#various traditional credit

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 04/08 // angst with a happy ending

wc: 2.3k // rating: G // cw: language // tags: post-s4, eddie lives, eddie in WITSEC, mutual pining, phone calls

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

“So, where are you now?”

Steve knew he wasn’t going to get a real answer to this question—given that Eddie wasn’t allowed to say—but it was basically tradition at this point to ask. 

Eddie chuckled through the receiver. “Hmm… it’s windy. And cold as balls. Will probably start snowing soon.”

Steve raised his brows. “Snow? This early?”

Dustin, from Steve’s kitchen island, mirrored his look of interested surprise, and immediately started looking over the map laid out on the countertop. It was dotted with little red and yellow stickers and various scribblings.

“Yep,” Eddie responded, popping the P. “Pretty shit going out for a smoke, but lots of trees around, so the view is decent at least.”

“Lots of trees,” Steve repeats, with a pointed glance at Dustin, who hurriedly starts marking different spots on the map. 

“How’s Henderson’s map going?” Eddie asked, knowing by the tone what they were doing.

“It’s… going?” Steve responded with a shrug. “He thinks he’s worked out the movement system.”

“I have worked out the movement system, thank you very much,” Dustin snarked, not looking up at Steve. “We can track their movement from the West Coast back up North, hence the snow.”

Eddie laughs again. “Kid’s too smart for his own good.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve grumbles, moving away from the kitchen, as far as the cord allowed him to. He drops his voice low. “How you holding up?”

“I dunno,” Eddie sighs. “Same shit, different place… Same shitty government officials with the same shitty requirements.”

Steve wants to say so much, to reassure and comfort him, but holds back. Keeps it in. “How’s Wayne doing?”

“He’s alright, doesn’t love the cold…” Steve can picture Eddie looking over at where Wayne is probably sitting nearby. “Hopefully they’ll move us somewhere warmer next.”

“D’you know when that’ll be?” A small pit of anxiety swirls in Steve’s gut. As it did any time they spoke of Eddie needing to move.

“Nah, last time was six months, but time before was only three. Hopefully this is just another quick one.” Steve can hear Eddie chewing on his lip, can picture him playing with his hair.

“Steve!” Dustin calls from behind the wall. “Ask Eddie what kind of trees are around him!”

Steve snorts. “Did you get that one?”

“Tell him I have no idea,” Eddie deadpans. 

Lowering the receiver, Steve calls over his shoulder. “He doesn’t know, buddy.”

“What kind of trees…” Eddie grumbles, only slightly mocking. “I guess I can’t blame him for trying.”

“It’s how he deals.” Steve keeps his voice low. “He misses you. I miss you.” His brain scolds him—too much—and he quickly adds, “We all do.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, and Steve’s almost sure he hears him hit his head on the wall. “I miss you too. All of you.”

It was a thing that happened often, for how infrequently Eddie was able to call. A kind of vulnerability that Steve supposed came from the fact that they couldn’t see each other, and wouldn’t for a long time yet. They’d skirt around it, but it was there, pulled taut between them, ready to break with one wrong move.

“How much longer?” Steve asks, like he doesn’t already know, like he hasn’t been counting down the days since Eddie got taken away.

Eddie exhales heavily, the sound muffling through the receiver. “Bit under three years.” Steve can hear the sad smile in his voice.

“Right.” Steve leans back against the wall, head tilted back as longing shoots through his gut. They were almost at the halfway point. There was so much he wanted to say, but he just… couldn’t. Steve would wait.

Steve’s kicking snow off his boots at his front door when he hears the phone ring from inside. He bolts in, slipping on the floor slightly in his haste. 

“Hello?” he answers breathlessly.

“Hey.”

A wave of relief washes over him. “Eddie,” he breathes.

“You okay? Did I wake you up?” His tone immediately switches to one of concern.

“No, no, I just got back from the Henderson’s,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair, willing his heart to calm down now that he’s answered the call. “We wanted to call you, but… y’know.”

“Yeah…” Eddie sighs. “I wish you could.”

The silence settles, and they just listen to each other breathe for several long moments. Steve knows that Eddie is holding back, the same way he is. Saying things that are only close to what they mean. Their quiet filled with unanswered questions and things they wish they could say. Finally, Eddie breaks it.

“Are you by yourself?”

“Yeah, just me tonight,” Steve says, shrugging his jacket off. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh at the joke. Steve didn’t really think it was that funny. Their constant need to skirt around the thing developing between them led to him saying some dumb stuff. He rolls his eyes at himself.

“I don’t think I could handle talking to anyone else tonight,” Eddie says, voice growing soft. “It’d be, I dunno, too much. With you, I can just… be, y’know?”

Steve is surprised—as he often is—at the honesty. He tries to make his next words sound casual, but he’s sure he fails miserably. “I’m glad I caught you then.”

“Yeah… me too.” Eddie doesn’t let the silence linger for too long this time. “So, any new Henderson theories to update me on?”

Steve snorts. “Of course.”

Letting him talk about his day at the Henderson’s, Eddie hums in the right moments, asks a few follow up questions, makes little jokes, but is otherwise quiet, seemingly content to just let Steve ramble. Happy to hear his voice. He lets Steve talk until he’s yawning too much to complete a full sentence.

“Sorry, I should let you go to sleep, it’s late.” Eddie’s tone is gentle, but like he’d rather be saying anything else.

“Nah, it’s cool, man,” Steve argues sleepily. “Don’t wanna waste your call.”

“It’s never wasted with you.”

“Eddie…” Steve doesn’t know what to say. Or rather, he knows exactly what he wants to say, but doesn’t know if he should. If he even could. He yawns again.

“Come on, bed time,” Eddie’s voice teases.

Steve feels the pull of his eyelids, begging for sleep. “Yeah, alright… Talk to you soon?” He tries to ask it casually, but again, can’t seem to manage it. Something like pleading coming through in his words.

“As soon as I can,” Eddie promises, voice tight with sincerity. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.” Steve pauses. “Merry Christmas.”

He can hear the sad smile in Eddie’s voice. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“How much longer now?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer.

“Two and a bit years,” Eddie sighs. “Past halfway, at least.”

Even Steve can tell he’s trying to convince himself it’s a good thing, but neither of them feel any happiness about it.

It’s been almost six months since Steve heard from Eddie, much longer than any gap between calls before. Anxiety gnaws away at him, a constant presence whispering in the back of his mind and sitting like a stone in his stomach. The kids—barely even kids now, having graduated high school—were starting to show their worry. He begged and pleaded with invisible entities that they’d hear something soon.

The phone finally rings.

“Hello?” Steve answers with urgency, as he did every time it rang these days.

“Steve?” the voice croaks.

“Eddie!” Bringing a hand to his face, Steve’s eyes welled with tears. “Eddie, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Eddie reassures him, sounding anything but. “They just had us somewhere remote. We didn't have a phone.”

