as I do noticing all the little moments where even people inside the story of OFMD expect Stede to act in a normal way and instead he remains unhinged, laser-focused on Ed.

Stede’s not just an Ed apologist, he truly doesn’t blame Ed for any of it. He blames only himself. He doesn’t always voice this but he really really only cares about anyone else including the crew as a DISTANT second and he has to consciously REMIND himself to do so. He is able to rally to take action, to care about their physical needs like safety during the rescue, but he still struggles, deeply struggles, to remember to show empathy in a non-performative way for anyone except his special person, Ed.

Stede’s not a creampuff, not a nice guy, not some emotionally or morally perfect angel. He has to consciously practice caring about literally anything else but what he wants to do and his special person. And to me that’s a thousand times more interesting than shoving him in a box labeled “the blond, pacifist do-gooder good guy” in their relationship.

[wolvietxt]

𝓕IRSTS 𝓦ITH 𝓨OU !

pairing : bucky barnes x implied fem!reader warnings : implied size diff, established relationship, tfatws!bucky, fluff,  wc : 2.6k summary : you introduce bucky to the things he’s missed out on, namely the office, theme parks, and emojis :3

bucky’s fingers hovered over the screen of his new phone, brow furrowed in concentration. you had been explaining how everything worked for the past half hour - apps, texts, even sending pictures - and while he was doing his best to keep up, you could tell he was still lost in the sea of modern technology. 

“so, this is how you send a text,” you said, pointing to the message box. “you just type what you want to say, then hit send.” you hit a few buttons on his phone and then pulled away to give him some space.

he nodded slowly, looking at the screen as if it were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet. “okay. and... the emojis?” he asked after a pause, his tone unsure.

“they’re just little pictures to add to what you’re saying. makes it more fun, i guess.” you flashed him a quick smile before adding, “and, if you’re talking to me, you’re gonna use them, or else i’ll think you’re mad at me.”

bucky’s lips curved upward just a fraction at the playful challenge. “right,” he muttered, glancing back at the emojis, his expression turning serious again. “this one - ” he tapped an image of a smiley face, “ - this is good, right?”

you nodded with enthusiasm. “perfect. now try sending it to me.”

bucky hesitated for a moment before carefully typing out a message: “Hey. 🙂” 

he looked at you for approval, his blue eyes searching yours.

“well done,” you said softly, holding back a giggle. “you did it, buck.”

he grinned, a little relieved but still unsure. “guess ‘m getting the hang of this.”

“you are,” you replied, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. you could see him trying, and that was enough to make you proud.

“now,” you began, leaning in closer, “I’m going to teach you how to send a selfie. It’s easy.” you grabbed your phone and showed him how to take a picture, flipping the camera to face him. “like this.”

“a selfie?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, you’re going to love it,” you said, snapping a quick picture of him as he looked confused but willing to give it a try. “okay, now you do it. just - ” you stopped yourself, realising something. “don’t look so grumpy, though. smile a little.”

bucky rolled his eyes but played along, pulling a reluctant smirk before he tapped the button to take the picture. “this feels weird,” he muttered, but his gaze softened when he saw the result. he stared at the picture of himself for a moment, before looking at you. “it’s not bad.”

“not bad at all,” you said with a smile, grabbing your phone and sending the photo to him.

you watched him check his phone, his brow furrowing once more as he took in the photo, then back at the screen as you sent a quick text: “that smile is great, by the way.”

he read it, then quickly typed back: “you’re making fun of me.”

“no, i’m not,” you teased, tapping the keys with your fingers. “i think it’s cute.”

before he could respond, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw. his body went still at the contact, the soft touch of your lips drawing his attention away from the phone. without saying a word, he kissed you fully, his lips warm and steady against yours.

“you talk too much,” bucky murmured when he finally pulled away, his voice gruff but affectionate.

you couldn’t help but giggle, looking up at him. “sorry,” you said, smiling in that way that made his chest tighten. “but i’m trying to teach you how to use a phone.”

“teach me less,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. before you could answer, he kissed you again, this time slower, his lips lingering on yours longer than before. it was like he couldn’t help himself, needing to pull you close and forget about everything else. 

when he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes that was so different from the gruff exterior he usually put on. “you’re a distraction,” he admitted, though he didn’t sound bothered in the least. 

“only when i’m teaching you how to text?” you asked, your smile still wide.

“always,” he said with a grin, kissing you again, this time more gently, as if savouring the moment before pulling away and reaching for his phone. 

he looked at the screen again, tapping at it thoughtfully. “okay, what about this one?” he asked, tapping a face with hearts for eyes. “it seems like... the right one.”

you grinned, unable to resist the warmth that filled you at how cute he was, trying so hard to understand all this. “perfect,” you whispered. “now, send it.”

bucky hesitated for a beat, then pressed send. he turned to look at you, like he was asking for your approval.

“you did it,” you said softly, heart swelling with affection. “now, you’re a pro.”

he raised his eyebrows. “am i allowed to text you good morning now?”

“whenever you want,” you said with a grin, your hand finding his and squeezing it gently. “and i’ll send you emojis all day.”

bucky looked at his phone again, glancing up at you with a fond smile. “then i’m gonna need to figure out a lot more emojis.”

“take your time,” you teased, before your lips met his once more, this time without interruption.

the apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the tv screen where the office was playing. you had insisted that bucky give the show a try, promising him that it was the perfect mix of awkward humour and heartwarming moments. at first, he had grumbled about it, saying something about not needing to watch “a bunch of idiots in an office.” but here you were, four episodes deep, and you could see that little spark of amusement in his eyes.

bucky had his arm draped around your shoulders, his large frame practically swallowing you up as you nestled into his side. you were curled up against him, legs tucked under you, head resting on his chest. every now and then, you could feel the rumble of his low chuckle vibrating against you whenever something on-screen caught him off guard.

“i still don’t get how that jim guy hasn’t been fired yet,” he muttered, shaking his head as jim played yet another prank on dwight. “guy’s got a death wish or somethin’.”

you smiled, turning your face up to look at him. there was a light in his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he tried to hide how much he was actually enjoying the show. “maybe he reminds you of someone?” you teased, poking his side.

he shot you a look, all mock seriousness. “you callin’ me a troublemaker?” 

“if the shoe fits,” you replied with a grin, turning back to the screen.

as the episode continued, you found yourself more focused on him than the tv. you loved seeing bucky like this, relaxed, at ease, his defences down for once. there was something so endearing about the way he’d get lost in the episodes, brows furrowing when michael said something ridiculous, or the rare moments when he’d throw his head back and laugh - a real, deep laugh that you couldn’t help but adore.

during one of those moments, as pam and jim exchanged a look, you felt his chest rumble with laughter, and it was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle, too. he glanced down at you, catching you staring, and for a second, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

“what?” he asked, his voice softening.

“nothing,” you said, a little shy under his gaze. “you’re just... cute when you laugh.”

his eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across his face before it softened into a shy smile. “yeah? well, don’t go tellin’ everyone.” 

you laughed, but before you could tease him more, he suddenly shifted, tugging you closer until you were practically in his lap. your breath hitched as he wrapped both arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth. 

you fit so easily against him, his hands splaying over your waist, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. the show kept playing in the background, but you were completely lost in the moment, the way he held you so gently despite his strength.

“you’re missing the best part,” you whispered, but your voice was soft, almost hesitant, like you didn’t really want to break the spell.

“nah,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “this is the best part.”

your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t resist tilting your head back to steal a quick kiss. he met you halfway, his lips warm and surprisingly soft, his stubble scraping pleasantly against your skin. 

“hmm, you taste better than jim’s pranks,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips when he pulled away.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “careful, barnes, you might start liking sitcoms.”

“only if you’re watchin’ them with me,” he said, squeezing your waist gently. 

you settled back into his chest, letting the familiar sounds of dunder mifflin fill the room. with one hand idly playing with the hem of your shirt, bucky seemed content, occasionally making little comments about the show under his breath that made you giggle. 

as the theme song played for the next episode, you reached for your phone to check the time, but bucky’s hand covered yours, stopping you. “stay,” he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you glanced up at him, surprised by the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. it wasn’t often that he asked for things so openly, but when he did, it always tugged at your heart. 

“okay,” you whispered, setting your phone aside and snuggling closer, the two of you wrapped up in each other as the episodes played on, the world outside forgotten for just a little while.

the air was filled with the sounds of laughter, the occasional scream from the roller coasters, and the smell of funnel cakes and popcorn drifting through the breeze. the theme park was bustling with life, a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds that made your heart race with excitement. you could hardly contain your giddiness as you pulled bucky along by the hand, weaving through the crowd.

bucky, on the other hand, looked a little overwhelmed. his brows were furrowed as he glanced around, taking in everything like he was preparing for an ambush. it was endearing, really - the way his grip on your hand tightened every time someone bumped into you, his protective instincts kicking in.

“relax, buck, it’s just a theme park,” you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

he grunted, still looking suspiciously at a guy in a giant mascot costume waving at children. “yeah, well, not sure i trust a place where people scream for fun.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, tugging him closer. “that’s the whole point! come on, let’s try a ride.”

you led him to the line for one of the tamer rides - a classic spinning teacup attraction. bucky eyed it warily, but he didn’t protest, letting you drag him into one of the pastel-coloured cups. once you were seated, you watched with a grin as he tried to figure out how the ride worked, his large hands gripping the metal wheel in the centre.

the ride started to spin, slowly at first, then picking up speed. you were laughing uncontrollably, the wind whipping through your hair, and when you glanced over at bucky, he had this look of pure concentration, like he was trying to out-spin everyone else.

“bucky, it’s not a competition!” you managed to gasp out between giggles.

he shot you a playful glare, a rare smile breaking through his usually stern expression. “everything’s a competition, doll.”

when the ride finally slowed to a stop, you were both a little dizzy, but you couldn’t stop smiling. you staggered out of the teacup, and bucky’s arm was instantly around your waist, steadying you. “you good?” he asked, his voice low and a little rough.

“never better,” you replied, leaning into his side.

next up was the game booths, where bucky’s competitive side really came out. you challenged him to one of those rigged carnival games where you had to knock down bottles with a baseball. he rolled his eyes at the way the game operator explained the rules, clearly unimpressed, but when it was his turn, he hit every target dead-on, not even breaking a sweat.

“show-off,” you teased, but you couldn’t hide the admiration in your voice.

“what can i say? i’m good with my hands,” he shot back with a wink, handing you the giant stuffed bear he won as a prize. your cheeks warmed, but before you could retort, he leaned down to steal a quick kiss, effectively shutting you up.

with your new teddy bear in tow, you wandered through the park, trying different snacks and taking in the sights. at one point, you insisted on getting a picture in one of those cheesy photo booths. bucky tried to protest, saying he wasn’t “photogenic,” but you dragged him in anyway.

the two of you squeezed into the tiny booth, your legs tangled together because of how little space there was. as the camera flashed, you made silly faces while bucky looked a little bewildered, but by the last frame, you managed to coax a smile out of him - a real one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

you couldn’t stop staring at the printed photos as they rolled out, your heart swelling at how happy he looked. he glanced over your shoulder, shaking his head with a chuckle. “gonna frame that, aren’t you?”

“damn right i am,” you said with a grin, tucking the strip of photos safely into your bag.

the sun was starting to set, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange, when you finally made your way to the roller coasters. bucky was skeptical at first, muttering something about not trusting “rusty death traps,” but you could see the way his eyes lit up with a mix of curiosity and adrenaline.

“just one ride,” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy eyes.

he sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “fine, but if we die, i’m haunting you.”

you laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the line. as the coaster climbed higher and higher, you could feel the tension in bucky’s shoulders. you reached over, lacing your fingers with his. “it’s gonna be fun, trust me.”

the drop was sudden and exhilarating, your screams mixing with the rush of wind, and when you dared to peek at bucky, he had this look of pure, wild joy on his face. it was rare to see him so carefree, and it took your breath away more than the ride itself.

when you finally stumbled off the coaster, legs like jelly, bucky was grinning like a little kid, his hair windswept. “okay, that wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, looking almost bashful.

“see? i told you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning up to kiss his cheek. he pulled you into a proper kiss instead, right there in the middle of the bustling crowd, not caring who was watching.

“thanks for dragging me out here,” he murmured against your lips, his voice soft in a way that made your heart flutter. 

“anytime, sarge,” you teased, smiling up at him.

he just shook his head, a fond look in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

“yeah,” you said, resting your head against his chest, “but you love it.”

he just chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, and you knew he wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

🌀 bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially

🌀 one time tags : @pvndomi

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[aventurineswife]

The Smartest Dumb Idea

Summary: You excitedly propose adopting a baby penguin, expecting at least mild enthusiasm. Aventurine, ever the gambler, immediately supports the idea, claiming that anything can be achieved with enough money. Ratio, on the other hand, finds the idea utterly ridiculous, dismissing it as a waste of time and intellect. As the two men debate the feasibility and logic of the situation, you find yourself caught between Aventurine’s playful scheming and Ratio’s reluctant pragmatism. Can you actually convince them both to adopt a penguin with you?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader x Ratio, Fluff, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Reader Wants a Penguin, Aventurine is on Board Immediately, Ratio Thinks This is Stupid, Debating Over a Penguin’s Life Purpose, Banter & Bickering, (Aventurine Would Absolutely Bet on a Penguin Race), Ratio is Begrudgingly Considering It, Found Family (with a Penguin?).

Warnings: Mild language (Ratio is exasperated), Light teasing and banter, No actual penguins were harmed in the making of this fanfic 🫶.

Requested by: @neuvillette-x-water

You stood in front of Aventurine and Ratio, practically bouncing on your heels, a hopeful look on your face. "I really want to adopt a baby penguin. It would be the perfect companion, don’t you think?"

Aventurine, reclining in his seat with his signature enigmatic smile, tilted his head, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "A baby penguin, you say?" His voice was smooth, calculating, as if he were already planning the steps to make it happen. "You’re right. Anything is possible, especially with the right… investment." He flicked his wrist, gold rings catching the light, his tone almost teasing. "If you’re willing to make it happen, money can solve most problems."

Ratio, on the other hand, stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his waves of hair cascading over his face as his sharp eyes fixed on you. He scoffed, clearly unamused. "Adopting a penguin? Really? That’s the solution to your life’s problems?" His voice was a mixture of disbelief and condescension, his academic tone cutting through the room like a sharp blade. "This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You could invest in a proper research project or contribute to a field of knowledge, but no… you want a flightless bird."

You shrugged, feeling a mix of amusement and frustration at Ratio's dismissal. "But it would be fun! I could take care of it, teach it tricks, and—"

"Tricks? For a penguin?" Ratio interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What, you want to train it to read? Perhaps write your thesis on the complexities of ice fishing?"

Aventurine, still smiling like he held all the cards, leaned forward. "I think it’s adorable, actually. A penguin could be a strategic asset." He winked at you, eyes flicking to Ratio with a challenge. "Imagine the influence of such an exotic, charming creature at your side. Not to mention, there’s no telling the kinds of bets we could place with such a unique companion."

You could sense that this was going to be a tug-of-war between two very different personalities. Aventurine loved the idea for its flair and unorthodox appeal, while Ratio, ever the pragmatist, dismissed it as beneath him.

"I suppose the penguin could learn something… useful," Ratio said, his voice becoming more thoughtful, but still laced with skepticism. "Though I can’t fathom how any creature would be a match for my intellectual prowess." He then glanced at you, his expression softening a fraction, his arms uncrossing. "But if you insist on this… farce, I’ll consider it… briefly."

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. "Oh, Ratio. If you won’t take this seriously, at least we can find some creative way to profit from it. After all, who wouldn’t want a penguin with the power of the great Dr. Ratio backing it?"

You laughed, watching the two men circle each other like cats in a game of chess. Aventurine’s energy was infectious, and even Ratio seemed to soften a little, though he’d never admit it aloud.

The baby penguin dream was alive and well, even if it had to wade through some very odd politics to get there. You had no idea how you would make it happen, but with both Aventurine’s cunning and Ratio’s intellect (begrudgingly, of course), maybe, just maybe, your adorable penguin companion could become a reality after all.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - F

F is for how Wally shamelessly flirts with you. A fun way to make a boring Friday afternoon more interesting. He has to be here, some Booster Club bullshit to raise money for new cheer uniforms since Janet and her drones strongarmed the principal into bringing the squad into 2024. As the diligent, doting boyfriend, Wally finagled his teammates into helping. A car wash, guys and girls in bathing suits, flexing and feeding into fantasies that shouldn't be given a platform. You know, the kind of shit that shouldn't fly but does because Janet has Claire, and Claire always gets her way if she flashes enough of her family's money around.

And chaste little cherub that you are, you and your friends are there to help, manning the cash box and filling buckets of soapy water when Janet snaps her fingers. Whatever, it gives Wally something to look at between scrubbing down cougars' mom-vans and pretending to give a shit when Janet sprays herself with the hose. A drowned rat with a fake tan, fake teeth, fake tits, bought and paid for by Corporate Mogul Daddy.

God, Wally wants to go back in time and punch himself for agreeing to her dumb social-climb agenda. He was willing at the time. Why not? He has an ego, likes attention, and being king of Split River High comes with fantastic perks.

One, for example, being that he can get some dipshit bench-rider to take over for him for a few minutes while he follows you into the building.

You stand at the vending machine, perusing the options, hands in the back pockets of jean shorts Wally would kill a man to see you bend over in. A Cheshire smile and devious eyes, he stalks up to you and leans against the vending machine, dripping sweat and soapy water from the last car.

"Let me guess," He starts, smooth, grinning at you like you're something he wants to catch with his teeth, "your heart says Doritos, but your brain is telling you to get a granola bar."

You give him a once-over, slow, appraising, from feet to face, "My heart never says Doritos. But nice try." Your smile is easy and innocent, "You wanna try again?"

Wally smirks, leans in real close, fingers brushing your thigh along the hem of your shorts. Heat spears through him when your cheeks pink, perfect lips parting on a shivery gasp. Such a fucking sweet little thing. "What happens if I guess right?" He murmurs, the tip of his nose grazing your temple as he whispers in your ear.

Recovering admirably, you offer, "Maybe I'll be nice enough to share with you."

"And if I don't like your choice?" He smooths his hand around your thigh, settles below the curve of your ass, thumb stroking under the hem of your shorts. "What then, baby?" He feels himself twitch in his swim trunks, God, you smell good. Like coconut-vanilla and that kid shampoo he saw in the bathroom you share with Janet.

You pan your head in tiny fractions, slow-motion sensual, lips so close to his that he's breathing your air. "I guess you'll have to settle for good sportsmanship," a honeyed smirk, twinkling eyes on Wally's lips for a moment before they meet his gaze.

Wally groans, grin widening, grabbing a fistful of your ass and dragging you flush against him to make you feel the effect you have on him. "That's just mean, baby," and he murmurs, dark and heated, grinding his hips forward, "you saying you'd leave me like this?"

Without missing a beat, you rest your hands on his bare chest, rising on your toes to hover your lips over his, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that you're responsible for the messes you make?"

"Nah," Wally's grin sharpens, flicking his tongue against your bottom lip, "My mama taught me to ask for help when I need it." He grabs your ass with both hands, maneuvers to pin you against the side of the vending machine so he can lift you and grind his hard cock between your thighs. "And I really," thrust "really" thrust "need it."

Wally relieves the bench-rider twenty minutes later, a skip in his step and a ring of cherry lip gloss around the base of his cock. It isn't until he winks at you over his sunglasses that you remember why you went to the vending machine in the first place.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

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[777bae]

THE ICE BENEATH OUR FEET WILLIAM EKLUND

Summary :: William finally manages to convince you to let him teach you how to skate

Warnings :: fear?

Word count :: 5.3k

William had a way of making everything seem easy—on and off the ice. Watching him skate during games felt almost hypnotic, like witnessing pure poetry in motion. The way he moved was so fluid and effortless, as if the ice itself bent to his will. Every sharp turn, each seamless pivot, and the explosive speed he brought to every play left you in awe. It wasn’t just his talent that captivated you, though—it was the joy that radiated from him. The gleam in his eyes, the easy smile that tugged at his lips, and the way he’d throw his hands in the air to celebrate, even during practices, showed how much he loved what he did. It wasn’t just a job or a passion—it was a part of him. And every time you watched him, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of longing, wishing you had even a fraction of that confidence or that grace on the ice.

But your relationship with skating was far less romantic. You’d told him countless times how clumsy you felt just thinking about stepping onto the ice. In fact, you still remembered the last time you’d tried, years ago at a childhood birthday party. Back then, the rink had felt more like a slick, unforgiving trap than a playground. You’d spent most of that experience gripping the boards so tightly that your knuckles turned white, silently praying that you wouldn’t fall and humiliate yourself in front of everyone. Even years later, the memory of your awkward, stumbling attempts to stay upright made you cringe.

Every time you brought up that story, William’s reaction was the same. He’d throw his head back with a warm laugh, the kind that made your heart flutter despite yourself, and then he’d reassure you: “One day, älskling (darling), I’ll show you how it’s done. You’ll love it.” There was always such certainty in his voice when he said it, like he truly believed there wasn’t a doubt in the world that you’d be gliding across the ice in no time with him by your side.

You never really thought he’d follow through—he was William Eklund, after all. Between his busy practice schedule, constant games, and travel commitments, there wasn’t much room in his life for teaching someone like you the basics of skating. But you should’ve known better by now.

The night before it happened, your phone buzzed with a text just as you were settling onto the couch. Picking it up, you saw William’s name flash across the screen.

“Be ready at 10 tomorrow. I’m teaching you to skate. No excuses.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, excitement and nerves tangling together in equal measure. You read the message a second time, your heart thumping faster with each word.

Teaching you to skate.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to learn—you trusted William more than anyone. But the thought of stepping onto the ice, of possibly falling flat on your face in front of him, made your chest tighten. You stared at the screen for a few moments, trying to think of a reason to say no. Maybe you could claim you were too busy, or that you weren’t feeling well. But deep down, you knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Another buzz pulled you from your thoughts:

“Don’t overthink it, baby. It’ll be fun. Promise.”

You smiled despite yourself, letting out a breathy laugh. He knew you too well—knew you’d be nervous, knew you’d try to talk yourself out of it. But his confidence was as steady as always, and that reassurance wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“Fine,” you muttered to yourself, typing out a quick reply: “Alright, I’ll see you at 10. But no laughing if I fall!”

The response came almost immediately:

“Never. I’ll catch you before you hit the ice.”

And just like that, your nerves began to settle. If anyone could make you feel safe out on the ice, it was William.

The next morning, you could feel the nervous fluttering in your stomach the moment you stepped out of your car and saw the ice rink looming ahead. The sheer thought of skating—something that had never come naturally to you—made your palms slightly clammy. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust William; you trusted him more than anyone. But there was still that little voice in your head whispering all the ways this could go wrong. What if you fell flat on your face? Or worse, what if you froze up completely and he realized how much of a disaster you were on the ice?

You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself as you walked toward the entrance, your breath coming out in soft white puffs in the chilly air. But then, as you rounded the corner, you spotted him, and suddenly the nervous fluttering shifted to something softer.

William was leaning casually against the side of the building, his hockey bag at his feet and his hands tucked into the pockets of a gray hoodie. He looked effortlessly handsome, as he always did, with a black beanie snug over his messy blond hair, just enough of it sticking out to give him that endearing, slightly unpolished look. His face was rosy from the cold, but when his eyes met yours, a wide smile spread across his face, and the tension you’d been holding in your shoulders seemed to dissolve instantly.

“Hey, älskling,” he called out, his voice carrying that warm, familiar lilt of his Swedish accent. Somehow, it made the words feel softer, more intimate.

You gave him a small wave, trying to smile despite the nerves bubbling in your chest. But as you got closer, your hesitant expression must have given you away, because his grin turned a little more playful.

“Nervous?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied you. His tone was teasing, but there was a kindness in his eyes that told you he already knew the answer.

“More like terrified,” you admitted, laughing nervously as you came to a stop in front of him.

William chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a step closer. “Terrified? Really?” he asked, his voice dropping just a little, as though to reassure you. “Baby, it’s just ice. It’s not going to hurt you.”

You gave him a look, your lips twitching into a half-smile. “It’s not the ice I’m worried about. It’s what happens when I hit it.”

“Hit it?” He laughed again, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re not going to hit anything. Not on my watch.”

Before you could protest, William reached for your hand, his gloved fingers curling gently around yours. His grip was firm but comforting, like he was grounding you in that moment, pulling you out of your own head. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and soothing. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

You glanced down at your intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your heart skip. Somehow, the simple touch calmed the swirling nerves in your chest. When you looked back up at him, his expression had softened, the playful teasing giving way to something more tender.

“I’ve got you,” he added, giving your hand a little squeeze. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“Good,” he said, his smile returning. “Then just focus on me. Forget the ice, forget everything else. Just focus on us.”

The way he said it—so effortlessly confident yet so full of care—made it impossible not to believe him. You nodded, exhaling slowly as the corners of your lips turned up into a more genuine smile.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his grin widening as he reached down to grab his bag with his free hand. “Come on. Let’s get you skating.”

And just like that, the fear that had felt so overwhelming minutes earlier started to fade. With William by your side, it felt like maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so terrifying after all.

Inside the rink, the cool, crisp air greeted you like a gentle shock, prickling your skin and causing you to tuck your coat tighter around yourself. The faint hum of the rink filled your ears—the distant sound of skates gliding over ice, soft echoes of laughter from a few skaters on the far end of the arena, and the occasional hollow clatter of a hockey puck ricocheting off the boards. It was quieter than you’d expected, the stillness making the vast space feel both intimidating and peaceful. The expanse of smooth ice stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to test you.

William walked a step ahead of you, his stride easy and confident. He led you to one of the benches lining the boards, his hockey bag slung casually over his shoulder. He set it down with a heavy thud, the sound cutting through the quiet of the rink. When he turned back to you, his blue eyes gleamed with that unmistakable mix of enthusiasm and warmth he always seemed to carry.

“Alright, sit,” he said, gesturing to the bench with a nod of his head.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the pair of skates sticking out from his bag, but his expression left no room for argument. Reluctantly, you sat down, still feeling the faint tug of nerves in your chest.

As you reached down to pick up the skates yourself, William moved faster, kneeling in front of you with a playful shake of his head. “No, let me,” he said, his voice firm but teasing, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You don’t have to do that,” you protested, though your heart skipped a little at the sight of him kneeling so casually in front of you.

“Yes, I do,” he said, glancing up briefly to meet your eyes. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t? Plus…” He grinned, his tone dropping into a playful murmur. “I don’t trust you to lace them properly.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound easing some of the tension you’d been holding. “Okay, fine,” you said, leaning back on the bench. “I’ll let you do it. But I’m expecting professional-level results.”

“Oh, you’ll get the best, älskling,” he replied confidently, already pulling the skates from his bag.

He gently lifted your foot, guiding it into the first skate with practiced ease. His touch was careful yet firm, and his fingers moved deftly as he began tightening the laces. He worked methodically, checking the fit every few moments to ensure it wasn’t too tight.

“Not too tight,” he murmured, glancing up at you briefly, his voice calm and focused. “But snug enough to keep you steady. We don’t want your foot slipping around in there.”

You nodded, watching him intently as he continued. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration, a look you’d seen countless times during his games when he was completely in the zone. But there was something different about it now—softer, more intimate. He wasn’t just lacing up skates; he was taking care of you, making sure you felt supported and secure before you even stepped onto the ice.

As he finished with the first skate, he glanced up again, his blue eyes sparkling. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” you said softly, testing the fit by wiggling your toes. “Perfect, actually.”

He smiled, satisfied, and moved on to the second skate, repeating the process with the same gentle precision. You couldn’t help but watch him closely, your heart swelling with a warmth you couldn’t quite describe. It wasn’t just the care he was putting into something as simple as lacing your skates—it was the quiet affection in the way he touched your foot so carefully, the way he glanced up at you every few moments to make sure you were okay, the way he smiled so softly when he thought you weren’t looking.

When he finally finished, he sat back on his heels, studying his work like an artist admiring their latest creation. “Perfect,” he declared, his grin widening as he looked up at you.

“Think I’m ready to conquer the ice?” you asked, your voice teasing but still tinged with nerves.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on your knees. “You don’t just look ready,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer, more reassuring. “You are ready. I promise, you’re going to be amazing out there.”

Something about the way he said it, so sure and steady, made you believe him—even if you didn’t quite believe in yourself just yet. You smiled at him, your heart feeling lighter than it had since you’d stepped into the rink.

“Let’s do this,” you said, your voice quiet but resolute.

“There we go,” he murmured with a soft grin, standing and offering his hand to help you up. “Come on. Let’s take it one step at a time.”

As you took his hand and let him guide you toward the ice, you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment skating wouldn’t feel so terrifying. Not with him by your side.

As soon as your skates touched the ice, though, a jolt of panic shot through you. The surface was so much slicker than you’d expected, your feet sliding unsteadily beneath you despite your best efforts to stay balanced. Instinctively, you grabbed onto the rink’s boards, gripping the cold, rough edge with both hands as if your life depended on it. Your legs wobbled uncontrollably, and you felt a surge of self-doubt bubbling in your chest.

William, who had been gliding a few feet ahead of you with the kind of effortless grace you’d only ever seen in professionals, immediately noticed. With a laugh that was warm and reassuring rather than mocking, he skated back over to you in a few swift strides.

“Whoa, slow down,” he teased lightly, stopping just in front of you. His voice carried a playful lilt, but when he saw the apprehension on your face, his expression softened. He closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to rest gently on your waist. His touch was firm but careful, steadying you as you clung to the boards.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said softly, leaning in just enough that his voice cut through the noise of your anxious thoughts. His blue eyes held yours, calm and full of reassurance. “You’ve got this.”

You shook your head slightly, your voice trembling as you muttered, “I really don’t.”

William chuckled again, though his tone remained gentle, understanding. “Yes, you do,” he insisted. His voice dropped, soothing and steady, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment. “Just take a deep breath for me. Look at me—not the ice. I’m right here.”

You hesitated for a moment, still gripping the boards like they were the only thing keeping you upright. But there was something about the way he spoke, his quiet confidence and the way his hands stayed firmly on your waist, that made it hard not to believe him. Slowly, you dragged your gaze away from the intimidating expanse of ice beneath your feet and looked at him instead.

His face was lit with that easy, lopsided smile you loved so much, his blond hair peeking out from under his beanie and his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. There was no judgment in his expression—just patience and encouragement. Somehow, just focusing on him made it easier to breathe, the tightness in your chest loosening slightly.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his voice soft but encouraging. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to move in front of you, and you’re going to take my hands. Don’t worry about anything else—I’ll do the rest. I won’t let you fall.”

He took a small step back, his hands sliding down from your waist to rest briefly on your arms before holding them out in front of you. His stance was relaxed, the movement so natural to him that it almost made you forget how unsteady you felt.

You hesitated, your fingers still clutching the boards like they were a lifeline. But the way he looked at you—calm, steady, and full of quiet confidence—made it hard to refuse. Slowly, you loosened your grip on the boards and reached out, your fingers curling hesitantly around his gloved hands.

The moment his hands closed around yours, a wave of relief washed over you. His grip was firm, warm despite the chill of the rink, and so reassuring that some of the fear in your chest began to dissipate.

“There you go,” he said softly, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Good. You’re already doing better than you think, älskling.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh, the tension easing just slightly. “I’m still standing, so I guess that’s a win.”

“It’s more than a win,” he replied, his grin widening. “Now, let’s take it slow. Push with one foot and glide with the other, like this.”