“What the fuck? Can they do that?” Quiet rage slips through Steve’s chest.

“Evidently, they can do whatever they want,” Eddie seethes. “Didn’t stop me from bringing hell at every check up until they moved us again.”

Steve winces at the pain in Eddie’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. It’s fucking awful, what they’re doing to you.”

“It’s bullshit!” Eddie snaps. “I’m so fucking sick of it. I can’t believe this was their solution. Like, I’m the one demonised and hunted down in Hawkins and somehow I’m the one that ends up punished for it! It’s not even a solution. All it’s doing is fucking me around.” He takes a breath. “It’s hurting me. It’s hurting us.”

To anyone else, it would sound like Eddie meant him-and-Wayne-us, or even him-and-the-entire-party-us. But Steve knew. Heard it in the way he almost whispered it. Steve wanted to match his anger, throw something, hit something. Instead, he willed it down.

“It fucking sucks,” Steve says, keeping his tone soft. “But we’re so close to the end now. It’ll be over soon.”

“I just…” Eddie’s voice lowers. Steve can picture the way the air deflates out of him. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish… you could’ve come with me.”

“Me too.” Steve lets the back of his head hit the wall, eyes squeezed shut. “I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” Eddie says it like it’s painful. Like it gets caught in his throat halfway up. Like he was saying something else entirely.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I called when I don’t really have anything to say.” It’d been close to silent for more than five minutes before Eddie says it, voice soft. Almost timid.

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to hear your voice at all. To know you’re alive.”

The silence settles between them again. Comfortable, somehow. Eddie’s voice is smaller when he speaks again. “Only six months left.”

“Only six months,” Steve repeats, slightly more optimistic.

“We can… we can do it, right?” Eddie sounds so unsure. Steve can picture him playing with his hair. “It’ll be okay? When you visit?”

Steve knows what he means. He’s felt the same way for a long time. Scared that once they’re reunited, whatever this thing was—this delicate bubble of vulnerability—between them would burst. Each phone call found it wound tighter and tighter, pulled like a rubber band that would eventually reach its limit and snap, hurting both of them in the process. 

“It’ll be more than okay,” Steve says, sounding more sure than he feels. He wants more than anything to be able to hold him. To reach through the phone and wrap his arms tightly around him, feel the rise and fall of his breath and listen to his heartbeat.

“Promise?” Eddie asks, and Steve can picture him chewing on his nails.

“Promise.”

“One month left,” Steve whispers in the dead of night. No one else is there, but something about the late hour makes him quiet. Or maybe it’s what he’s saying. Like a wish that needs to be kept secret, or it won’t come true.

“One month,” Eddie repeats, just as soft. “You’ll be here?”

“Wherever you are, I’ll be there,” Steve assures him.

He’s sure Eddie can feel it too. The thing between them growing more palpable, more solid, more real. The less time they have left, the stronger it becomes. It terrifies both of them.

The car stops in an urban area of Chicago. Steve glances around as he gets out of the backseat, giving a quick thanks to the government official who drove him. His heart races. This is it. Double checking the address on the small piece of paper, he looks up to the block of apartment buildings, scanning the numbers.

Steve doesn’t need to look for long. At the next building, standing in the entryway, with his curly hair pulled into a messy bun, shadow of facial hair around his jaw, face more angular than Steve remembers, is—

“Eddie…” The name comes out in a soft breath, like a prayer. His eyes well up and he quickly blinks, as though the man might disappear if Steve couldn’t see him.

Whatever was holding Eddie to the stoop of his building breaks. He jumps down, skipping the stairs completely and landing with a thud of his boots. He runs, as quick as his legs allow him, until he crashes into Steve, almost knocking them both to the ground. With his arms around Steve’s neck, Eddie whispers his name over and over. Steve pulls him tight, arms wrapped around his waist. Steve can feel Eddie’s heartbeat matching his—racing, pounding, about to jump out of his chest. They hold each other like they’ll never let go, afraid that all of it could be taken away again.

Finally, Eddie pulls back, one hand softly entangled in Steve’s hair, and looks at him, huge eyes filled with tears. “You look different,” Eddie says with a wet laugh.

Steve can’t help but smile. “In a good way?”

Eddie nods with enthusiasm, grinning despite the tears. “In a really good way.”

Their eyes are locked on each other, and Steve can’t hold back anymore. He leans in, cautiously at first, before Eddie gives him a tiny nod, leaning in to meet him halfway. Their lips finally meet, crashing together, and Steve gasps at the feeling. It’s messy and desperate and shy. It’s everything they wished they could say, given to each other in their kiss. Steve brings his hands up to hold Eddie’s face, feeling the tears spill over and wiping them away with his thumbs.

They pull back, laughing and crying. Steve kisses him again and again and again, on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, before finally just looking, taking in every detail of Eddie’s face. The deep brown of his eyes, the thick lashes, the faint dusting of freckles across his nose. “I’m never letting you go. Never again.”

Eddie laughs again. It sounds like a sob. “Never again. You promise?”

“I promise,” Steve says reverently. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile grows wider, a fresh lot of tears spilling from his eyes. “I love you, too.”

[zahri-melitor]

One of the many tragedies of Jack Drake is that not only was he bad at being a parent, but that he had the perfect person to discuss how hard the experience was for him right there and yet the only conversation they ever have about parenting Tim is conducted at gunpoint.

Because look at Jack Drake. As far as he was concerned, he had everything under control until Janet died and his world fell apart.

Tim was a Good Kid™ as a kid. He was well behaved and polite and not a difficult child and that's obvious from the fact that many of his memories of his parents together are of being taken out in public. Jack and Janet had one kid and they clearly wanted that kid to enjoy the same things they did, so they took him with them to restaurants and museums and art galleries and the opera. And he enjoyed it and enjoyed that time with them.

Jack however clearly saw his role as a father and a husband in the very traditional position as the main provider. It was his job to work and bring in the income that supported their lifestyle (his depressive episode after losing the company and their having to move makes it very clear how much of his self-worth was tied up in that role). He had a son, but his time with Tim was pretty clearly about taking Tim out with him on a Saturday afternoon to watch sport, or play tennis with his friends, or go to the monster trucks, or go fishing: being able to spend a few hours with Tim and show him off to his friends and then return home and someone else took over looking after Tim. And in his mind, he clearly thought he was a good parent! He spent time with his son! His son was a credit who was worth showing off! He could take Tim with him when he and Janet went out for the evening, and Tim could be relied upon to behave. He was winning at being a father!

The part Jack never realised, of course, was that like many men in his position, he'd handed the day to day logistics of raising a kid over to his wife (Janet) and to people he paid to do it for him (Tim's boarding school). He wasn't the disciplinarian parent. He was the 'fun' parent, who got to have the good times with his child.