He skated backward a few feet, his movements fluid and effortless as he guided you forward. The grip of his hands never wavered, steadying you as you took your first hesitant step.

“See?” he said encouragingly, his voice soft but full of pride. “It’s all about balance. Don’t overthink it—just trust yourself. And if you don’t trust yourself, trust me.”

You nodded, focusing on his words and the way his hands grounded you. Step by step, you let him guide you forward, your legs still wobbly but steadier than before. The sound of your skates scratching against the ice was unfamiliar, but the warmth of William’s smile made it a little less intimidating.

“You’re doing great,” he said after a few moments, his tone gentle and sincere. “I knew you could do this.”

Hearing the pride in his voice made your chest swell, and for the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of confidence. Maybe—just maybe—you could do this after all.

Slowly but surely, the fear that had gripped you when you first stepped onto the ice began to fade. It wasn’t instant—your movements were still hesitant, and your legs wobbled with nearly every push—but you started to find a rhythm. William stayed close, never more than a breath away, his hands steady and reassuring whenever you faltered. He didn’t rush you, didn’t push you to go faster or further than you were ready for. Instead, he let you take things one small step at a time, his calm encouragement making it feel less overwhelming.

“Good, älskling!” William exclaimed after you managed to glide a few feet on your own without reaching for him. His voice rang out across the rink, full of pride and excitement. He clapped his hands together, his face lighting up with a smile so wide it made you laugh despite yourself. “See? You’re doing it!”

Your skates scratched to a stop as you turned back to face him, your chest heaving slightly from the effort. You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm—it was contagious, and the way he looked at you, like you’d just scored the game-winning goal, made the small victory feel monumental.

“I wouldn’t call it skating just yet,” you said with a breathless laugh, though there was a flicker of pride in your voice now. Your confidence was still fragile, but it was growing with each step.

“To me, it’s perfect,” William replied softly, his teasing grin softening into something more tender. His gaze was warm and steady, his blue eyes glinting with affection as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you quickly looked away, trying to focus on staying upright rather than the way he was making your heart race.

As you continued practicing, William began to skate backward in front of you, holding your hands to guide you further out onto the ice. His movements were fluid and graceful, as if skating backward was as natural to him as walking. His strong, confident grip kept you steady as you followed his lead, step by step.

“Don’t look at the ice,” he reminded you gently, his voice low and soothing. “Look at me. Just focus on me, älskling.”

It was easier said than done, but you trusted him. You forced yourself to lift your eyes, meeting his gaze. The warmth in his expression melted away the lingering nerves, making it easier to keep going. With every small glide, your trust in him—and in yourself—deepened.

“You’re doing so well,” he said after a few more steps, his smile never faltering. “You’re starting to look like a pro.”

You let out a laugh at that. “A very wobbly pro,” you joked, though you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride at his words.

“Wobbly or not, you’re still incredible,” he said earnestly, his voice softening as he gave your hands a reassuring squeeze. “I knew you could do this.”

The way he said it—with so much belief and affection—made your chest swell. For the first time, you began to feel like you really could do this. With William holding your hands and encouraging you every step of the way, it was as though the fear that had held you back for so long didn’t stand a chance.

As you began to feel more comfortable on the ice, something shifted in the atmosphere around you. The tension that had gripped you earlier started to melt away, and with it, a playful spark seemed to ignite in William. His eyes glinted with mischief as he skated effortlessly around you, his movements graceful and smooth, like he was showing off just a little. The way he spun with ease, taking tight turns and then gliding away, was almost mesmerizing.

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “Show-off,” you teased, shaking your head as you watched him glide effortlessly, his figure a blur as he made another tight circle around you.

William let out a hearty laugh, not slowing down for a second. “Hey, I’m just trying to inspire you,” he said, his voice light and full of warmth. He shot you a playful glance as he circled back toward you, his grin widening. “Besides, I think you’re ready for your first race.”

“A race?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his confidence as contagious as ever. “Of course,” he said with a smirk, skating back a little to give you space. “But don’t worry—I’ll go easy on you, baby.”

You laughed, incredulous, but at the same time, a spark of excitement flickered inside you. “You’re on,” you said, shaking your head but feeling your own competitive spirit rising. Despite your nerves, you couldn’t resist the challenge.

William dropped into a relaxed stance at one end of the rink, the playful gleam in his eyes still there, as if he were ready to spring into action at any second. “Alright,” he called, his voice carrying across the rink. “We line up here, and when I say go, we’re off. Ready?”

You nodded, your heart already beating faster, a mix of excitement and nerves flooding your chest. You knew you wouldn’t win—not by a long shot—but there was something about being with him, his presence so confident and reassuring, that made you feel like maybe you could surprise yourself.

William gave you a grin, his body coiled like a spring, ready to go. “On your mark…”

You crouched down, balancing yourself as best as you could, already anticipating the race.

“Get set…”

Your pulse quickened, your legs still a bit shaky but steadier than they had been when you started. You took a deep breath, focusing on the sound of his voice, letting the world around you blur out of focus for just a moment.

“Go!” William shouted, and without thinking, you pushed off with all the determination you could muster, your skates biting into the ice.

You moved quickly, your legs burning as you tried to keep your momentum, but no matter how hard you pushed, you could feel him skating beside you, just a little faster, effortlessly gliding in a way that only came from years of practice. William wasn’t trying to pass you—he was just skating leisurely beside you, laughing at how hard you were trying to keep up.

“You’re not even trying!” you gasped, trying to catch your breath, the cold air stinging your face as you leaned into each stride.

He chuckled, not even out of breath, still skating slowly with ease. “I don’t need to,” he teased, his grin never leaving his face. “You’re already winning, älskling.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, breathless and grinning despite the fact that you were definitely losing. “Winning? I’m pretty sure I’m about to be lapped,” you said, shaking your head in amusement.

William, still gliding effortlessly beside you, let out a mock gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said dramatically, raising one hand to his chest in mock shock. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to race you. I thought we were just having fun.”

“Well, I’m having fun,” you said between breaths, determined to keep going, even if you couldn’t keep up with his speed. You pushed yourself harder, trying to show that, even if you weren’t winning, you were in this for the long haul.

“You’re doing great, älskling,” he called out, his voice full of encouragement. “Just keep going. Don’t think about anything else—just enjoy it.”

By the time you reached the end of the rink, you were laughing, a little winded, but proud of yourself. William came to a graceful stop beside you, his eyes sparkling with affection and amusement as he caught his breath.

“Well,” you said, trying to steady your breathing. “I may not have won, but I definitely feel like I’ve just run a marathon.”

“You did amazing,” William said, his voice filled with warmth as his grin stretched wider, his eyes shining with pride. His gaze never wavered, holding you in that moment as if you’d just accomplished something monumental. There was something in the way he looked at you—something so genuine, so unwavering—that made your heart race. Every little victory felt huge in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but bask in the sincerity of his praise. “You’re a natural at this.”

You smiled back, still catching your breath from the race and feeling a rush of gratitude and happiness, mixed with disbelief. “Only because you didn’t let me fall,” you teased, your voice slightly breathless but full of affection.

William chuckled, the sound rich and full of warmth, as he skated a little closer, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Of course not,” he said, his voice dropping into something more tender. “I’d never let you fall.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, and your chest swelled with an emotion you weren’t sure how to name. There was something about the way he spoke, so calm and certain, that made it clear he wasn’t just talking about skating. He was talking about something deeper—about always being there for you, no matter what.

You found yourself looking up at him, your heart thumping as you asked, quietly, “You really mean that, don’t you?”

William’s gaze softened even more, and for a split second, everything around you seemed to fade. The cold air, the rink, the sound of skates scraping against ice—everything was gone, leaving only the warmth of his gaze and the connection that sparked between you. “Of course I do,” he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity. He reached for your hand, his fingers slipping smoothly around yours, his grip solid and sure.

There was something about the way he held your hand—no rush, no uncertainty. His touch was a quiet promise, a feeling of safety and trust that wrapped around you like a cocoon. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so grounded, so secure in someone else’s presence.

And then, as if sensing that moment, sensing the unspoken words between you, William moved a little closer. You felt the space between you narrow, the warmth of his body radiating toward you. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning into him, drawn by something deeper than the physical closeness.

His hand lifted to your face, fingers brushing softly against your cheek. The touch was tender, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the curve of your skin. Your breath caught in your throat as his thumb traced the edge of your jaw, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine.

“William,” you breathed, his name soft on your lips, a question in your voice, though you weren’t sure what you were asking for.

But he didn’t need words. He leaned in slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, the intensity in his eyes sending a wave of warmth through you. His lips brushed gently against yours, tentative at first. You met him halfway, your heart racing, and then his kiss deepened, the world around you melting away entirely.

The kiss was soft and slow, as if time had momentarily stopped. His lips were warm, firm but gentle, a quiet promise wrapped in the simplest of gestures. His hand stayed cradling your cheek, his thumb moving over your skin in a tender rhythm, as if savoring the feeling of you, close and real in this moment.

Everything—the ice, the cold, the noise—was gone. There was only the softness of his lips on yours, the warmth that spread from where you touched, and the way his touch felt like home. Every little moment that led to this felt like it had been building up to this point, a quiet certainty that this was where you were supposed to be.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead gently against yours, the air between you seemed charged with something deeper. His breath mingled with yours, slow and steady, as if neither of you wanted to break the connection. His eyes were closed for a moment, as though he needed to be grounded, to make sure this moment was real.

Your hand instinctively reached for his arm, and you felt the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his jacket. You held on like he was the only thing keeping you anchored, and in some way, he was.

“You’re everything to me,” William whispered, his voice thick with emotion, the words almost too raw, too real, but still slipping past his lips with a tenderness that made your heart clench. “Always, älskling. Always.”

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze waiting for you, steady and filled with an affection that made everything feel right. There were no pretenses between you, no walls, just the two of you in this quiet space, connected by the kiss, by the moment, by the trust you had in one another.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the emotion of the moment still swirling around you. “For everything.”

William’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek once more, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he moved his hand. “Always,” he said again, his voice steady but full of promise. “I’m always here.”

And in that moment, with his arms around you, his lips still lingering on yours, you knew that no matter what came next, you would always have this. You would always have him—by your side, supporting you, loving you—and that made everything else feel like it would be just fine.

[dailyadventureprompts]

I once watched a scifi show involving the development of artificial intelligence (as in, machines that could actually think), and the creator of the AI talked about how as much as he tried to create a perfect system it was only after removing things from the program and forcing it to adapt and improvise that it ended up learning to actually THINK.

Recently I was thinking about my own experience as a dungeon master, especially in the context of teaching other people to DM at the level I do... and it occurred to me how much of my skill emerged as a way for compensating when the game would somehow break down: when a player is missing, when a storybeat doesn't land right, when the dice are especially cruel. I'd tweak or patch and more often then not my adjustments would only cause the game to break even further, sometimes to the point of turning a session into a miserable slog, sometimes to the point of ending a campaign, or even a friendship or two.

Now I have skills I can transfer beyond the game systems I started with, not only into other ttrpgs (I've been splashing around in BITD, it's fun) but into other aspects of my life: My storytelling has improved dramatically, I'm better at making jokes. I'd argue that I've become a better person (or perhaps just unlocked a greater fraction of my potential) because of the time I spent breaking my d&d games.

I wish this process of learning to be a good DM (or gamemaster in general) was talked about more, as far too often I see it presented as a matter of "someday you'll learn all the rules" when really you only need a general understanding of the rules before you start messing with things and breaking the game in so it becomes what you/your group need it to be.

[11queensupreme11]

I know you just said you haven't written about the human fighters yet, but can you guess how they would react to Perthonius? 🥺

i hope you weren't hoping for a serious answer cuz i had too much fun with this 😭

here's what i think they'd say if they knew about perthonius

(also, i only did the humans who have shown up in the manga, so i didn't do simo and rasputin unfortunately 😞 no kintoki either cuz i find it hard to care about him IM SORRYYYYY)

adam: "you're too young for a boyfriend, sweetie 🙂"

nikola: "if he's so smart, why couldn't he teach you fractions? 🤨"

lu bu: "do better 😐"

nostradamus: "were you just desperate? it's okay, you can be honest with me 🥺"

qin shi huang: "see, i would NEVER raise my child to settle for less which is why you should sign these adoption papers! 😃📝"

raiden: "but he's white???"

sasaki: "awww, young love! you guys are cute together 🥰"

okita: "so there was really no one else? 😃"

jack: "oh what a charming young man 😊"

leonidas: "oh hell no not this fucking ***** *** ***** ** ***** * ******* WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING PERCY, AN ATHENIAN SCUM????? REALLY????? NO FUCKING WAY YOU CAN DATE THAT PIECE OF SHIT I SWEAR TO GODS YOU'RE GROUNDED IDC IF YOU'RE NOT MY KID, YOU'RE GROUNDED OHMY FUCKING GODS THIS IS THE WORST PERSON YOU CAN DATE. ATHENA'S SON???? YOU COULD HAVE ANYONE YOU WANT AND YOU CHOSE THAT THING?!?!??!! I WILL LITERALLY OFFER YOU MY ENTIRE ARMY AS YOUR HAREM OF BOYFRIENDS IF YOU BREAK UP WITH THAT LOSER RIGHT NOW. RIGHT FUCKING NOW, OR I'LL—"

[leeknot]

Ꭺ Ꮒꫀᥲɾt Ꮒꫀᥣd Ꮯᥲρtเ᥎ꫀ

A/N: Yay, I finally finished this oneshot, and I'm so happy to share it with you all! I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s always such a fun journey to bring these stories to life, and I’m grateful for your support! Thank you for taking the time to read, and I can’t wait to hear what you think! Don’t forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed it – it means so much to me! ���

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Pairing : psychology professor Jay × student reader

Warnings : makeout sesh , jay is obsessed(like he literally kidnaps her and all that) , reader tries to kill herself

Summary : In this dark and intense psychology-themed story, you, the reader, are a student who becomes entangled with Professor Jay. After a passionate makeout session, you hesitate to take things further, causing Jay to spiral into an obsessive obsession with you. His fixation grows unhealthy, leading him to kidnap you, unable to accept your boundaries. Trapped and desperate, you eventually reach a breaking point and attempt to end your life as a way to escape his suffocating control.

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Professor Jay stood at the front of the classroom, his back to the students as he wrote on the whiteboard. He was a renowned psychology professor, known for his strict but fair teaching methods. The students respected him, and he had a way of making even the most difficult subjects seem interesting.

"I expect your papers on Freud's theories by next week," he announced, turning to face the class. His eyes scanned the room, landing briefly on each student. Suddenly, his gaze paused on you, sitting there in the fifth row, nervously chewing on your pencil.

Jay's gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he continued. "Office hours are Tuesday and Thursday, for those who need extra guidance."

As the class dispersed, you found yourself lingering by your desk, fiddling with your textbook. You couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Jay had been looking at you strangely. Just as you were about to leave, you heard his voice behind you.

"Stay," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, his suit jacket hanging open. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a loud click. He approached you, his steps measured and deliberate.

"I've noticed your work in class," he said, stopping just inches away. His cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something deeper, surrounded you. "You have a unique perspective. I think you could benefit from some... personal tutoring."

Your heart raced as you found yourself trapped between Professor Jay's imposing figure and the desk, his proximity making it difficult to breathe normally. "Personal tutoring?" you managed to squeak out, glancing between his intense eyes and the locked door.

Jay chuckled lowly, amusement glinting in his eyes as he observed your nervousness. "Don't worry, I'm not suggesting anything inappropriate," he lied smoothly, leaning in just a fraction closer. The tip of his nose nearly brushed your temple as he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

Unable to help yourself, you shivered slightly at Jay's closeness, the heat radiating off his body palpable in the intimate space between you. Your eyes flitted to his lips as he spoke, hanging onto his every word even as your mind raced with unbidden thoughts of exactly what kind of "personal tutoring".

He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Though, if you're up for a little... extra credit," he murmured, his voice velvet and dark promise,

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "Extra credit?" you echoed, trying to sound nonchalant despite the pounding of your heart. Jay's gaze held yours, his eyes gleaming with a secret understanding.

"Mmm, yes. Like... helping me with some... late-night research." One hand brushed against your lower back, barely a touch, but enough to send a jolt through your entire body. "The university library gets quite... lonely after hours. Wouldn't you agree?"

Your breath caught as Jay's fingertips lingered on your back, his touch electric even through your clothing. The suggestive undertones of his words hung heavy in the air between you, dripping with unspoken possibilities. You licked your dry lips nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from his hypnotic eyes.

"You're right, we probably shouldn't," Jay whispered, his face inching closer to yours, his breath mingling with yours. "It would be crossing a line... As professor and student..." His hand slid lower, resting on your waist possessively.

Despite your better judgment screaming warnings, you found yourself leaning into Jay's touch, your resolve weakening with each passing second. "We really shouldn't, but..." you breathed, your voice trembling slightly as you gazed into his penetrating eyes, "maybe'shouldn't' is exactly what makes it so tempting."

Jay's smile grew, his lips curling up in a sinful grin as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Damn right it is," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

Your heart raced wildly as Jay's lips feathered against yours, the tantalizing promise of forbidden fruit. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to temptation, your own lips parting to deepen the kiss.

His hand slid up to tangle in your hair while the other pulled you closer, pressing your bodies together. The kiss grew more passionate, more demanding, as if he'd been waiting all semester to taste you like this. You could feel his desire pressing against you, making your head spin and your knees weak.

Pulling back slightly, Jay gazed at you with smoldering eyes, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more... private," he suggested, his voice low and gravelly with barely restrained lust.

"Your place or mine?" he whispered, trailing kisses down your neck, "I have a bottle of wine chilling..." His hand traced the curve of your breast through your blouse, making you gasp softly. "Or we could skip the wine and move straight to dessert..."

"Jay," you panted, placing a hand on his chest to create some distance between you two. "As much as I want to, we can't. It's not just a line we're crossing, it's a mile of them. I'm your student, and you're my professor."

Jay's grin faltered slightly, but he didn't let go of you. "I know, I know," he sighed, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. "But damn, you're so tempting. I swear, every time you open that mouth of yours, I want to kiss you silly."

"We can't," you repeated firmly, stepping back out of his grasp. "It's unethical and I could get in serious trouble. You could lose your job, Jay. We can't risk it." Your expression turned pained.

Jay's eyes darkened with frustration and desire as he watched you step back, his hands falling limp to his sides. He nodded slowly, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "You're right, of course," he conceded, though his gaze still raked over your body hungrily.

Jay unlocked the door with a heavy sigh, the click echoing through the room. He watched as you turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind you. He leaned his forehead against the door, cursing under his breath. "Damn it."

The days after you left Jay’s office were suffocating. He tried to go about his lectures as usual, but his thoughts were consumed by your tear-streaked face as you stormed out. The chair you used to sit in during his lectures now felt glaringly empty, a black hole that sucked all his focus away. It wasn’t just guilt gnawing at him—it was something darker, more possessive.

He should have let you go. You made it clear you wanted space, but the way you avoided him in class, the cold silence you maintained, made his chest ache. He told himself it wasn’t fair; you didn’t get to walk into his life, ignite something within him, and then leave like he was disposable.

Jay started keeping tabs on you. He justified it as concern, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He began small. Scanning your social media profiles for hints of what you were doing, where you were going, and who you were spending time with. Every photo you posted, every comment you left—it all became clues in the puzzle of you. He memorized your schedule, ensuring he’d be "coincidentally" walking past your usual spots on campus.

One evening, as he sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, Jay found himself staring at a notebook. It wasn’t his. It was yours. You’d left it behind during one of your study sessions, and he’d kept it. At first, he reasoned it was accidental, but now it felt like a lifeline. He flipped through the pages, running his fingers over your handwriting.

Your words felt intimate, like they were written just for him.

"I don’t know what I feel for him... but it’s overwhelming," you’d scribbled in the margins of one of your psychology notes. Jay’s breath hitched. Did you mean him? His mind raced, trying to connect the dots. He wanted to believe you did.

His obsession grew insidious. He started tailoring his lectures to you, throwing in subtle references to things he knew would catch your attention. He wanted you to notice him again. But when that wasn’t enough, Jay began orchestrating ways to corner you.

One particular afternoon, as you left the library, you felt a shadow following you. Turning around, you saw Jay standing there, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, looking almost vulnerable.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of desperation.

“I told you we needed distance,” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “You think I can just forget what happened between us? You think I can erase you from my mind that easily?”

His words made your heart race, but not in the way they used to. “Professor, this isn’t healthy. You’re crossing boundaries—”

Jay cut you off, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Boundaries? You broke those the moment you walked into my life. You don’t get to leave me like this.”

The look in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. It wasn’t love—it was obsession.

You took a cautious step back, but Jay matched it with a step forward. His presence felt suffocating, and the usual calm demeanor he wore was cracking at the edges.

“Professor Park,” you began, voice shaking, “I don’t want to escalate this. Please, let me go.”

His lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “Let you go?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You don’t understand, do you? I can’t let you go.”

Jay’s fingers twitched at his sides as if restraining himself from reaching out to you. “You think I don’t notice the way you avoid me? The way you flinch when you see me in the hallway? But it’s fine,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s all temporary. You’ll come back to me.”

Your blood ran cold at the conviction in his voice. “No, I won’t,” you said firmly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Whatever this is—it’s not right. I won’t be part of it anymore.”

The resolve in your tone seemed to snap something in him. His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists. “Not right?” he repeated, almost bitterly. “You’re the one who came to me, who looked at me like I was the only one who understood you. You don’t get to rewrite the story now just because you’re scared of what we have.”

“This isn’t a story, Jay. It’s a mistake.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit him like a slap. For a moment, he froze, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “A mistake,” he repeated softly, like he was testing the word on his tongue.

You took that moment to turn and walk away, your heart pounding in your chest. But his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“You can try to run,” he called out, his tone eerily calm, “but I’ll always find you. You’re mine, and you’ll realize it sooner or later.”

The days that followed were nerve-wracking. Everywhere you went, it felt like Jay was there, watching you. At first, you thought it was paranoia, but the evidence was undeniable. A glance across the cafeteria revealed him sitting at a table, his eyes boring into yours. A walk to the library ended with him standing outside, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

Then came the messages.

At first, they were innocuous:

"I hope you’re doing well."

"I miss our conversations."

But they quickly turned more unsettling:

"Do you ever think about me the way I think about you?"

"You can’t hide from me forever."

You blocked his number, but the emails started next. Every time you opened your inbox, there was a new message waiting, each one more desperate than the last.

One evening, as you sat in your room, your phone buzzed with an unknown number. Against your better judgment, you picked up, your voice trembling as you said, “Hello?”

Silence.

Then, his voice, low and filled with something unnameable: “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“Jay, leave me alone!” you snapped, your voice breaking.

But he didn’t. “I can’t,” he whispered, and you could hear the faint tremor in his voice. “Don’t you see, I’m doing this for us? For you? No one will ever care about you the way I do.”

Your hands shook as you ended the call, your breaths coming in sharp gasps. You knew you couldn’t handle this alone anymore. It was time to take action before his obsession spiraled even further out of control.

Jay’s obsession grew like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought and leaving only his unrelenting fixation on you.

He started following you—not blatantly, but enough to know your routines. When you went to the library, he’d sit a few tables away, pretending to read. When you walked across campus, he stayed just far enough behind to avoid suspicion. He memorized your habits: the café you frequented, the times you went to class, even the route you took home.

It wasn’t enough. Watching wasn’t enough.

Jay’s apartment became a shrine.

Every little piece of you that he could collect found its place. The notebook you’d left behind sat on his desk, surrounded by printed screenshots of your social media posts. He had photos of you—some from your profile, others he’d secretly taken during lectures or when you weren’t looking.

He’d pinned your class notes to his wall, scribbling his own thoughts in the margins:

"She’s brilliant."

"She needs me."

"No one will ever love her the way I do."

Every night, he sat at his desk, poring over these relics of you. Sometimes, he’d whisper your name, imagining how you’d respond if you were there with him. Other times, he’d write long letters he never sent, pouring out his feelings in a chaotic jumble of devotion and desperation.

His lectures suffered.

Students began noticing his erratic behavior. He’d lose his train of thought mid-sentence, staring blankly at the room before mumbling something incoherent. Sometimes, he’d bring up topics that seemed strangely personal, talking about love, betrayal, and the pain of longing.

It was obvious his mind was elsewhere—on you.

Then he started pushing boundaries.

He found your dorm room number and left a small, carefully wrapped gift outside your door: a book on psychology, one he knew you’d once mentioned wanting to read. Inside was a handwritten note:

"For you. Always thinking of you."

The next day, when you didn’t acknowledge it, he sent an email.

"Did you like the book? I thought of you the moment I saw it."

When you didn’t respond, he grew more restless. He needed to see you, to talk to you, to make you understand how much he cared.

Late one night, Jay sat in his dark apartment, staring at your social media profile.

You’d posted a photo—just a simple picture of your coffee cup and an open book. But to Jay, it was a message. She’s thinking about me, he convinced himself. This is her way of reaching out.

He couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his phone and called you.

The sound of your voice, even just saying “Hello?” in confusion, sent a shiver down his spine.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

You hesitated. “Professor Park? Why are you calling me?”

“I just… I needed to hear your voice,” he admitted, his words spilling out like a confession. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You’re everywhere, in everything I do.”

“Jay, this is inappropriate—”

“No!” he interrupted, his tone turning frantic. “This isn’t just about the classroom, or some silly rules. This is real. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You… you’re my everything.”

His words made your skin crawl. “This needs to stop,” you said firmly, your voice shaking. “Don’t contact me again.”

You hung up before he could reply, leaving him in stunned silence.

But Jay didn’t stop.

He convinced himself you were scared, unsure of your feelings. He had to prove to you that you were meant to be together. The line between love and obsession blurred completely, and all he could think about was finding a way to keep you close—forever.

Jay’s obsession spiraled further, consuming every waking moment and seeping into his dreams. Every thought, every action, every breath revolved around you.

It started with more invasive actions.

He began lingering near your dorm, finding excuses to be close. He’d sit on a bench nearby, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes never left your window. He started timing his arrival so he could see the faint glow of your lamp flickering on at night, convincing himself that it was a sign you were thinking of him.

When he noticed you’d started locking your social media profiles, he grew frustrated. It was a barrier, a wall between you two that he couldn’t stand. He created a new account, posing as a fellow student, and sent you a request. When you accepted, oblivious to who it really was, Jay felt triumphant.

Now, he could monitor your posts again. Every status update, every photo, every interaction with friends became something for him to analyze. If a male friend commented, Jay’s mind raced with jealousy. He imagined scenarios of them taking you away from him, and it made his blood boil.

His apartment transformed further into a delusional haven.

Jay started recreating your life in his space. He bought candles that smelled like the ones you’d mentioned liking. He found a secondhand copy of a book you were reading and left sticky notes in the margins, writing messages as though he was speaking directly to you. “This part reminds me of us,” he’d write, smiling to himself.

He even stole a scarf you’d left in class once and kept it on his pillow, breathing in its faint scent every night before he fell asleep.

But even these tokens weren’t enough. He needed something more tangible, something to make him feel closer to you.

One night, Jay followed you home.

He stayed far enough back that you didn’t notice, his hood pulled low over his face. When you entered your building, he waited outside, staring up at the windows until he saw your shadow move behind the curtains.

The next day, he returned to your building, slipping past the front door as another resident exited. He found your mailbox and slipped a handwritten note inside.

"Y/N,

You’re so beautiful, even when you don’t see me watching. I know you’re scared, but we’re meant to be together. Please, let me show you how much I care."

When you found it, your heart sank. You didn’t know how he’d managed to find your address, but the realization that he was watching you this closely sent shivers down your spine.

Jay’s paranoia grew alongside his obsession.

He became convinced that someone was standing in the way of your connection. A friend? A family member? He started researching everyone you interacted with, keeping notes on them like he was building a case. If they were too close to you, he considered them a threat.

One afternoon, he saw you laughing with a male classmate outside the library. His chest tightened painfully as jealousy and rage twisted in his gut. That night, he couldn’t sleep, replaying the moment over and over in his head.

“Doesn’t she see? I’m the only one who truly understands her.” he muttered to himself, pacing his apartment.

Then came the breaking point.

Jay began leaving more gifts outside your door—flowers, notes, small trinkets he thought you’d love. When you started throwing them away without acknowledging him, he grew desperate.

Late one night, he returned to your dorm building. This time, he wasn’t content to leave something outside. His hand shook as he pressed the buzzer for your apartment.

When your tired voice answered through the intercom, he felt a sick thrill run through him.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Please, I just want to talk.”

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, panic rising in your chest.

“I had to see you,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’ve been ignoring me, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to explain, to make you understand how much I love you.”

“You need to leave, Jay,” you said firmly, but he heard the fear in your voice. It only fueled his delusion.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered. “You’re just scared. I’ll wait for you to calm down.”

He didn’t leave. Hours passed as he sat outside, waiting, his mind spiraling further into darkness.

Jay’s obsession reached its breaking point, leaving him unable to distinguish between right and wrong. In his mind, the only way to truly protect you, to make you see how much he loved you, was to take you away from everything he believed was corrupting you.

The night of the kidnapping was carefully planned.

Jay had spent days watching you, learning your routines. He knew exactly when you’d be alone, when the streets around your dorm were quiet. That night, he waited in the shadows near the library, his heart pounding as he clutched a bag containing duct tape, a scarf, and a small bottle of chloroform.

When you finally appeared, headphones on and a book tucked under your arm, you didn’t notice him until it was too late.

“Y/N,” he said softly, stepping out of the shadows.

Startled, you turned to see him standing there, his eyes wild and glinting in the dim light. “Jay? What are you—”

Before you could finish, he lunged, one hand pressing a cloth soaked in chloroform against your mouth. Your struggles were frantic but brief as the world blurred and faded into darkness.

When you woke, everything was different.

Your head throbbed as you blinked against the harsh light of a single lamp. The room was unfamiliar, small, and sterile, with bare walls and a faint scent of candles. You were tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly behind your back. Panic surged through you as you struggled against the restraints.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Jay’s voice came from behind you, soft yet unnervingly calm. He stepped into view, crouching in front of you with a look of tender concern.

“Jay, let me go.” you demanded, your voice trembling.

He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I can’t do that, Y/N. Don’t you see? This is the only way. I had to get you away from all the people poisoning your mind, keeping us apart.”

“Keeping us apart?” you repeated, your voice rising. “This is insane! You’ve kidnapped me!”

Jay flinched but quickly composed himself, his expression softening as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You turned away, disgusted.

“You’ll understand in time,” he said gently. “I’ve created a space just for us. No distractions, no outside influences. Here, we can finally be together, just as we’re meant to be.”

The room was a horrifying reflection of his obsession.

The walls were covered with pictures of you—some from your social media, others clearly taken without your knowledge. Your favorite books and trinkets were arranged on shelves, and there was even a playlist of your favorite songs playing softly in the background.

Tears filled your eyes as the weight of the situation sank in. “This isn’t love, Jay. This is sick. You need help.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together in frustration. “I don’t need help. I need you. You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life, Y/N. Why can’t you see that?”

“I’ll never love you.” you said, your voice firm despite the fear in your chest.

His face twisted in pain, but the determination in his eyes only grew stronger. “You say that now, but I’ll show you. I’ll prove that no one will ever love you the way I do.”

Jay’s obsession escalated in captivity.

Days passed, and Jay became more unhinged. He brought you food, books, and clothes, acting as though you were a guest rather than a prisoner. He spoke to you constantly, weaving a delusional narrative of how you’d grow to love him.

When you refused to eat or speak, he became desperate, pacing the room and muttering to himself. “Why won’t she understand? Why is she still fighting this?”