If Jack was ever actually involved in decisions about discipline and consequences of actions, it was probably at the ultimate stage: the 'wait til your father gets home' sort of threat. The nuclear option. He didn't handle the everyday stuff - he probably never SAW the everyday stuff.

So, Jack thinks he's a great parent. He can brag to his friends about how well behaved HIS child is, unlike those little ruffians you see screaming in public or whose parents can't take them anywhere because they're disruptive.

Then his world falls apart. He's injured and disabled and grieving. He's a single dad. And the kid he's got is suddenly not the child he remembers. Tim frequently acts out, lies, runs away and comes home with bruises and notes from school saying they’re worried something is going on. He also starts dating and possibly trying to have sex ‘too young’ (being caught with Ariana sleeping over and the couch situation, Steph being pregnant even if Tim insisted it wasn't his).

Jack Drake has to suddenly step up to be the main parent of a 14 year old who he's probably never had that dynamic with. He doesn't have the years of experience in how Tim reacts to various forms of boundaries and punishments, because he's never been the one who set them or enforced them. He's probably never sat down and talked to Tim about his feelings in his life. And Tim, I repeat, is fourteen years old, possibly one of the most difficult ages for a kid. Everyone's 14 year olds are suddenly more difficult than usual and pushing boundaries.

On top of that, he's got to learn this all on the fly, in circumstances where he basically has no support. "Help, I'm a new single father to a teenager' isn't really a genre of self help book or parenting group that gets a lot of love - most people who are single parents aren't men, and most people looking for advice on dealing with problems with raising their kids are talking about under-5s, because by the time kids are out of the toddler stage most parents have a reasonable idea of what works and what doesn't, have networks set up, and are usually reaching out for a bit of advice or support about a specific situation, not Dealing With It All.

What Jack really needs is a buddy or two who are also single fathers to teenage boys, who have experience navigating this, maybe who also acquired responsibility for their son in his teen years. Wow. I mean that's a big ask, but funnily enough, there's someone who lives right next door who exactly fits that description...

(The tragedy that Bruce and Jack only ever have the one discussion about parenting Tim, the kid they've been effectively co-parenting since Tim was 13 years old, and that that discussion took place with Jack holding a gun on Bruce).

So of course Jack is terrible at being a parent to Tim. He's inexperienced, he doesn't have any support, he doesn't SEEK support outside of marrying Dana (and Dana clearly while lovely is both ineffective and reluctant to interfere in Jack and Tim's relationship). Now, he fails on very specific axes, in ways that are both understandable and also signs that Jack has a bad handle on his temper.

His go-to threat is sending Tim back to boarding school, because: when Tim was at boarding school, Jack didn't have any discipline issues with Tim! It clearly worked!; Tim doesn't want to go back to boarding school, making it a threat to hold over him; again, Jack's seeing a kid who is sneaking around, lying, running away and he's at his wits end - there's a narrative in the circles he lives in that such kids DO need to be taught to behave and sending them to boarding school is a way to do that.

He runs hot and cold on paying attention to Tim because up until Tim was 14 that was...what he did! And it wasn't such an issue then, as he wasn't a single parent. And when he pays attention, he does tend to be focused (laser focused, in fact), in getting Tim out of No Man's Land, of the dramas at school during Cry of the Huntress when Jack's getting outraged over Tim's bruises and getting into fights, when he's arguing with Ariana's uncle over whether Tim and Ariana's relationship was going too far.

It's just that he never developed the day to day, in between level of parenting and boundary setting and discipline. He's got a temper, and he swings between "it'll be fine, Tim's a smart kid, I trust him" laid back permissiveness, and getting mad and going immediately to the nuclear option: "You are going back to boarding school!" and so on.

He doesn't know how to walk away and calm himself down when he's worked up. He's not particularly good at redirecting his aggression. And he gets easily frustrated, because in his mind everything went smoothly for years...until it was all his responsibility.

And the thing is, there are so many ways Jack could have tried harder to be a good parent, that were available to him. But because of his background and the culture he lived in and the demands of storytelling he never reached out for any of them.

(And Bruce was right there! They knew each other socially! Everyone knew Bruce had worked through having two teenage sons on his own! He could have asked for advice, and he even knew Bruce knew Tim, given Bruce had officially fostered Tim while Jack was in a coma and in hospital. If you were putting together a specific support group you'd kick yourself over how perfect this was)

It's just such a part of the tragedy of Jack Drake.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️

[plain text: cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️ cloud emoji]

[id: pastel fem looking person in pastel manual wheelchair looking down to slug in lap. there also slug on head n slug slide down skirt (don’t ask how). (all color pastel). person hair pink bangs, purple side hair, & blue low loose pigtails go below hips. purple eyes & medium-light ish skin. wearing bright turquoise ish color shirt collar with pink ruffles, & white shirt body with blue ruffles decorate, n green long sleeve cardigan over it also with ruffles. rainbow midi above knee skirt with white ruffles overflow from side of wheelchair. wear mismatch stockings, person’s left side rainbow stripes, n person right side turquoise blue with clouds on it. person not wearing shoes.

their wheelchair has yellow headrest, teal stroller push handle, green contoured backrest with supportive panels on two side lateral, teal to blue transition arm rest, orange big wheels with rainbow windmill candy swirl as cover & red push rim. frame is turquoise blue gradient to pink, has dump/slant, with yellow slug on one side’s turning point. purple fat caster wheels. attach to backrest is big white angel wings, & above arm rest has glowing yellow halo. their AAC device floating by them, has turquoise blue case with white cloud patterns. is saying “slug” icon. border of art lined with rainbow gradient lace. end id]

☁️.

(otherwise known as hate names terrible at decision)

VERY pastel n rainbow overload >:)

they level 3 autistic (“requiring very substantial support”) with high support needs—meaning they cannot independently do most adaptive functioning skills, needing other people physical help to do/do for them. they also need 24/7 supervision & physical help for all iADLs & bADLs.

they nonverbal & use AAC full time. their AAC is symbol based speech generating device.

their (most likely [<haven’t decided] partner who act as their) disability caretaker is hyacinthos shinya🪻🌌.

they also full time non-ambulatory wheelchair user with very specific posture & seating positioning needs so not out of it for long or really much at all.

angel wing on back of wheelchair is power assist! is magically powered by hyacinthos (who angel) & can be powered even remotely / far away. way control wheelchair & power assist part by intuitive / hand motions & gestures / etc, part by halo hover above armrest that act as joystick. can use it like traditional joystick or wear as bracelet n control that way! (gimme it i want one) (if you recognize this setting it may be because previous version)

they do mix of self propel, power assist, & caregiver push. their wheelchair have stroller style push handle instead traditional push handle for easier caregiver push, especially one handed.

is set in magical world & they do some magic (< haven’t decided]!

character not slug obsessed, artist the slug obsessed one

character sheet below cut!!

artfight character profile (VERY wip)

please do feel free draw them (with credit) n tag me!!!!!!

reblog welcome but please don’t repost

will fight you if debate about autism levels & support needs

.

hi under cut

[character sheet. functionally described below]

top left is full character clothing (with wheelchair translucent in background) because in original there some key parts blocked by wheelchair especially arm rest.

skirt around waist have purple band with blue small ruffles. center have rainbow bow with rainbow star on top.

n also have front n back of AAC device. what drawn here is 5x7 grid with various colored squares showing different parts of speech but grid size more so because like. is how much could fit comfortably. so even when redraw n isn’t exact 5x7 with colors exactly right where is right now, is okay. colors & where they are based on own AAC device >:) because of course

design of aac device case basically same as above. back side just have bigger clouds. oh also device has handles. tho it float around so handles get used less. float around so don’t have worry about how to carry it how to mount on wheelchair etc etc etc it follows you it automatic come to your hand when you wanna say something (kinda also acting as prompting bc sometimes think about say something but don’t actually say in device) it get out way when you don’t want it. if only like this irl lol

bottom left is info about character already said

bottom right is wheelchair design

parts covered up by person: rainbow gradient side guard, blue contoured cushion.

n also drawing of back of backrest: when not in use, wings power assist shrink to small decoration on back. not big there all time.

also have stickers! sticker of nessie, banana slug, sheep, cloud, star, rainbow, & an AAC symbol of “AAC”

wheelchair may also have magical tilt & recline & elevate. how? don’t know!!! why not just make full powerchair? uhhhh like manual chair look better

n picture of irl windmill candy

border of art also rainbow gradient lace.

yea that all please draw them 🥲

praise me put lots work into them

pls be nice to them

[officialbruciewayne]

Observations on Kryptonians:

Their Biology, Behavior and its Dynamic with Beauty

An anecdotal entry by Bruce T. Wayne, regarding his experiences with the Kryptonian People.

Over the course of the last century, Earth and Humanity has become aware that not only are we not alone in our universe- but that we are not alone on our world. At an undisclosed moment in our history, our homeworld became a refuge for the last children of Krypton, a world that was lost to unknown disaster.

Kryptonians are mysterious and alien, a recipe for rejection and prejudice on this planet. Not only this, but they have exceptional powers, which lure our worst impulses of greed and exploitation. We have not always treated them with kindness.

Despite our own lack of humanity, the most notable Kryptonians of our society continue to share their unique gifts and perspectives, choosing to help wherever they can.

As a Jewish man, and a Father, the legacy of the Kryptonian people, both in entrusting our world with their children, but with it, their future in the face of diaspora, humbles me.

I would like to offer my voice of support to our kin from beyond the stars. I have some personal experience with Kryptonians, and will attempt to demystify their habits and nature, to present them to you not as strangers from the skies, but as part of the infinite diversity of our world.

Not to be feared, not be used, but to be welcomed.

ברוכים הבאים לבית שלנו

Caveat on Kryptonian Powers

Most discussions of Kryptonian biology begin and typically conclude with a long list of the powers typical to Kryptonians. These powers are considerable, but are generally used to justify how they are treated. There is no value in me lingering on this much-speculated aspect of our Kryptonian kin.

Instead, I would like to discuss the lesser known traits that I have found to be personally charming.

Diurnalism and Sun-seeking

Kryptonians are naturally diurnal by nature, and are drawn to sunlight. When relaxed, they enjoy basking in our sun's warmth and when injured, or unwell, should rest in either natural sunlight, or be placed near a sunlamp.

Many Kryptonians display a tanned or dark-skinned complexion, which I found initially counterintuitive since it indicates protective melanin in Humans. In a Kryptonian, this coloration is actually indicative of stored solar radiation. In layman's terms, it's a sign of good health in your local Kryptonian.

(Art credit to @domnorian, please support the original work here, it is used here as an example)

Dentition and Diet

The intense demands of the Kryptonian body are supported by an incredibly high metabolism. Although they are primarily sustained by solar radiation, they can and do display a remarkable appetite. This energy is readily burned off by their bodies, so it should be considered offensive to shame or draw attention to how hungry a Kryptonian may appear to a Human.

Instead, attention should be paid to the variety of their diet. I have concerns that Kryptonian nutrition is not necessarily met by traditional human foods, and believe that supplements of various metals, sillica and crystalized minerals may be of great use to them. Further research is indicated, but consider they may not be fully satisfied.

This viewpoint is supported by the Kryptonian dentition, which features a diminutive but handsome set of fangs. As this is one of the more readily visible distinguishing features, some Kryptonians experience self-consciousness when smiling.

If it is of comfort to any Kryptonians reading this, Humans enjoy 'teefies' and like to remark upon the canine teeth of our companion cats and dogs. We find it 'cute'.

Ocular Notes

It has come to my attention that Kryptonian vision is more specialized for use during flight. It has great telescopic capacity, amongst its other various modes, but this can put them at a disadvantage in our society. Being so far-sighted, Kryptonians may struggle to read letters, smaller signs and newspapers without assistance.

If you see a Kryptonian puzzling over a piece of paper, and holding it at arms' length, any offers to help should be gently made. However, Kryptonians are notoriously friendly and inclined to offer help as much as receive it. You may well make a new best friend. In fact you probably will. Statistically.

A smaller note is that Kryptonian eyes- on account of the multiple facets to their vision -all appear to be a unique type of blue. This particular shade is potentially a generative emission of scattered sunlight, though it would require more detailed research and a far longer examination on my part to confirm.

They Purr

Yes, it is true. Kryptonians purr. It is a delight to listen to.

From my observations it seems readily triggered by the presence of children, or a desire to comfort others. As well as by their own contentment, whether physical, emotional and often both.

The frequency of the oscillations seem to differ between the two circumstances, supporting my current theory that this purring is both a form of communication, but separately resonant to encourage bone growth and soft tissue repair in the sick and injured.

Reproduction and Courtship

Having not conducted a relationship with a Kryptonian, I speak from a limited capacity of research. That said, to Humans looking to court Kryptonians, they appear to be receptive to forms of lip contact, and saliva exchange.

Further erogenous zones are speculative, but there is marked sensitivity along the length of the throat and just below the occipital bone.

Love

I put it to you that Kryptonians are not powerful - they are uniquely vulnerable. An endangered culture and people who have shown us compassion alone. They deserve our protection and understanding.

This is the only home they have ever known. They are not strangers from the stars, they are our friends sharing the same sunlight.

They love us. We should love them in return.

B.T.W

PS. @official-clark-kent I am no reporter, but I did enjoy trying my hand at a small thinkpiece. Perhaps we could go fishing sometime?