But his moods were unpredictable. Sometimes, he’d snap, his voice rising as he accused you of trying to leave him. Other times, he’d collapse into tears, begging you to forgive him, promising he’d never hurt you.

Days turned into a nightmare as Jay’s grip on reality deteriorated further.

Jay’s attempts to normalize the situation only deepened the horror.

He would sit across from you during meals, talking as if you were a willing participant. “I know it’s not perfect yet,” he’d say, his voice soft, “but I’m working on it. Soon, you’ll see how much better life can be without all those distractions.”

You refused to eat, glaring at him in silence. It didn’t deter him; he only grew more determined. “I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said one evening, his eyes dark with resolve. “I know you’re scared, but that’s okay. I’ll help you see the truth.”

One night, you tried to escape.

While Jay slept on the couch in the next room, you quietly worked at the ropes binding your wrists, using the sharp edge of a hidden nail on the chair. Your heart raced as the fibers began to fray. After what felt like hours, you finally freed one hand and untied the rest of your restraints.

You crept toward the door, careful not to make a sound. But just as you reached for the handle, the floor creaked under your weight.

“Y/N?” Jay’s voice called out, laced with panic.

You bolted, flinging the door open and sprinting down the dimly lit hallway. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you reached the staircase, but before you could descend, Jay caught up to you.

“Don’t!” he yelled, grabbing your arm and yanking you back. His grip was ironclad, his eyes wide with desperation. “You can’t leave me! You’ll be hurt out there without me!”

“Let me go!” you screamed, struggling against him, but his strength overpowered yours.

He pulled you back into the room, locking the door behind him. Tears streamed down his face as he paced in front of you, his hands trembling.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve done everything for you. I’ve kept you safe, given you everything you could want, and you still want to leave?”

The facade of control crumbled.

Jay’s behavior became more erratic after your escape attempt. He talked to himself more often, his words a mix of anger, fear, and self-reassurance. “She doesn’t understand now, but she will,” he muttered, pacing back and forth. “She has to.”

He started keeping you tied to the chair, even while he was in the room. “I can’t risk losing you,” he said, almost apologetically. “You’re too important to me.”

His delusions deepened. He began to believe that your resistance was part of a test, a way for you to prove your devotion to him. “This is how love works,” he told you one evening, his eyes alight with a manic fervor. “We have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.”

The breaking point loomed.

Jay’s obsession consumed him entirely, and you knew his behavior was becoming increasingly dangerous. He spoke of drastic measures, of leaving the city together and starting fresh somewhere no one could find you.

“I’ve been looking into cabins in the mountains,” he said one evening, a wistful smile on his face. “We could be so happy there, away from everyone and everything.”

Your heart sank. You realized this was your last chance to act. If you didn’t escape soon, there was no telling how far Jay would go to keep you by his side.

The cabin was eerily quiet, surrounded by dense trees that blocked out the world beyond.

Jay had driven for hours, the sound of tires crunching over gravel the only noise as you sat in stunned silence in the passenger seat. The ropes around your wrists had been replaced with zip ties, cutting into your skin every time you shifted.

When the car finally stopped, you glanced out the window to see a small, weathered cabin, nestled in the woods. Jay stepped out, opening your door with a soft smile that sent shivers down your spine.

“We’re here.” he said gently, as if this were some romantic getaway instead of an act of pure madness.

Inside the cabin, Jay was unsettlingly calm.

He had prepared everything in advance. The single room was furnished with a bed, a small table, and a stove, all surrounded by items that screamed his obsession. Photos of you decorated the walls, your favorite books were stacked neatly on the table, and a blanket you’d once left behind in class was draped over the couch.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. “I made this for us. A place where we can finally be together without anyone interfering.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Jay, you can’t keep me here. This isn’t love. This is wrong.”

His expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly replaced it with a soft smile. “I know it feels strange now, but in time, you’ll understand. You’ve been surrounded by people who don’t value you the way I do. They don’t see how special you are. But I do.”

The conversation grew more intense as the hours passed.

Jay sat across from you at the table, his elbows resting on the surface as he leaned closer. His voice was calm, but the desperation in his eyes betrayed him.

“You don’t understand how much I’ve sacrificed for you,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “I’ve given up everything—my career, my reputation—because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“You didn’t have to sacrifice anything,” you replied, your voice trembling with frustration. “I never asked for this, Jay. I never wanted this.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked down at the table, his hands gripping the edge tightly. “You say that now because you’ve been conditioned to think this is wrong. But deep down, I know you care about me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you listen to me in class. There’s something between us, Y/N. I know there is.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “What you’re feeling isn’t love, Jay. It’s obsession. And it’s destroying both of us.”

Jay’s mask began to crack.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room with frantic energy. “Why can’t you see it? I’ve done everything for you! I’ve shown you how much I care, how much I’m willing to give. What more do you want from me?”

“I want my freedom,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through his rant. “I want to go home. I want my life back.”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face you with a look of pure anguish. “You are my home, Y/N. You’re my life. Without you, I have nothing.”

The conversation turned into a battle of wills.

As the hours stretched on, you tried to reason with him, to make him see the damage he was causing. But every word you spoke seemed to push him further into his delusion.

“You’re just scared,” he said, his voice softening as he knelt in front of you. “You’ve been hurt before, haven’t you? That’s why you’re resisting. But I’ll never hurt you, Y/N. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you from everything.”

“This is hurting me,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Can’t you see that?”

For a moment, he hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by that same unrelenting determination.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he said, his voice barely audible. “You’ll see that this was all for us.”

The cabin felt suffocating, each breath heavy with the tension of your captivity. Jay’s presence was constant, his eyes always lingering on you, waiting for you to acknowledge the twisted reality he had built for the two of you. The room, with its eerie calm and suffocating silence, made your heart race.

You sat at the small table, your hands folded tightly in your lap, eyes cast downward as Jay sat across from you, rambling on about how perfect everything would be once you adjusted to the life he’d planned. His words felt like nails on a chalkboard, a constant drone that filled the space but never reached your heart.

The weight of it all—his obsession, his twisted love—felt unbearable.

Your voice was quiet, but it broke through the haze of Jay's words.

“Jay… can I go to the bathroom?”

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the simple request. For a second, there was a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but it faded quickly. He’d been so sure of his control, so convinced that you would eventually accept him, that he didn’t hesitate.

“Of course,” he said softly. “It’s right down the hall. Don’t try to run.”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. Inside, you felt a surge of desperation. You hadn’t planned this moment, but you couldn’t bear another second in this suffocating cabin, this prison.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, and the moment of solitude was all you needed.

You turned to face the small, dimly lit room, your pulse pounding in your ears. The mirror above the sink reflected a face you barely recognized—your eyes were hollow, the weariness of captivity etched into your features. But it wasn’t the face that mattered now.

It was the sharp edge of the old razor blade that you spotted on the edge of the counter, something Jay had clearly overlooked.

Your hands trembled as you picked it up, the cold metal against your fingertips grounding you for a moment. You looked at the reflection of your own eyes, barely able to hold back the tears. This wasn’t the life you had wanted. This wasn’t freedom. Jay’s obsession had suffocated you, and the only escape seemed to be this.

As you held the blade to your skin, a cold calm washed over you.

You thought about the world beyond these walls—friends, family, the life you’d had. You thought about the pain Jay had caused, how his love had twisted into something dark and suffocating. You thought about the fear, the helplessness, and the deep, gnawing sorrow that had taken root inside you.

This was your way out.

With a deep breath, you pressed the razor to your wrist, the sharp sting of it a fleeting relief. But as the blood began to trickle down your arm, something inside you began to shift. The numbness you’d felt began to crack, replaced by a sharp, painful clarity.

The sound of footsteps outside the door sent your heart into a panic.

You couldn’t let him find you like this. You couldn’t let him ruin this last moment of control. Your hand shook as you pressed the cloth from the sink against your wrist, trying to stanch the bleeding.

But the door suddenly opened with a creak.

“Y/N?” Jay’s voice called, his tone too calm, too controlled. He had been watching you through the crack in the door, waiting. When he saw the blood, his eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in something darker, possessive.

“No!” He shouted, rushing to your side, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “You don’t get to do this, Y/N. You don’t get to do this, Y/N. You don't get to leave me!"

For a moment, it was a battle for control.

Jay's fingers dug into your skin as he pulled you away from the sink, his breath ragged and wild. "I told you, I won't let you go. I won't lose you!" His voice cracked, a mix of fury and desperation.

"You don't understand," you whispered through the tears, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "This isn't love, Jay. It never was.”

Jay's face contorted in anguish, as though your words cut deeper than anything else. "I can't lose you," he repeated, his voice trembling with the force of his need. "I need you. Please."

His hands shook as he reached for the wound on your wrist, trying to stop the blood with his own shirt. The sight of you in pain seemed to break him, but it wasn't a break for the better. It was a spiral deeper into his obsession.

Jay's grip tightened on your wrist as he lifted you off the floor.

"I won't let you die," he said, his voice low and broken. "You're mine. I'm the only one who can protect you. You'll see. You'll see how much I love you."

His words were incoherent as he lifted you back into the main room of the cabin, his gaze unfocused, consumed by his need. He didn't care about your pain-he cared about controlling you, about keeping you locked away where no one could take you from him.

The moment of escape had slipped through your fingers.

The thought that had given you some semblance of hope, of release, vanished in an instant as Jay's delusions wrapped tighter around you.

"You'll be safe with me, Y/N," he whispered, his voice eerily calm again, as he forced you back into the chair. "I won't let you go. I'll never let you go."

────୨ৎ────

[wings-of-ink]

How would the ROs react MC telling their toddler “Sick’em!” to the RO, their toddler then was able to walk without falling in their waddling way and clamped on the RO’s leg.

This is terribly cute, Anon!

Oswin:  He's stricken by the cuteness and plays along for a moment and then picks up the little tot to snuggle them before realizing that they totally just walked up to him unassisted. He's so proud and shocked that he just stares at MC.

Zahn:  Plays along dramatically, gets down on the floor and rolls around with the kid. Does a very slow run away to get the kid to do it again.

Duri:  Laughing uncontrollably, walking over to MC with toddler attached, to turn the tide as they both trounce MC. Shows the child the best way to go for the kill.

Rune:  Trying hard not to laugh. "Who taught you that!?" *Stares at MC* Praises the kid for their successful attack and walking skills, whispers to them that if they sic MC they'll get a big dessert tonight.

???:  Keeps moving just a fraction further away to keep the kid walking a bit longer. "Do you see this!? Look how good of a walker they are!" He lets the kid latch on and then coos over how cute they are. "Now, what other fun things can we teach you?" *immediately considers pick-pocketing*

Thank you for the ask anon! ^_^

[twinkleallnight]

Book: TRR AU/ Once upon a time prequel

Belongs to my series: Estranged

Pairings: Liam x Savannah

Word count: 2050

Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.

Rating: Mature

Warning: none

Prompt: The @kingliamappreciationweek day 5 : Healing.

Thank you @lizzybeth1986 for beta reading this.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Liam walks down the corridors of the ‘Middle School of Maltifao. He is excited. In years, this is the first time he is excited about something. Finally, he is going to meet Savannah after almost eight long years. So much has happened. He has a son! They have a son. Liam shakes his head and smiles at the thought of Fabian.

‘Fabian. I would love that name for my son.’ He had once mentioned in a casual teenage chat amongst his friends.

‘She remembered.’ He whispers to himself.

A smile plastered on his face, he walks down to the classrooms. The class has just begun. He politely stands outside listening to her voice. He didn’t realise how much he had missed her. The children are learning about Cordonia.

‘What a coincidence!’ he leans against the walls and closes his eyes. Soon the discussion in the classroom shifts from Cordonia to King Liam and his Subjects. He chuckles. ‘Its fun to listen the views of these little ones’, he thinks. His heart somersaults with happiness when Savannah describes him. ‘She still loves me.’ But then he realises she abruptly cuts off the discussion and dismisses the class.

The children run out and he faces the exit, waiting for her to walk out. He doesn’t know how to greet her. He is unable to recollect the things he had planned for this very moment. So, when she bangs into him, he says the first thing that comes to his mind.

“If you like me so much, why did you leave me?”

He gives her a minute. He is sure she recognises him. Just by his touch. His heart is beating fast in anticipation. But when she looks at him, his world comes crashing down. She quickly turns away her head and pulls away from him.

‘What was that? Did I see fear in her eyes? Why? Who is she scared of? Me? Why?’

He controls his spiralling thoughts and tries to speak again.

“Hello Savannah.”

“Hi.”

‘Just a plain hi ? Is she upset to see me? Why?’ Liam has a parallel row of thoughts going on.

“Sava...”

“Can we talk somewhere else? Not here.” She pleads.

“Yes. Yes.” Liam starts nodding his head. “Sure. Sure. My car is standing...”

“No, no, no.” She again cuts him. “There is a coffee shop down the road. It has a private cabin. We can sit there.”

“Coffee shop? Okay. Okay.” He starts nodding again. “Lead the way.”

“Please, wait for a minute. I need to inform in the office.”

“Sure. Sure.” Liam realises he is repeating and nodding again. He tries to shake away the nervousness that has shadowed his excitement within fractions of meeting her.

Savannah quickly comes back from the office and starts walking. Liam follows. On his way out he signals his security standing around an SUV to stand down. Its a small village of Lozzi on the island of Corsica, faraway from the hullabaloo of the cities and capitals. It looks safe. He wants her to feel safe. So he quietly follows her to the coffee shop.

“Hey, Maria!” Savannah walks in, waving to the old lady behind the counter.

Maria’s smile falters for a second before Liam acknowledges her forced smile, “Bonjour Madame.”

“Bonjour.” She stutters.

“Maria, puis-je utiliser la cabine privée?” Savannah asks.

“Oui.” Maria replies and Savannah scurries to the small secluded room in the back.

Liam trudges in. ‘She was very fluent out there. Did Kiara teach her that well or has she refined her language over all these years? And Maria? Does she know who I am to Savannah?’

Savannah clears her throat. He looks at her gesturing to the seat across her. He sits down.

“Liam, It’s been years since I travelled anywhere or contacted anyone.” She starts immediately explaining herself. “I have never called anyone in Cordonia, at any given point of time. I have made sure that even my own brother doesn’t know my whereabouts. I am living a quiet secluded life here. I don’t know what brought you here but..”

“You.”

“Me?” she looks at him wide eyed.

“I came for you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” he questions her back.

“After all these years?”

“Yes, even after all these years, Savannah.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want you to come back. It was a mistake . Letting you go. Letting you walk away. But believe me, not a day went by when I didn’t think about you.” He says, with his gaze intense.

Savannah shifts in her chair. “Liam, that day when you were talking to your father, I overheard the conversation. I heard you agreeing to him that a commoner will never fit in the nobility of Cordonia.”

“No, Savannah. That’s what my father said. I replied back to him.”

“I know, Liam. I understand. It’s okay. He blackmailed you with Leo’s abdication and he was calling you his sole support. After all, he was your father and I know you, being you, could never say no.”

“Savannah, I think you did not listen to the complete conversation. I did say ‘No.’”

“No.” She lets out a heavy breath.

“Yes, Savannah. It was the only time in my life that I felt strong enough to stand against the odds and fight for what was mine. I had a major argument with my father that day and I said such things to him that I would have never ever dreamt of saying.”

How could she miss it. Did she make a decision in haste. Was it all futile. ‘Oh no!’ she thinks.

“Savannah, I had a misunderstanding when I came to you next day. But you made it all sound so real. I was already shaken and I got carried away with your white lies. I must say you are a fine actor.” He smiles at her.

Savannah on the other hand is thoroughly confused. What has she done? If he was fighting for them and she heard only half part of the conversation, it means she misread all the signs and she threw everything away. The love of her life.....the family she could have had.....all the happiness her son could have had. Fabian! The thought of Fabian sends her in a panic.

She jumps in her seat. “Liam! I am so sorry. I am so sorry, Liam. I ... I never told you. I wanted to. Actually I had come to tell you but then I heard your conversation with your father and I thought other wise.” She puts her head in her hands and pulls on her hair. “Oh dear God, What have I done! Please forgive me.” She looks back at Liam again with tears in her eyes. “That day , I came to tell you... Tell you that...

“That you were pregnant. “ he completes her sentence for her.

“You knew?” she stares at him in surprise.

“No. Not then. I came to know few months back.”

Now another worry starts picking up in Savannah’s mind. “Liam... So you are here to take away your heir? You want to take him away from me, don’t you? You can’t take away my only happiness from my life. You can’t do that to me.” Tears start rolling down her cheeks. “God cannot be so unfair to me.” She shakes her head wildly in dismay. Her fright sets in and she unknowingly squeezes farther into the corner of the booth.

“Savannah! Savannah! Sav.... Look at me.” Liam tries to pull her back. He gets up moving on her side. He grabs her tightly closed fists in one hand and with the other hand he tries caressing her cheek.

“Savannah I came for you, my love!” she stops shaking. “Knowing that we have a son is just an icing on the cake. But you and I? We come first . I made a mistake once. I won’t like to repeat it ever again. So I have come to see you. Only, and only if you allow, I would like to meet our son. Please.”

Savannah wipes her tears with the back of her hand. “ It’s a lot to take in, Liam. Can you please give me a day to settle things. My son...”

“Our son.” Liam says with a pride, cupping her face.

“Our son..” she corrects herself. “I will have to tell him.”

Liam pulls his hands down. He starts pulling on his fingers to curb his apprehensions. His eyes shy away, “Did he ever ask about me?”

“Yes. He is as curious as you were as a child.” She reminisces. Her words make him gaze back at her again, with hope.

She tries to reason, “You know, I couldn’t tell him who you are but he knows his father as a wise man who is protecting lives of many people. He takes pride in it. He knows his father loves him and will come one day to see him.”

Liam presses his lips tight. His trembling hands try covering Savannah’s. “I wanted to be good. A good son, a loyal friend, a just king. But while accomplishing these roles I didn’t realise that I betrayed my love and never stood up for my son.”

“Liam, you never knew.”

“How can I give you back all the years that you lost?”

“Stop giving all the time Liam. You deserve to have somethings for yourself too.”

“ I don’t know how to apologise. I want to make up for all the loss.” He pulls at her hands in a pleading tone. “Tell me how can I abate the fear I saw in yours eyes when you met me?

“You noticed?”

“How couldn’t I, Savvie? I was seeing you after ages and while I was so thrilled about our reunion it broke my heart to see you distressed.”

It was Savannah’s turn to lower down her eyes, to hide her emotions. “I thought I had saved myself from the prying eyes and in turn saved my son. When I realised I have been found, I got scared that....” she chokes.

“Hey there. Shhhhh!” Liam circles his arm around her trying to reassure her.

Savannah whimpers, “I thought you have come to take what is yours.”

“Mine?” He looks at her puzzled.

Savannah nods. “Fabian.” She whispers.

“No Savvanah. Never. Do you think I can be so cruel?”

She shakes her head, the fear still lingering in her mind.

“I told you Savvanah, I won’t even meet him without your permission.” He wipes her tears and talks while her sobs fade away. “I am afraid of imagining how you must have gone through all the hardships alone. I was not there for your pregnancy or childbirth. You brought him up all alone. The least I can do is....”

Savannah’s phone starts vibrating. She looks at the caller id and signals Liam to wait.

“Allô?” She receives the call.

“Désolée!” She starts picking up at her purse. “ J’arrive. S’il te plaît, donne-moi dix minutes.” She quickly cuts the call.

'I need to ask about her fluency in French' he smiles to himself.

“You should go. I was just saying that...” he scratches his sidelock making Savannah smile.

She brings him back from his thoughts, “Liam, I need to pick up Fabian from the day care. I am sorry, you were saying something.”

“You were saying , the least you could...”

“Oh yes! I wanted to tell you that the least I can do is make this meeting pleasant for you and for him. I don’t want to be a monster in his eyes, someone who separated him from his mother.”

Savannah stands up while talking, “You can never be a monster to him. I will talk to him and once he is ready, I will call you.”

“Thank you. I will be eagerly waiting to hear from you.”

“Bye.” She starts walking towards the door.

“Savannah?”

“Yes?” She turns back.

He looks around to check if anybody is watching them. He closes the distance between them and hugs her. Savannah stiffens for a moment.

In a minute that passes, she relaxes and takes a deep breath of hopefulness. She lifts her head to look up into his optimistic eyes. He bends down to place a kiss on her forehead. “Go my love, I will wait for your call. I hope we meet this time to never let go.”

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Next chapter

Tags : @angelasscribbles @alj4890 @tessa-liam @lizzybeth1986 @3pawandme @annabellewynter @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @choicesficwriterscreations @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising0308 @princess-geek @sazanes @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @rubiwalker @703cowbarn @kyra75 @likealotus @kskvb20 @marietrinmimi @aussiegurl1234

[gloriousbookwyrm]

I’ve been busy most of today, but had a last minute idea for a Pocky Day ficlet, ft YuuMalle

Nonbinary Yuu, who is mentioned to have had a girlfriend at some point in the past

After the sun sank below the horizon, and the campus grew dark, Yuu stepped outside and waited by the gates of Ramshackle. Sure enough, the air soon filled with green sparkles, and Hornton joined them, holding a box of pocky, and explained why after he greeted them, “Lilia tells me there is some human celebration around this snack. Apparently it involves some manner of game, but he didn’t explain what. I don’t suppose you learned anything about it from your classmates?”

Somehow, Yuu was more surprised to learn Twisted Wonderland also had Pocky Day than they had been to find out they also celebrated Halloween. They answered Hornton quickly, “Actually this exists back home too. I can teach you the pocky game, if you want?” Hornton nodded smiling, and Yuu opened up the box and pulled a stick out. They had been harboring a crush on their charming, elusive visitor for a while now, but had no idea how he felt about them. They didn’t even know his name! And from some of the things he said, they had put together that he almost definitely wasn’t human, and was probably some kind of fae, which they had heard from a few people apparently existed in this world. Even if he was interested in dating a human, who knew if his romantic customs would even be recognizable to them, or vice versa? This could be a fun way to gauge if he shared certain things in common with them, and if he did, how receptive he was to those things, coming from them. “You take one end of the pocky in your mouth, and I take the other. We’ll take turns moving down the stick until one of us breaks it. Whoever gets to eat the most pocky wins.”

Hornton blinked, “That seems too easy for whoever gets the first turn. What’s the catch?”

“How about you go first and find out?” Yuu bit gently on the chocolate-covered end of the snack, sat up in the stone wall so he wouldn’t have to bend so far, and waited. For a moment, it looked like Hornton really was going to just take the entire pocky at once, but halfway to them seemed to realize how close their faces were, blushed, and stopped there. So fae did have kissing, and considered it at least intimate enough to embarrass him, even he had been a little slow on the uptake there. Equally interesting was the way even the pointed tips of his ears turned pink, and how his slit pupils widened when they made eye contact.

It was Yuu’s move now. When they had played the game with a now ex-girlfriend back home, they had liked to surprise her by making exactly the move Hornton had threatened, claiming the bulk of the snack and a kiss at the same time. Something about Hornton’s reaction made them want to draw it out little, though, so they moved forward by barely an inch. Hornton would have to draw in closer by his own volition, or else break off early.

He opted to move forward, but only barely. However, when Yuu responded in kind and moved an even shorter distance towards him, he huffed, and took enough of the snack that there was only a fraction of an inch between them. A moment later his fluster caught back up with him, and he blushed even further. His face was too close now to really see his expression, but from his eyes and action, Yuu could see he clearly wanted them to be the one to close the gap. They leaned in until there was barely any pocky left between them, and Yuu took in the way his pupils had blown out so large that almost none of the green of his eyes could be seen. Briefly, they considered taking pity on him and the way his lips had parted slightly in anticipation. Instead, they bit the snack in two, and hopped back down onto the ground before he could react. “Well, looks like you have the bigger piece! Want a rematch?”

“I— That is— ” Hornton stammered, but before he could answer, they both heard the raised voices of a pair of Diasomnia students who sometimes patrolled nearby, presumably looking for dorm mates straying out past curfew like Hornton clearly was. Instead he hastily bid them good night and disappeared, leaving Yuu with the overwhelming desire to keep teasing him, whenever they next met.

[joezy27]

"How To Write HAWKEYE" by Matt Fraction

My process for Hawkeye isn’t like anything else I’ve ever used for writing, and it’s sort of involved. For a lot of reasons—none of which have to do with the how of anything, let alone the how of writing comics—my approach with this book, I decided early on, would be completely different than anything I’d ever done before. I’ll get into some of the why and how here, but, from that decision, everything about writing Hawkeye kept getting weirder.

About a year before I started on Hawkeye, I started to experiment with writing in a method called Marvel Style or Plot Style. It’s called Marvel Style because Stan Lee came up with it when he was the only writer at Marvel and had to produce eight books a month. Stan started to write in a way that leaned very heavily on his artists rather than requiring him to produce the screenplaylike scripts most of us think of as full scripts or just, y’know, scripts.

Art by David Aja

Here’s an example of a full script I gave to my dad:

PAGE ONE 1.1 A SWEATY GUY gets out of a car. GUY We’re here. 1.2 The guy walks to a house, nervous, peering over his shoulder as he goes. GUY Ha ha. 1.3 He walks up to the front porch almost on tiptoes. GUY ha. 1.4 CLOSE: Still nervous, still on edge, he adjusts his tie. Blood under his fingernails. Uh-oh. NO DIALOGUE 1.5 FROM BEHIND: As he pokes his finger into the doorbell, we see, with his other hand, he’s got a gun held behind his back. SFX Ding dong

Note: SFX means Sound Effects

And so on. Now that took me as long to type as it took you to read, but you get the gist: dramatic beats and certain visual moments are isolated and chosen because they transmit the narrative and dramatic story flow to an artist who chooses his shots (or might take my suggestions if there are any) accordingly and crafts a sequence of images, keeping in mind moment, frame, image, flow. Isolated dialogue runs below to allow the artist to understand how much space to allot for words, and that’s it. McCloud-101 stuff, right?

But Marvel Style for David [Aja, the artist on Hawkeye] looks something more like this:

PAGE ONE Okay, David, on this page, a little car pulls up to a little suburban house and NERVOUS MAN gets out half-laughing to himself. He skulks to the front door, maybe adjusts his tie. He’ll have, like, blood under his fingernails. He looks over his shoulder, knocks. Then the last image on the page needs to be: we see he’s got a GUN BEHIND HIS BACK. “We’re here,” he’ll say, at some point, to no one in particular. And maybe giggle on his way to the door. NERVOUS KILLER CREEP here to WREAK HAVOC, David. Okay.

And I’ll move on to page two. My scripts are super informal. Nobody, but your artist and letterer are gonna read it, so why not make it fun for them to read?

I chose to write Hawkeye for David like this for several reasons. First, my favorite pages from our time on Iron Fist, which was written Full Script-style, always came when he’d politely and respectfully diverge from what was scripted for him, make something magical, then find his way back to where he was expected to be. So I’d start writing more and more vaguely for him, to give him more and more freedom, and he always crushed it. By “crushed it,” I mean he made a great page that made me look smarter than I am. Second, and I mean no disrespect to any of David’s other collaborators, many of whom I’m a fan, but I never liked David’s work more than I did on Iron Fist. And they were all doing full script for him. So, y’know—maybe a lightbulb went off. Third, writing Marvel Style scares the living crap out of me. It is the antithesis of what we teach ourselves as writers. It requires trust and sharing and believing in your partner—and he’s a partner, not an artist here, just check the credits page—and trusting in the collaboration above all else. And it’s easy to see how slippery a slope Marvel Style can be to get to “PAGES SEVEN THROUGH NINE: They fight.”

Art by David Aja

I started experimenting with Marvel Style because it scared me, and when I get scared, I get exhilarated. These things, this job, it’s the best, but it can grind you down. It crushes your wrists and warps your spine and dries your eyes and smooths down your teeth and grows your gut. Excitement and danger, though meager compared to what, say, a firefighter might encounter, is important in your work.

Also, I thought it could save me time. I thought I could do half my work on layaway, basically; that I could crank out a plot in three or four days and script a few weeks later, in one or two days. I mean, it worked for Stan, right? And he and his partners—partners—only created the dang Marvel Universe. Lastly, it’s [Marvel Comics’s former editor-in-chief and current chief creative officer] Joe Quesada’s fault.

Let me digress here for a second: Joe da Q is a great guy. Great artist, great boss, great dad, great guy. And I love talking to him about the art of the art, because he’s been around and has some stories and a head full of great thoughts about it all and … and you do it for about a minute and a half and you realize exactly how Joe earned everything he earned and you couldn’t be happier. Anyway, one night Joe is winding Mr. Brian Michael Bendis up at BarCon. BarCon is the “con” that happens in the bar of the guest hotel of whatever con you’re at, literally, every single night, of every single convention, ever. Anyway, so Joe is claiming much of Marvel’s now-decades-long dominance over comics came from the inescapable visual firepower of our founding fathers, that Marvel’s visual style is as much a key to its successes as the radioactive spider. And if you doubt it, just look at how the key moments in the company’s history were written: Marvel Style. Brian howled in outrage, “That’s not writing, that’s cheap, that’s lazy. When you cede control of choice of moment to someone else, you’re just mad-libbing …” It went on and on. Joe poking, Brian exploding, and Joe giggling with glee.

Joe Quesada loves his family, the Mets, the Beatles, Marvel, and winding Bendis up, in that order.

I realized though, as I listened to them play-fight, that it was making me nervous. Just to think about Marvel Style. Just to pretend I’d even try it, even on a short story made me, sweartagod, nervous. So many of my favorite comics were done by singular cartoonists—Eisner, Hernandez, Brown, Clowes, Chaykin. And the more I thought about it, how could I ever hope to write the thing those guys did for themselves? You can’t. A writer could never coax American Flagg! out of Chaykin—unless they gave him a Marvel Style script and treated him like a partner as invested in the storytelling as the writer.

So I knew I had to try it.

This comic has been written in a giant scramble. All out of order. Not by design but … but because Team Hawkeye does nothing the easy way.

I know a big part of Brian’s lessons here is that the only way you need to find is your way. That your way is the right way and anything else is an obstacle but … but please, god, don’t do it like this. This is how I know how to do Hawkeye.

My initial pitch for Hawkeye ended up being published as issues 4 and 5. It’s our first two-part storyline and is very different than the issues on either side; international travel, glamorous and exotic casinos, international cabals of evil. Clint-as-Bond, where he’s in a tux more than a supersuit. Marvel said okay—remember, we just needed like nine of these—but I pulled out because it wasn’t right. When I sat down to write it, it wasn’t right, and I had to leave. I had a story, not a book, and so I stopped.

Then one night I thought about Jim Rockford and The Avengers—the UK ones I mean—for whatever reason, and found my book.

So I had to repitch. I got it, luckily, but everyone thought I was nuts. Anyway.

I was going to write Marvel Style for David. It was going to be all done-in-one, or sometimes two, issue stories. It was going to be about what Hawkeye did when he wasn’t being an Avenger because, when I got the book, Clint Barton was everywhere and I didn’t want to step on toes. Give me him on his day off, I figured. It was going to be street-level, real-world kind of stories, in, of course, the Mighty Marvel Manner. I would try to counteract the banal everyday stuff with a complicated structure that would reward close-reads. So yeah, there might be an issue that’s about Clint trying to buy tape, but it’s going to start with a car chase, cut back two days, then cut forward again, and on and on. And he would have a kind of mentee/partner in a young girl named Kate. It’s a double act.

So then I wrote the first issue. And I sent it in, and my editor said what I felt and suspected: “This is a second issue.” And he was right. It was as much about Kate as Clint, and it’s Clint’s book, so back to the drawing board.