[frantic-fiction]

Happy Birthday

(Gif: Alistairs)

Prompt: The gang throwing Spawn Astarion and Redeemed Durge a joint birthday party 😭

Credit to @bauldersgrave69 for letting me use their idea. Hopefully, you like it.

Astarion x F!Reader (Mostly Gender neutral but reader does wear a dress)

Warning: None. No spoilers just durge's memory lost and violent tendencies. This is pretty much pure fluff.

Word Count: 3.1k

It's been almost a year since you found yourself aboard a mindflayer ship, forcibly shoved into an adventure - one with life-changing choices. Choices that left you with a family not bonded through blood and torture, but one of trust, acceptance, and a chance to change something in yourself that you didn't fully comprehend when you woke up in that pod.

And the most important piece of the puzzle is currently walking next to you. As close as appropriate in public, moving away from the waterfront, Astarion would occasionally drop kisses on any exposed skin he could reach. But for the most part, he was content to hold your hand in his, just happy to be with the love of his life.

It was your date night. After the chaos had died down, you and Astarion had established this weekly tradition. Neither of your previous lives before the tadpoles allowed for much personal exploration or relaxation. The dates aimed to help take back both the agencies that had been torn away violently by cruel masters.

It was Astarion's week to choose the activity. He decided to push his boundaries just a bit and go dancing - not the stifling ballroom dances Cazador demanded be performed during various public events. No, Astarion wanted liveliness, drinks, and a wonderful band.

So, he bought a lovely pale yellow sundress from a stall by your apartment and added his personal style, ending with a beautiful garment - swirls and intricate patterns embroidered as accents. Donning himself in a dashing doublet, dark greys, and black accented with a similar shade of yellow.

The blushing mermaid was brilliant, the band jovial with pounding drums, and excellent lute and violin playing. Drinks were shared until heads were fuzzy. It took a bit for Astarion to work up the courage to dance, but he quickly offered his hand. The moment it was offered, your drink was down, and with a flushed face and a smile, you took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor.

The rest of the night was spent spinning and dipping until you were dizzy. You had never really danced, and if you had, that memory was lost and not worth finding. At times, you would stumble into a spin or out of a dip, but Astarion was always there to make sure you stayed on your toes with a firm hold.

When the energy of the night waned down and the band began to play a slower tempo, Astarion didn't hesitate to pull you flush against his body. His coolness was a pleasant contrast to the stuffiness of the mostly crowded tavern.

Astarion bent down to kiss you below your ear, whispering, "I don't think I will ever run out of thank yous."

"For dancing with a handsome man, I can say it was tiring but I'm having fun." The word is still a foreign concept, but one you and Astarion have become incredibly good at together.

"Yes, this night has been the best dancing I've done in years." You card your hand through his curls; his hand trails the curve of your spine. "But my thanks go beyond tonight, with you, my love. I have felt - you see I..."

Words seem not to be able to grasp what Astarion wants to say. So, he simply smiles and captures your lips in a kiss. Not everything needs words to express.

****

"My sweet, I believe we forgot dear Evelyn's oranges."

You had just entered the neighborhood where your house resided. It wasn't anything big; neither you nor Astarion liked the idea of a big space with rooms that would stay empty and cold.  

Thankfully, you came across Miss Evelyn, a sweet elderly gnome who owned a multifamily home. Her son had sadly died when the Absolute took Baldur's Gate. His wife and child went back to her parents, leaving Evelyn with a lot more space than she needed.

Astarion and you rented the upper portion of the home. The rent was cheap and you wish to pay more, and when you tried to explain just how much wealth you could spare, Evelyn shut it down immediately. She said that her price was fair and all she needed to make it for herself.

There was no room to argue after that, so you and Astarion took it upon yourselves to help her in any way she would allow - like getting oranges.

"I'll run out early before she wakes. Eve won't even notice."

"If you try to throw me on the chopping block again, I will not be making any cookies for a month."

"You would never!" You gasped, clutching your chest in dramatics.

"Don't tempt me, darling; I can be very stubborn." He said this, holding the gate to the property for you.

"Star, you know how her disappointed look makes me feel," the gravel crunched under your feet, the porch light to the house breaking through the dark.

"Yes, well, you'll just have to hope she made her bedtime." He kissed your cheek smugly and walked ahead, taking the stairs two at a time.

His shoes hit the wood boards of the porch when you heard, "Oh good evening Evelyn dear, I do have to apologize; my love completely forgot to get you oranges. By the time I realized their mistake, the vendor was already gone for the evening."

Handsome fucking asshole. Hands bunched up the skirt as you followed up the steps. He is going to have quite the time having any post-date fun with the way he's playing.

Making it to his side, Evelyn's in her chair, a basket of walnuts beside her. She didn't say anything for a moment, leaving only the crickets. Grabbing a walnut, she placed it on the table and slammed a hammer you did not see, cracking the shell before popping the flesh into her mouth.

"I figured, you two never get the things I want when it's your date night. Whatever, just get them tomorrow; your visitors gave me these walnuts so I'm not too bothered." The words were jumbled between almost toothless gums and walnut bits. A few pieces flew outwards with trails of spittle.

"Visitors?"

"Yeah, that little ragtag group you got. The bald one gave them to me. Told me something about 'Boo' thinking it would be polite since I let them break in and all."

Astarion and you met eyes, confusion reflecting each other's. Why was Minsc here?

"Did you plan something?" You asked.

"No," Astarion quickly turned to Evelyn, " I hope our little friends haven't been too much of a bother. Have a wonderful evening, my dear. Your oranges will be in your fruit bowl come morning."

He grabbed your hand and made for the stairs to your floor. Evelyn simply grumbled "They better be, pointy," before slamming the hammer down again.

You started to pull Astarion faster up the remaining stairs. But as soon as you reached for the door, Astarion halted you with an arm snaking around your middle. His mouth captured yours in a kiss, fast and heavy before you could even speak.

You melted. It's automatic, instinctual. You sigh carding you finger in his hair tugging on the roots. The orange incident quickly forgotten and the heavy annoyances with it. Not even the question of why your friends have broken into your home during date night mattered. His lips were gone too soon.

"I don't know about you, my sweet, but I believe our little weirdos have been very rude to us." He breathed into your ear before giving it a nibble. You nodded slightly, pulling his face to your neck. The he scrapes his fangs against you throat and you gasped

"I think they should have learned by now that I like to keep you to myself at night. And on our lovely date night, where you have been teasing me all night with this garment."

He pressed your back roughly against the door. The hinges whined against the force. You kiss him again, feeling his leg press between your legs. "And how am I to know that I shouldn't be ravishing you right here against this door."

"OKAY, OKAY. WE GET IT, ARESHOLE. DON'T INTERRUPT DATE NIGHT," Gale yelled.

"Maybe the next time we think about doing something nice for you two shits, I'll remember to bring earplugs," Wyll followed.

Astarion stepped you both back fully on your feet. "Maybe this time they will finally learn." Placing one last soft kiss on you cheek, he fully pulled away and moved to open the door.

You couldn't say what you had expected to see walking into your home. But this was not it.

Bright colors of balloons cluttering the floors, strings of paper tossed haphazardly around your living room. Your dining table is scatered with wrapped gifts and a frosted cake.

Each of your companions stood, all staring at Astarion and you, a mixture of disgust, excitement, and boredom (though that was mainly Lae'zel, who stood brooding in the farthest corner with a purple cone on her head). Oddly, they all had pointy hats tied to their heads. Even little Boo.

Scratch, who with all the excitement of seeing all of his friends back at his home, had begun to use his as a chew toy. Minsc pleaded with him to stop and seemed to be having a three-way conversation between the dog, Boo, and himself.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Karlach screamed as if the words had been burning in her mouth for hours. This had each and every one of your companions repeating the same phrase.

The shocked and confused looks Astarion and you shared must be very evident because Wyll was quick to jump in. “You both shared with us not knowing when your birthday was, so we’ve all decided what better time to celebrate than the start of our journey.”

This had Astarion's hand tightening in yours, his posture stiffening. Your heart hammered against your ribs, tears brimming over, trickling down flushed cheeks.

You don’t deserve this. The little voice echoes, the same voice that chokes you at night when you lay crying in Astarion's arms as he helps you calm from a panic attack. These people. This beautiful, caring family you stumbled upon was too good for such a broken, tainted person like you. To even think about this, planning a party with cake and presents simply to celebrate you and Astarion just living another year.

Him you understand; you had already been silently planning something similar for him for months. But it’s Astarion. The man who saved you, the one who reminds you each day that you are loved and safe and no longer the puppet of a cruel god. Yes, Astarion deserves to be celebrated and showered with gifts and affection. But you? The same person whose hands are stained so red with blood you still can’t comprehend the full extent of your depravity. No, you don’t think so.

"Well," Astarion’s voice cracks, and he takes a shaky breath, clearing his voice. "I guess being the center of attention for the night should make up for postponing my plan to bend my beloved over the cou-"

This snaps you out of your self-deprecation. You clamp your hand over his mouth loudly saying, "Thank you guys; this is… well, this is just perfect."

You rip your hand away when you feel the wet glide of Astarion's tongue and the scratch of a fang. "Seriously," you groan, wiping your hand off on his chest before stepping away and walking up to give out your first of many hugs.

****

"You cheated, you fucking bastard!" Astarion points accusingly over the coffee table, glaring at Gale. "I can sense a spell; you're not as clever as you think, wizard!"

You rub his arms, silently telling him to chill but shooting a glare of your own at the man. "Not to mention Karlach is not a very good actor," you say bluntly, causing the tiefling to scoff in offense. "You know I love you, Kar, but you have never been a good liar. Gale, if you won't play by the rules, I won't be responsible if Star gets violent."

Getting up from the couch, you peck Astarion's cheek and collect the pile of dessert plates. Astarion stands to start his turn of charades, beginning to mime out his word as Gale, Wyll, Karlach, and even Lae'zel tries to guess. Though Lae'zel only seemed to guess various ways to harm an enemy.

Minsc has himself in a deep talk with Boo. The two sat close to the bay window where Halsin and Jaheria had found themselves in a game of chess. By the looks of it, Halsin was winning, and Jahiera was none too happy.

Placing the dishes in the sink, you quickly wash the cake crumbs and frosting off. You carelessly toss each on the drying rack, Astarion always hated when you did dishes always complaining of the many chips you keep putting in the ceramics. 

Once done, you walked up to Shadowheart where she was dividing the small pile of presents into two.

"Thank you," you said softly, catching the half-elf's attention. It had come to light that Shadowheart had been the one to bring the idea up. "This has been more than I ever expected."

"We're family," was all she said. And you guessed it was all that needed to be. Just a simple act of love for two people in a large, slightly dysfunctional family. You move automatically, practically tackling Shadowheart into a hug.

"This means more to Astarion and me than we'll ever be able to express." The two of you don't mention the hoarseness in your voice. And if Shadowheart felt a few tears drop on her collar, she doesn't say.

She simply hugs you back just as tight. Once you break away, Shadowheart calls for everyone to gather for presents.

It's a novel concept to open gifts while everyone stares on, waiting for expressions of happiness and thanks. It's awkward, and both Astarion and yourself share the feeling of being out in the deep end. But it's kind of fun.

You open boxes to find books and painting supplies (a hobby you picked up after you saved that rather stuck-up painter from the Zhentarim last year.) But the best is a medium-sized portrait of the party together, something you've been begging everyone for months to do. It's beautiful, and you are already thinking of the perfect location to hang it up.

Astarion receives new embroidery supplies, a shiny new dagger, and a small box. It's black velvet, and when he opens the hinged lid, a plain-looking copper band sits in the middle of a makeshift pillow.

Never one to hold his tongue, Astarion cheekily says, "Oh how quaint, look at this darling; doesn't it look just like the magic ring the tiefling boy tricked you with."

You shoulder him, and he laughs. "Actually, it's a bit more magical than that little trinket; we went to a lot of trouble for that thing, so hush," Jahiera scolds.

"Oh then please regale us with the story of this mysterious gift," Astarion smirks.

"They call it the Sunwalker's gift. It's a rare magical artifact that protects a person from light sensitivity," Shadowheart says.

It doesn't process for Astarion right away, but your breath instantly catches. You freeze in shock; how in the hells did they find this? You thought it was just a legend.

"Gale got a lead, and long story short, it's real, it's here. Fangs, you can walk in the sun mate." Karlach smiles bouncing on her feet, her flames flickering a bit brighter in her excitement.

"However, it's not perfect. You can still succumb to some effects of your hypersensitivity. But the ring should allow at least a solid 8 hours of sun exposure." Halsin quickly adds.

Astarion doesn't take his eyes off the ring. His pointer finger smooths over the tarnished band. He swallows dryly, blinking back tears as quick as they come. "This… this" he's lost for words, and no one rushes him. They all know. "Thank you, will you excuse me?"

He's gone before anyone can react. There is no judgment; everyone knows strong emotions are not something Astarion can process anywhere but alone or with just you.

"This is amazing. I'm pissed you didn't let me in on this surprise, but from both Astarion and I, thank you all." You motion for a hug and they all pile in. 

Astarion doesn't return, but no one expects him to. The party wraps up quickly after that; everyone says their goodnight and departs into the night. You lock up the house and retreat to the bedroom. He sits by the window, staring out into the silent city. He's shirtless, his pale skin ethereal in the moonlight. The ring dances across his knuckles absentmindedly, his chin in his other hand.

You make your footsteps purposefully loud as you approach the vampire. Your hands snake themselves around him, caressing his smooth skin of the chest. He catches the ring and turns his face to meet your eyes. You push some hair out of his eye. He's been crying.