Then I wrote what became issue 1. So, psychically, the order of Hawkeye to me goes 4, 5, 2, 1. Physically, in terms of what was actually typed and invoiced, Hawkeye was 2, 1, then 4 and 5—because those were for a guest artist—then 3, then 6. It can wreck your head if you have more than just that to do, let me tell you.

Art by David Aja

HAWKEYE ISSUE 6

Issue 6 was a breakthrough for a lot of reasons. First off, though, at this point, there were five other issues and they were all written out of order and it was hard for me to keep track of what was happening when and where.

I knew 6 was our December issue, and I always wanted to write a story with Christmas as a backdrop, so I locked in to making it a holiday issue. And I wanted to do a story about Clint wanting to hook up his DVR, but things kept getting in his way. Somehow those two strands tied together in my head.

I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said this job kills your hands and your wrists. Add to that I’m an art school dropout who misses his sketchbooks and I’ve, from the start, always started my comics writing in cheap little notebooks. Partly to get away from typing, partly because I love the feeling of graphite dragging across the page, partly because I’ve thought out and problem-solved in sketchbooks my whole life.

I wish I knew how I made the following intuitive leap, but I think that’s just it—like so much about my writing, Hawkeye especially, is all intuitive. I took pieces of paper and folded them in half. Across the top, I wrote the issue number and title. Down the left, I numbered 1 through 20 to represent each of the twenty pages of the first five issues, and then I wrote in a short sentence or phrase about what happened on each of those pages. I needed to, at a glance, be able to see how I was pacing things. And if I want to check, oh, how many pages that fight scene was on page 3, I could just consult my mockups and move on. I could just carry them around in the back of the notebook, lay ’em all out in front of me, and see six months at once. Perfect.

For whatever reason, I have continued to write like this for Hawkeye. I’ll lay out the last few issues and the next few issues, even if all I have is the cover idea and title (if I’ve got the title I have a vague sense of what the story will be), and look at how they all flow in and out of one another. Here’s the mockup for issue 6.

I randomly gave myself six days to tell this story in. (There’s a DJ Shadow track called “Six Days” that director Wong Kar Wai shot a video for, and I like the song and the video and I like the sound of “six days” as an increment of time. It comes up in my work a lot I’ve noticed.) Now, at some point in the writing, I realized everybody in the real world has to endure the holidays together, so I thought, “Great, we’ll find out what day our book comes out and make that the day the book starts on, and then bip and bop around the real days of the month.” But at that point, it had started on a Thursday or whatever, so I had to rework it all, and I kept getting confused.

As I pecked through the list, things got complicated. Look in those margins and you can see me losing the real time aspect of it, the actual days and how they all fit. So I had to get linear for my own sanity, if nothing else.

Here’s me boiling down the six days just so I could keep track—but once you tie a comic down like that with a nonlinear chronology, suddenly this all gets important. Well, was the fight at night? Okay, so then the next morning he has to be here, and beat up. But if … well, wait, he needs to be there, too. So maybe the fight was really the night previous, like, at 12:01 a.m., and it’s really been closer to forty-eight hours since, and…

Anyway, it was weirdly algebraic. You’ll see, in the script, how I added time even to help David and Matt Hollingsworth, our genius colorist, in their staging.

With my little half-sheet done, it was time for me to write my take on Marvel Style for David.

My Marvel Style scripts are really, if I’m being honest, about 15 percent less full than a typical full script. There’s dialogue sometimes. And if there’s, say, six little paragraphs on a page, you can tell how many panels a page I’m thinking about. But it’s as Marvel Style as I get. It works for us, though. For example, using the page as a kind of Advent calendar—to use an Advent calendar as a design device, came entirely from David. As I said—I trust in him to be as invested in storytelling as I am, and he produces things I’d never think of, let alone know how to explain in a script for someone to draw.

Notes for Haweye #6

ART PROCESS From my script, David produces thumbnails—and they are the most laborious thumbnails you can imagine. All of David’s heavy lifting is done here. These things are tiny little bursts of science. Not that his mark making isn’t important, but his thinking is paramount to all of it and you can see it all in the layouts. It’s his half-sheet, if you will. Hardest work goes there.

Art by David Aja

So I take the layouts and do a dialogue pass the best I can. Scenes can grow or change or transmute from what I’d written, or I can give notes and add things or take away. It’s great—as long as I can tell what’s happening, I mean. Which isn’t always.

So then David enlarges the pages with his own dummy lettering pass. By “dummy lettering pass,” I mean he actually letters the book roughly, but completely, so I can see where things need trimming and he can see how the words work in the frame. He sends this back and I tighten up my script accordingly.

Once David’s art gets the editorial okay from editor Steve Wacker, it goes back to David and colorist Matt Hollingsworth who have been, in the background, talking about the color schema for the issue. In a book where time shifts so hard and weird, color is one of the primary keys to helping orient the reader. Our readers are smart; they always get it. A big part of the why is Matt, doing subtle, almost invisible little things to keep you going with us. I could talk about this more at length, but it’s not my place to; let me just say, there is tremendous storytelling happening with our book’s colors.

Art by David Aja

Then I adjust the lettering until poor Chris Eliopoulos (letterer on Hawkeye) wants to murder me and the book has to be sent to press. Wait two weeks and, voilà!

We must be doing something right.

Hawkeye script by Matt Fraction, art by David Aja

Hawkeye script by Matt Fraction, art by David Aja

HAWKEYE - The Fraction & Aja Creative Process

Words for Pictures - The Art and Business of Writing Comics and Graphic Novels (2014)

[ofmermaidstories]

mermie my sweet 🥹 your reassurance post is everything i needed for this week, i will also be facing a rude asshole in the form of one of my profs in a few days and he makes me so anxious and scared i physically want to hurl and crawl into a hole 🥹🥹 but u r so right the only thing i can control is how i react and what i can do to counter the horrible feelings they give me!!!!! i love u mermsie happy sunday indeed 😚

also can i come join the island plsplspls i promise i'll bake all of us cookies and be the first to volunteer as ur yap buddy 🙏🩵🍪

hansy of course you are coming with us. 🥺 you only have to bake cookies if you wanna and i would loveeee to sit there in a hammock with u and yap. 😌 omg. imagine all the dumb things we could talk about. 😌 like how much of a dick your professor is??? what’s his deal? like—is he rude in a brusque, no-nonsense i am here to teach you kinda way, or does he make his attitude personal? because if he’s making it personal, then just remember he’ll eventually be replaced by AI, or something, LOL. and if he’s not then it’s all the more reason to remind yourself he’s just a fraction of your life. 🥺 you’re a hard worker hansy and you’ve been diligent with your schooling. if he’s unhappy with how you’ve been doing things (without like, being helpful about how you should) then—okay!! whatever old man!!! you’re gonna be replaced by a kid with chatgpd or whatever it’s called!! byee!!!

if he is in particular bastard-shape tho come back here and we will talk about dumb and fun things until u remember that he’s just nasty background noise that u can—and will!!—work around to your goal. 😌🥺 love uuu hansyyy. 🌷💕

[astrxlfinale]

♡ for herta and caelus !

I see. Lottie, looks like its high time to release more of the scriptures about these two.

And why the worlds hadn't been ready for a long time.

BUT ALSO THAT SAID--

A lil shoutout to the real one who got curious! Now you can just see all of our agenda posting in 4k.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃?: Caelus, without a remote inch of hesitation. In fact his lack of hesitation is what sparked a lot of what they do to life. If he wasn't blue screening Herta's mind the way he is in how they go walking across the stars, who knows if it could've been different!

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚆𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃 𝙺𝙸𝚂𝚂?: Caelus. 1000%. The stars above, the world beneath them, all of a sudden upon that keyblade of penultimate whimsy, he saw just how much she was basking in this very moment after their banter a moment prior. He could not help himself. He wanted to make a statement with this proximity that's diminishing borders and show that he truly desires this.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂?: Caelus primarily. 'Hertzarella' anyone? After teaching him the lore of the 'The Herta' title, all of a sudden it felt wondrous to see how many ways he could proceed to spin it up, much to her charging and getting her swept into the challenge. Their texts hold only a fraction of just how many times they go over this for the fun of it.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙲𝙾𝙾𝙺𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙻𝚂?: Herta's puppets. Neither of them in all honesty should not be trusted in her giant magical kitchen. Not that this would be stopping Caelus on the other hand. If anything, he'd thrive in the idea of using all this magically scientific tech to see if they can make the panacea of all dishes, the one that has a taste genetically designed to hit that spot of delight indiscriminately of tongue.

This project takes years.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙲?: Herta here. She is definitely musically inclined and more overall experienced compared to him. Whereas she can really be able to dismantle a song and it's purpose, the soul and what not put behind it. Caelus on the other hand is just swept up by either the vibes or the energy, this man could not talk deep about music to save his damn life.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙷𝙾𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙳?: I don't see this being a problem for either of them. Herta didn't have her plushies knocked into disarray in her trailer. And Caelus has literally been sleeping into a goddamn box before getting his room all set up. So? This equals out to them actually being very amiable with the space. Both of them tend to really enjoy the warmth of the other, so a lot of sleep holding becomes a thing.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚆𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝚄𝙿 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃?: If there's nothing to really do in that moment, Caelus does as he wants to be nosy and check out the cool stuff in her tower. If there's a new theory to test, or just an inspiration or there's a call hitting Herta up, she can very beat his ass on this by a landslide. Then Caelus just has to be whiny that if she's up, he definitely has to be up.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙴?: Puppets! Why would either of them want to work a coffee machine unless it's some alien brand to fuck around with? Given how she has a schedule set for them to do things and get things prepared, making stuff like this doesn't really be an active thought. They're much more absorbed in the back and forth they do while brushing their teeth.

𝚆𝙷𝙾'𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙸𝙶 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙾𝙽?: Caelus steals this spot. Madam Herta's ego is very big, and as such, her ego must be very much adored with being her chosen. Not that he complains anyways, stuffing his face into her long hair is fun, not to mention that this position is just a cozy favorite of her. Let her slot in, let them be close as much as clothing barriers allow. Not to mention (and much to her pride), holding her close truly is an event akin to someone discovering ambrosia. It's a more Caelus oriented thing, but it really kicks the stress out of him when they spoon up.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝚄𝙿 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚃?: Trailblaze blessings from Caelus aside, Herta can really outdo him in this field if she felt like it. Considering how she can regular her mental capacities being the Emanator of Erudition, being able to regular that body chemistry akin to fine tuning could really give her an edge in terms of dealing with fatigue. Given the the unknown nature of her methods and how long an experiment needs minute attention, this her crown to keep.

Caelus wonders if she secretly made godly levels of coffee while he wasn't looking, and if Himeko might've been one such inspiration.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙾'𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳?: This alternates between the two of them. From Caelus generally loving their shared touch, to the way Herta's grows into it and is warmed by the gesture, it winds up becoming another 'second nature' of how they operate. Keeping each other close. When I think about this, I think Caelus really adores just always keeping that humane aspect like these gestures lively between them.

𝚆𝙷𝙾'𝚂 𝙰 𝙵𝙰𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙿𝙳𝙰?: Caelus. Yet, he's banned because appearances do have to be a thing like around the space station! Can't just run around going 'my darling' spinning her around, or letting more crudely made innuendos take the stage.

Keyword: Crudely. If he's sneaky with his finesse, there's a couple of inside jokes that can jump through the ropes. That said? There's the 'private' public moments, like an xyz area of involving the two of them. In these settings Herta allows a touch more leeway due to her amiable and gracious nature. :|

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚂𝙽𝙾𝚁𝙴𝚂?: Caelus does. In fact, while it's not often, it can be loud when it does. Yet the almighty Madam Herta has forged a solution for this issue, a curio that specifically tunes to his snoring frequency and actively tunes it out, promising that the amiable will return to her resting chambers. To this day, it's become some odd end 'urban legend' that Herta's clock tower can help his ears feel better, since they're not ringing from his damned snore days.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙾𝚈𝙴𝙳 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙻𝚈?: See, now many people can say Herta takes this and runs down the football lane with it. Caelus however isn't far behind in this matter at all. By nature, Caelus and Herta at their cores can be a very petty pair of people. In fact, this pettiness can be a key ingredient in how a lot of this adventures 'and' misadventures are painted into creation.

Not to say this annoyed is like the end of all creation. (Even if Herta loves to act like it. Caelus on the other hand makes him want to create world ending solutions.) But, they're very vivid on the highest and low points, and will not hesitate to let pleasantries 'control' them to act differently.

Many venues within the cosmos have fallen victim to them just leaving early as hell. They will not remain if they're not intrigued. (They could be making out with this wasted time.)

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝙴𝚇?: Caelus for a large margin of the beginnings. (even if they fumbled into it at the start.) Similar to when they shared their first kiss, a lot of things simply had to 'warm up' in terms of familiarity, even if the actual moments made the stars shimmer in their minds. Shyness has sort of fell out for 99.9% of a majority of their relationship when it comes to being active together. That said, once things fall into a flow that they adore? There's many moments where Herta also have not hesitated in turning his mind into a blue screen. Playing to teases or even sharing in that fire of a moment and really getting themselves tangled with each other.

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙰𝚂𝙺𝚂 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙴?: I'm still at the unknown angle with this. Given how marriage in itself is more of a societal custom, and these two being very far removed from it overall, they wouldn't really feel the need to have such a thing defined through such customs. I think Caelus would bring it up like a talking point, mainly to see Herta's gauge in how interested she'd be.

That said? What they offer each other can really hold the connotations of marriage deep devotions with each other. With the act of Herta offering one of special mirrors, a variant that may as well be as intimate as landing a shard of her heart. Caelus is still pondering what can even rival such a thing, since he doubts whipping out a fragment of the Stellaron would be anywhere close to as sweet. That said, his devoted time in a lifelong venture is a good start.

𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴'𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂: When she talked about if he wanted to 'drown in space' by being abrupt in sharing the first kiss they had. On one hand asking if he wanted to die was fucking hilarious, but over time he managed to glean the unspoken in that moment as well. How much that really meant, how secure Herta was with him taking such an intimate space with her.

𝙰 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝚁𝙴𝚃 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂: Once upon a time thinking she was as cold as the rumors said. This was primarily at their very beginnings, but their evolution into co-workers, to friends and into lovers have certainly set his mind right. There's an entire realm to share with her and by her side, she's selective! (And for good reasons cause mfs be annoying.)

He doesn't really intend to bring it up. Caelus feels as if their shared time and the scale of their enjoyment really explains it all.

𝙸𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶: Not one thing. Choice is essential for Caelus, and he certainly loves the ones they've both made to lead them to this point.

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴: Actions. Physical touch. Judging. As much as they come to swim in the very powers that they wield, there's something revitalizing and true when they come to share these very measures with each other. Day by day, he comes to learn how much being forthright is important for Herta.

@immobiliter

[littlepeakydevil]

Part 3: Teach Me How

Summary: Lily wants Tommy to teach her something.

Word Count: 3,540

Warnings: Smut and blowjobs.

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

Lily’s cheeks burned, lifting the newspaper she was reading to try to hide her blush as John and Arthur continued their rather graphic discussion. Beside her, Tommy’s shoe tapped lightly against her shin, his face containing a somewhat bemused–if also exasperated–expression. When he finally managed to catch her eye, he raised an eyebrow.

I think they’ve forgotten that I’m here, she thought to him with a blink. 

Nah, they just have no fucking filters once the whiskey takes hold, he said back silently. She snorted, returning her smirk to the newspaper, trying to focus on puzzling out the answers to the crossword, and not on John and Arthur’s discussion about the most memorable blowjobs they’d received.

Her nose scrunched. She was no prude, but she also very much did not need the mental image of either of her lover’s brothers fucking some prostitute’s mouth, thank you very much. 

“Right, I think that’s enough of that talk from both of you, eh?” Tommy finally interrupted, based on the look on his face, she suspected that he shared her feelings.

Thank you, she mouthed to him from behind the newspaper. The toe of his shoe, still resting against her shin, rubbed up and down. 