"Hey handsome," you smiled, kissing his lips. He turns towards you. Pulling you on to his lap and cups you face. There's no rush to the dance of your lips. Just soft brushes and tongue caress. You pull away panting. 

"Gods, I'll never get tired of this."

"Good cause I'm quite smitten with you." You grab his hands, taking the ring from his palm. You slide it onto his left ring finger, the magic tightening the metal to fit perfectly. You press a soft kiss to it sliding off. "Now come; I want to cuddle."

He helps rid you of your dress, slipping on one of his shi in replacement. You both slide under the sheet, Astarion pulls you onto his chest, strong arms enclosing you. Your head is tucked under his chin. He presses a kiss to your hairline whispering I love you.

You play with his hand, taking it off and putting it on each finger, watching it shift to fit each one. It was quiet for a while. Both of you are just soaking in each other. 

"Our family," Astarion says quietly, his chest rumbling under your ear. You drop his hand and look up. He has a look of pure love. "The term has been one that has only caused me pain for 200 years. To think I would find a new one that could contest 200 years of shit is…pleasant. Something I didn't expect to have again"

You smile brightly, grabbing his face and pressing your lips back onto his. "We really lucked out, didn't we. Now how about we get some sleep, and in the morning, we go get Evelyn's oranges together."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just running his hand down your spine, stopping at the swell of your bum and back up again. He kisses you again. "There is nothing I'd like more."

Feedback is welcome and always makes me smile, hate does not! Have a nice day, cheers!

[darlingofsatoru]

JJK & CHRISTMAS

⊹ synopsis: Various hcs of Jjk characters at Christmas.

SATORU GOJO

-This man is ecstatic, Christmas is his version of heaven.

-Christmas dates are necessary, he’s gonna go out with you in fuzzy coats, gloves, earmuffs, scarfs and hats with pom-poms on them, even if it’s not snowing.

-Hot drinks are also a necessary (he pays every time, pulls his credit card out quickly just as you’re getting yours out, no amount of convincing or bribing can stop him from doing this every time he can.)

-PRESENTS. This mf is so extra with them, type of man to get you tons of expensive jewellery then giggle and blush like a school girl at a teddy-bear and his favourite chocolate.

-Stops using his infinity just so the snow can fall on him (and ofc so he can throw snowballs at you & vice versa!!)

-VERY over the top with Christmas decorations, that one house that has lights all over their yard, driveway, roof & any place in sight (he floated up to the roof because he nearly fell off a ladder one time and doesn’t want to make you do it for him).

-His sweet tooth is in full swing, that man will be buying any sweets he sees that are even remotely festive, he probably even justifies buying things that barely have any relation by trying to make up a tradition.

-Snowmen will be made if there’s snow, he’s running outside with you even if ur wearing nothing but pajamas, you cannot escape making a snowman with him.

-Overall, he’s Santa but 10x more energetic (and 10x less old !!)

KENTO NANAMI

-Very traditional with Christmas (he isn’t allergic to fun dw!)

-Likes to walk with you around your neighbourhood just to check out Christmas lights whilst holding your hand tightly.

-Speaking of Christmas lights, he’ll have a few up but if you want more he’ll help (don’t go too mad with them though, he’ll sigh pretty loudly.)

-Gentlemen as always, makes sure you’re warm in cold weather.

-Thinks it’s the thought that counts but will put in effort to get a present he believes you’ll like.

-Best believe he’s taking a week or two off to celebrate with you, Jujutsu Tech can’t say shit to stop him.

-Prefers a Christmas where there’s a warm fireplace whilst you cuddle on a sofa with many blankets, probably watching something on tv.

-Overall, boyfriend behaviour to the max, your Christmas is gonna be the best ever.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

-This man doesn’t care for Christmas, let’s be honest.

-The only reason he makes any effort at all is because you want him to but that’s not gonna be tons, he’ll simply acknowledge winter and maybe a tiny thing about Christmas, if you’re lucky.

-Somehow convince him to go ice-skating with you, it’ll be an experience you certainly won’t ever forget.

-Gets into a fight if you make him queue for literally anything to do with Christmas spirit.. That guy just stepped on your foot, what did he expect with the king of curses right there? That he’d ignore it? Of course he wouldn’t, that guy surely wouldn’t mind loosing both of his feet, yeah? Well, Sukuna doesn’t have if he does, now he can’t step on your feet ever again.

-Refuses to watch any Christmas love movies so when you manage to convince him, you either hear disapproving grunts or outright complaints about the protagonist or love interest.

-He’s definitely not one for Christmas at all but a present for his partner is a present that needs to be perfect. He’ll get you whatever you want, might even humour you with wearing a Santa hat for a minute or so in private with you.

-He’s pretty grumpy but he’ll sit around on the counter and occasionally help with cooking Christmas cookies, if he feels like it.

-Throws snowballs with frozen ice inside at random kids and casually walks away.

-Overall, the grinch but one who’d steal all the presents and give them to his partner instead whilst killing those with stupid gifts..

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

-Megumi isn’t very excited but he does enjoy it, the break of this holiday admittedly being his favourite part.

-Not one to put lights up but he’s not gonna deny putting up some decorations inside if you’d like.

-Don’t bring him to a Christmas family gathering please..

-Would willingly ice-skate with you but he’s keeping close to the edge, he doesn’t want you or him falling.

-I can see him liking snow but he does remind you to keep warm every once in a while, sighing as he shrugs off the scarf Gojo had forced onto Megumi and instead placing it around your neck.

“It should still be warm, remember to bring one next time.”

-Keeps his eyes on yours discreetly as you past stores, looking for any interest shown on certain pieces in the window.

-Another one who holds your hand in the cold, it’s just something he’d deem as common sense at this point.

-Brings you to have dinner with his sister and him & it’s super sweet, Tsumiki loves you almost immediately due to the fact you’re his partner and that he’s not alone <3

-Overall, a sweetheart with lightly less effort than some but still sweet anyway.

YUJI ITADORI

-Yuji loves any holiday but Christmas definitely ignites something happy in him even more!

-Probably loves it half for the happiness he/others experience form it and also half because he gets presents..

-What can he say? It’s super cool to unwrap and then see this super cool thing he’d forgotten he realllyyy wanted like a month ago!!

-Down for anything to be honest, you name it and he wants to do it too.

-Making snow-angels is something he NEEDS to do any time it snows.

-Likes to decorate a nice tree inside and leave some lights outside & inside, though they’re actually pretty tame!

-Still does Christmas stockings, you can’t stop him from doing this ever.

-Not even confidently as he pulls the other side of a cracker and it pulls apart immediately.. he gets accused of cheating

-Used to be a massive fan of Christmas dinners at school so he’s definitely attempting and failing to make you one.