“Aw, c’mon Tom. ‘S just a little fun…” John pouted. “No harm meant.” He leaned forward, eyes glimmering. “Why don’t you tell us about that pretty French waitress again…”

Tommy stiffened beside her. Lily felt her throat go a little dry. She knew that Tommy was more experienced than her. Obviously he was. Generally it didn’t bother her. 

Didn’t mean that she wanted all the details of his sexual past waved around her face, though. 

Oblivious, John continued to ramble. “You said that she did this thing with her tongue that��”

“John,” Tommy barked with a bit more firmness in his voice. “I said that’s enough.”

John’s eyes widened a fraction, leaning back with his hands raised. “Shit, fine. Jesus. Sorry. I thought it was a fun memory.”

“Only fucking fun until she gave me the fucking clap,” Tommy grumbled. Lily’s eyebrows shot up at that revelation, biting her lip to hold a laugh in.

Arthur snickered, and Tommy shot him a withering glare. Lily nudged Tommy’s leg with her shoe to get his attention before an argument could break out.

“I think I’m ready to go home.”

Tommy nodded, sitting up to scoop up his cigarette case and lighter where they were sitting on the table. “I’ll walk you.”

“Thanks,” folding up the newspaper and tossing it back onto the table, she stood to tug on her coat. 

“Ah, shit,” Arthur mumbled. “Sorry, Lils, we didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s the fucking whiskey, you know…”

“I know. It’s alright,” she said, closing the buttons on her coat. “I think you offended Tommy’s delicate constitution more than mine.” 

“Oi!” Tommy protested. She grinned at him cheekily, unable to help herself. 

John choked, snorting on his pint, beer squirting out of his nose. Arthur cackled. Tommy shook his head, exasperated. 

“This is what I get for being fucking nice, eh? C’mon, cheeky mare.” He opened the door to the snug for her, and she waved goodbye to the brothers, stepping out and pulling on her gloves. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Tommy sighed as they began the walk back to her flat. 

“It’s alright,” she cast a mischievous look his way. “I didn’t know you had the clap.”

He groaned, looking like he was silently cursing John. “It was just a minor infection,” he shot her a semi-panicked look. “I’m clean now, don’t worry. The army doctor put me on some antibiotics and it cleared right up.”

Taking his hand, she kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful.”

He shrugged noncommittally, and squeezed her hand. “Spotted it before it had a chance to get too serious.” 

She smiled at him, inching a little closer to his side. He was a steady source of warmth in the otherwise chilly night air. 

But as they walked, an image intruded her mind: Tommy, with his head tipped back, eyes closed and mouth agape with pleasure, while kneeled before him, a beautiful French woman sucked his cock down her throat. 

She tried to shake the image away, but it persisted, making her heart twist.

She meant it, when she said that Tommy’s past didn’t bother her. But still. Sometimes she worried. He had been incredibly, wonderfully patient and sweet with her as they eased into the beginnings of their relationship. Never pushing or pressuring. Letting her decide what she was and wasn’t comfortable with trying. 

And yet there were times when she still worried that she wouldn’t be able to fully satisfy him.

Deep down, she knew that she was being ridiculous. But she couldn’t fully silence that pesky little part of her brain that doubted. 

Pulling out her keys from her pocket, she unlocked the door to her flat and held it open to him. Stepping in after he was inside and shutting the door behind her, she clicked the multiple locks into place. 

Tommy shot her a quizzical look. “You sure you’re okay? You’re quiet.”

Hanging her coat on the hook by the door, she turned to look at him, standing there in the middle of her tiny living room, hands in his pockets and head cocked to the side slightly, blue eyes wide with building worry. She bit her lip, the beginnings of an idea taking root in her mind. Nerves jumped to life in her chest.

The vision of him with the French waitress sprung back into her mind. This time, arousal and possessiveness stirred in her lower stomach in response. 

She wanted to be the cause for Tommy’s face contorting in ecstasy like that. Making him growl and moan and scrambling to cling to his self control. Completely at her mercy despite her being the one on her knees.    

And perhaps there was a little possessive part of her that wanted to prove that she could be just as good as those who’d come before her. 

“What–” Tommy started to ask, but she was already striding with purposeful steps across the room, hands raising to cup his face and pull his mouth in to press onto hers. He caught her against him, lips parting to hers automatically. A low groan rumbled from his chest at the first stroke of her tongue against his.   

She kissed him hard, fingers sneaking under the lapels of his coat, feeling the firm, warm muscles in his strong chest jump in response to her touch. His coat went falling to the floor with a clatter.

“Mm,” one of Tommy’s thick palms cupped the back of her head, the other landing on her waist. A soft chuckle rumbled under her palms as he let her begin to walk him backwards towards the bedroom. Garments of clothing were steadily shed as they went, waistcoats and shirts cast to the ground and belts loosened.

With a deep purr, Tommy pulled his head back, still close enough that his nose bumped against hers, lips quirking.

“Lily, what…?” he started to ask in tender bemusement. 

“I want to suck your cock,” she whispered, breaths fanning out against his lips, cheeks flushing at the confession. 

His eyes widened, pulling back a little. Both hands landed on her hips. But she saw the way his pupils dilated at the suggestion.  

“Wha…you want…you’re…” he stuttered, and she bit her lip to keep from giggling at seeing Tommy Shelby–usually so posed and eloquent–flustered. His hands flexed on her hips, one letting go to brush her cheek, tilting her face to look fully into his earnest eyes. 

“You don’t have to,” he husked, thumb petting her lower lip. “Really, I mean it. Don’t feel like you have to just because John and Arthur are idiots. It’s alright.”

She pressed herself a little closer to him, the hand he had on her hip curling around to rest warmly on the small of her back. “I want to…” Angling her head up, she caught his mouth with hers in another quick kiss. “I want to try…”

His thumb rolled circles into the base of her spine, wide eyes still examining her carefully, as if searching for any sign that she didn’t really mean it. “Are you sure?”

A smile pulled at her cheeks at how concerned he was with making sure that she really was alright with it. “Yes, love, I’m sure.” When he continued to stare into her face assessingly, her confidence waned a little, cocking her head and frowning. “Do you…not want me to…?” She started to pull back, feeling her face grow hot with embarrassment. But Tommy caught her by the sides before she could get far. 

“Now, hold on a second, I didn’t say that.” His cheeks stretched wide with a reassuring smile, pulling her closer. “I just wanna make sure that you’re sure you want to.”

“I am sure,” she insisted. “I want to make you feel good.”

His brows knitted, confused. “You already do, love.”

She wetted her lips. “That’s not what I mean, exactly, I just…” she looked down, not quite sure how to put what she was feeling into words. “I want to do this for you.”

He brushed some hair out of her face, cupping her cheek, eyes still searching her face. Finally, his expression relaxed. “Alright then.”

With a breathless little smile, she angled her head to kiss him again. He welcomed her enthusiastically, head tilting to deepen the kiss, fringe tickling her. When he pulled back, it was to press firm kisses to her throat and shoulder, nuzzling. Another rush of nerves, but also excitement, washed over her. 

She groped along his naked torso, running her thumbs through the defined divots in his stomach, tracing the v of his hips. There was an audible thud as he worked her belt loose, undoing the fastenings on her trousers and dropping them to the floor. Standing there before him in just her bra and knickers, she squished in closer to him, aching to feel their bare skin sliding against one another. 

His moan vibrated into the crook of her shoulder when she cupped the growing bulge in his trousers, palming him through the expensive material. His hips twitched eagerly towards her hand, seeking more.     

With a hum, she set to work undoing his belt and dropping his trousers and underwear. He groaned, back arching a little, when her hand wrapped around his exposed cock, pumping rhythmically and smearing the precum gathered at the tip with her thumb.

Their noses bumped as he raised his head to look at her, and another set of nerves erupted in her stomach. He must have seen it in her face, because he leaned back a little, caressing her cheek.

“Okay?”

She nodded. “Nervous.”

His eyes softened. “Don’t be. It’s just me.”

She took a deep breath, nodding. Reminding herself that there was nowhere else in the world where she was safer. Trying new things wasn’t so scary when it was with him. He was always gentle, always checking in on her to make sure she was doing alright. And he always stopped when she asked him to.  

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” she whispered.

“‘Course,” he was still stroking her cheek, breath catching in his chest when she added a little twist to her strokes along his cock. She nosed into his throat, breathing in the scent of his cologne and cigarettes. “Not all that much to it, really. Just…put as much of it in your mouth as you're comfortable with. Suck. Bob your head. Try not to bite me.”

She snorted at that last bit, nipping his bottom lip in retaliation. “How fast?”

“I like it slow.”

She nodded. That tracked. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t try to fit it all in. I don’t want to hurt or choke you. Just use your fist on what doesn’t fit.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll warn you when I get close to coming.”

She cast him a thankful look. “Right.”

He smiled at her tenderly and kissed her again, forehead laying on hers even after they parted. She shivered a little with nerves, and he gave her a squeeze.

“It’s okay. It’s just you and me. I’ll help you if you need it. We stop whenever you say.”

She took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

His breath stuttered in an adoring chuckle. “I won’t. Promise.” Leaning his face back, his hands coaxed her to look at him. “C’mere,” he pulled her into another deep kiss, purring against her lips and petting her hair. After their lips parted, she was struck with how aroused he suddenly looked, eyes glazed over and pupils blown. Lips parted and breathing heavily. “Alright,” he husked out. “Just, erm, just start slow, eh?”

She wasn’t sure if that was more a suggestion for her benefit or his, but she nodded all the same, pecking him one last time before beginning her slow descent down his body, placing kisses along his chest and down his stomach. He sighed softly, hands caressing her shoulders as she made her way down, smirking to herself when she pressed kisses down his happy trail.

And then she was on her knees, face to face with his swollen cock.

His fingers threaded carefully into her hair, thumb under her chin angling her to tilt her head up. She swallowed roughly.

“You can stop whenever you want,” he rasped out. “Pinch my thigh if you need me to pull back.”

She nodded, thankful for the option of an out. “I will.” 

“Alright,” his throat worked when he swallowed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Gulping, her tongue darted out to wet her lips, eyes flicking down to his cock, red and throbbing. A white pearl of precum oozing from the tip. With delicate touches, she trailed her fingers up his thighs and he shivered. Her heart was pounding loud in her ears. 

She decided to start simple, wrapping her fingers gingerly around his erection. Tommy made a small sound, palm spaying out across the top of her head. She peeked up at him curiously. His lashes were lowered, chest heaving up and down with deep breaths. It took a moment for him to seemingly realize the suggestion his hand placement carried, and when he did his eyes widened. 

“Shit, sorry, is this okay? I promise I’m not going to try to hold you down. I just…”

“It’s okay,” she assured, leaning in to press a small kiss to his hip. Truth be told, it helped ease her nerves a little to have him touching her somewhere. He shuddered, thumb affectionately stroking the crown of her head.

Her next kiss was laid on the tip of his cock, and the sound he made in response did truly fantastic things for her ego, confidence boosting enough for her to give the head a small, shallow suck.  

“Fuckkkkkk…” he groaned out, the sound sending a thrum between her legs. Releasing the head with a small pop, she peered up at him nervously. He was still watching her with lowered eyelids, face a little flushed. “That’s good. You’re doing good,” he purred, and she felt herself grow bashful at the praise, ducking her head.

Encouraged, she took a little more of him into her mouth on her next movement down. Despite not having even half of him in her mouth, his girth stretched her jaw wide. She knew that there was no possibility that she would be able to fit all of him. She held him there for a moment, getting acquainted with the sensation of having him inside her mouth. The weight and taste of him on her tongue…       

Tommy suddenly winced. “Easy…easy on the teeth, love.”

She quickly pulled off of him. “Sorry.”

He shook his head to let her know the apology wasn’t necessary. Keeping her movements slow, mindful of her teeth this time, she slipped even more of him into her mouth, adjusting her hand to wrap around the base of his cock to cover what she couldn’t fit. The tip of him hit the back of her throat, and she had to back off a little when she accidentally gagged slightly on him.   

“Try…try breathing in when you go down…” Tommy’s voice was strained as he offered the advice. Lily did as he suggested, and was able to get him a little further down. She hummed around him, and Tommy moaned loudly. 

“Ohhhh….fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry if this is very quick.”

She couldn’t entirely stifle her giggle around him, receiving a little hiss of pleasure in response.

Keeping her eyes on him, still moving slowly until she got the hang of it, she started to bob her head. Tommy groaned deeply, fingers tightening a little in her hair. Not pulling on the strands or pushing her down, just holding on more firmly, helping with subtle little movements to guide her. 

The thick weight of him on her tongue was borderline addicting, the warmth and throbbing triggering her to rub her thighs together, core aching. Her eyes watered a little, jaw beginning to ache, but she kept going. The sounds he was making provided more than enough encouragement. Deep growls and low groans that all went straight to her cunt, causing her to clench hard around nothing.  

“God, that’s good…” he moaned, and when she looked up, she was met with the very expression she’d been hoping to see on him: head thrown back with his eyes squeezed shut, lips parted to allow sounds of pleasure to emit freely throughout the room.

She kept up the pace of her bobs, cautiously using the hand not wrapped around the base of his large cock to cup his balls. He made a strangled noise at that, erection twitching.

“Lily…Lily, love, fuck, just like that.” His brow was furrowed, eyes opening only to roll a little in his head when she swirled her tongue around his tip, lapping up the precum oozing there before taking him down again, this time deeper than before. Tommy made a whimpering noise that she’d never heard from him before, suddenly pushing weakly on her shoulder in warning. 

“I’m going to come,” he grunted. Lily hummed in approval, not backing off but instead doubling her efforts, determined to finish strong.   

With a twitch and a hoarse cry, he came into her mouth heavily. She took what he had to offer eagerly, curiously holding it in her mouth before swallowing it down. Tommy cursed when he felt the flex of her throat gulping around him, body tensing with the final waves of his orgasm.

When he was done, she released his softening member from her mouth, cleaning him with tender little kitten licks. The hand still pressed to her head stroked her hair languidly, coaxing her to look up into his face. 

He looked a little dazed, features glazed over and relaxed in post-orgasm bliss, blinking slowly as he came back down to earth. 

“C’mere,” he tugged on her arm gently, helping her to her feet. Grinning to herself with pride, Lily planted both hands on chest, leaning in to kiss him but then hesitating, pulling back in case he didn’t want to kiss her after she’d just had his load in her mouth. 

But Tommy’s hand caught her by the back of the head before she could get very far, pulling her in close to crash his mouth onto hers in a lazy, passionate kiss that made her stomach do a little flip. When he pulled back, a thin line of saliva was still connecting their mouths. She smiled at him sheepishly. Both of his hands were on her rosy cheeks, thumbs petting her cheekbones. 

“Was it good?” she asked, voice soft and nervous. Tommy’s brows lifted. 

“Was it…? Love, that was far better than just good.” He kissed her again, quickly, and she giggled bashfully. His eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re sure you hadn’t done that before?”

“Stop it…” she mumbled with half a laugh, thoroughly flustered. Tommy just chuckled and pecked her again. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he praised, wrapping her up in his arms. She wriggled happily against his chest, the compliments blooming warmly in her chest. “I wasn’t expecting you to swallow.”

She looked up at him in sudden alarm. “Not good?”

She was met with a semi-baffled look. “No, no, love–very good.” His thumb rubbed her cheek. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

Her hands rested on his forearms, beaming up at him. “I love you too.”

She was squeezed back against his warm muscle with a purr, fingers carding through her hair. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I did.”

His lips brushed the top of her head. “Good,” his warm palms slid along her skin–flushed from both his praise and still simmering arousal–eventually coming to rest on her hips. 

She shrieked as she was suddenly scooped up, spun around, and deposited with a little bounce onto the bed. Tommy crawled on top of her, grinning wolfishly, his fingers hooking into her knickers. Her walls squeezed at the deeply growled words he rumbled before descending upon her:

“My turn.”

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