-Prefers to sit down and watch a movie together, preferably hugging and warm!!

-Overall, a Christmas not even Sukuna could steal (probably, anyway..)

@darlingofsatoru on Tumblr only, no reposts <3

[honeykaes]

wandering eyes

pairing: itto x afab!reader II 2.3k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, humor, some praising and teasing, itto is a rebound, reader is pretty forward, doggystyle, semi-exhibitionism, impact play, piercing, size kink, pussyjob, thighjob, unedited

synopsis: after breaking up with your boyfriend, you decided to get a gym membership and start working on yourself. After a month it’s going okay, until you notice a strange guy that keeps staring at you when you're working out.

Self-care seemed to be the bane of your existence. After breaking up with your boyfriend, long-internal discussions with yourself and the person you want to be after you healed, filled up most of your thoughts. Scrolling hours online trying to find suggestions, some people went the gym route of self-care—making your body healthier for your mind. With a sigh, swiping your credit card to purchase a gym membership, you figured it couldn’t hurt; hopefully, something else would fill your mind that the situation they had left you in.

As the sliding doors open, sensing your presence and allowing you to walk in, you tightly clasp your bag and rolled-up yoga mat. It had been a month since you impulsively bought your gym membership and things were going as slowly as you expected. Still, it gave you time to work on something other than your thoughts falling down the endless spiral downward stairs of “what if’s” in your last relationship.

The smell of rubber and sweat emulated throughout the facility while the cool breeze of the A/C brushed past you. Your AirPods already played out whatever gym playlist you would be listening to for the couple hours you’d be here as you headed up the stairs and towards the equipment area. 

Finding an empty treadmill, you placed your bag and mat down and rested it against the machine. You leaned down, rummaging through the gym back to retrieve your hydro flask, yet before you pulled it out completely, you felt the heavy weight of someone watching you. Leaning your head up, your gaze met with ruby. The man with the ruby eyes’ lips parted in shock before whipping his face to the side. His tanned cheeks burned from the embarrassment of being caught so blatantly.

You think you have seen him a couple of times since you started working out here, his appearance keeping a lasting impression. His hair was long and white with some stripes of red fashioned in a low bun. His ears were decorated in various silver piercings, adorned with small gauges. Tattoos lined one of his arms—from what you could make out being far away, it was reminiscent of traditional Japanese depictions of demons.

Yet despite his intimidating expression, the man gnawed on his bottom lip as if he was a child caught doing something wrong by his mother. Your lips pull into a small smirk, chuckling softly at the exchange before you finally pull your hydro flask up and place it on an open area of the treadmill.

It was time to focus on the task at hand so you could head home.

You heaved as you finally reach the cooldown portion of your treadmill workout. The cool air is a blessing to you as heat radiated throughout your form. The machine beat in celebration as it finally halted to a standstill. With a sigh, you get off of it and reach for your yoga mat.

You were thankful for how the gym was laid out, an area open for people to do whatever right next to the cardio machines. You bend over to reach for your yoga mat when you feel the familiar wait of ruby eyes on you once more. You let out a soft sigh, the corners of your lips curving upwards. You could give the man’s wandering eyes a show, couldn’t you?

Finding a prime spot, you laid your yoga mat down and slid your hands down your legs until they stretched down to your feet—your ass held high and perfect for his viewing. You parted your legs wider letting the weight sink you down to the floor further until you were completely doing the splits. One good thing you can say was that your flexibility improved after working out and doing yoga for a month.

The man coughed, choking on water or his saliva as you finally reached the split, your own laughter echoing out as you finally leaned back to see his foolish expression. Trying to contain your snickers and amusement, you finally got up again and approached the man still at the weights. He whipped his head around and quickly grabbed the heavier bar he could, lifting it in crunches with ease, trying to create a facade he wasn’t just gawking at your show.

Even the closer you got to him, you could see his cheeks burning bright.

“So….are you going to give me a reason you were ogling me from afar or am I going to have to guess,” you teased, crossing your arms together. The man swiftly faced you, with a frown—offended by your words.

“H-Hey, hey, hey! Now wait! Ogling makes me sound like a pervert!” he replied with a scowl. You lifted your eyebrow up.

“Were you not checking out my ass?” you stated. The man quickly shut his mouth, putting his head down in shame, earning another chuckle from you.

“Y’know you’re lucky you're cute,” you hummed. The silver-haired man perked up in response, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You think I’m cute? I-I mean of course you do. I’m the ripest guy around here,” he raved. “The name is Itto, the one and oni after all!!” Itto was clearly trying to recover from earlier as you couldn’t help light-heartedly rolling your eyes at his facade of sudden confidence. Itto coughed, trying to figure out what to say next before clicking his tongue.

“...Look, I’ve just been noticing you the few times you come in during the week. Like I said I’m not a pervert!! I just…couldn’t find the proper words, to like, ask you to dinner or something yet, hmph,” Itto murmured. You couldn’t contain the laughter that emitted from you afterward seeing the pout drooping on Itto's lips.

“Oh my god! Haha…! You look like a kid, pouting like that!” you snorted. Itto’s pout furthered at your reaction before tensing up, feeling your fingers beginning to circle various shapes on his bicep. He sat, frozen, as you leaned into his ear and blew cool air in.

“Look…I’ve kinda had a shitty past month. Broke up with my boyfriend and the likes. You like me. I think you’re funny and easy on the eyes; plus, I’m on the pill, so….why don’t we sneak into the private showers for a more, intimate gym experience,” you cooed. 

“W-What!? I-I mean pssssh, yeah. I’m down…if you are at least! Let’s do that” Itto stammered out. You leaned away, pressing a finger to his lips as his eyes widened.

“Shh, stop shouting. You wouldn’t want us to get caught, right?”

Grabbing your stuff, you and Itto head to the private shower areas. You reached for your key, unlocking the unused shower with ease as Itto followed behind. Once he ended, you locked the door, sealing the two of you in the small bathroom. Itto timidly leaned his body against the tiled wall, clenching and unclenching his hands as if he wasn’t sure how to proceed forward. Flashing a smirk at him, you began to peel the tight layers of workout clothing from your body.

His greedy eyes continued flickering up and down, trying to soak up your undressing form and cement it into his memory—your legs, your arms, your chest, and ass anything he could witness. Your own gaze drifted to his shorts, noting the prominent tent already formed.

“Already this hard? Aww, you’re so cute,” you cooed. Itto’s eyebrows furrowed and that familiar pout pressed on his lips.

“Stop! I’m not cute! Hot, yeah of course. Handsome, you got it! But cute?! No!” he barked back, beginning to rip his own clothes off of him. As his clothes lay in a pile at his feet, you momentarily freeze noting just how muscular and ripped he was., and the curved monster between his legs. He was thick and long, a silver Prince Albert piercing adorned at his flushed tip. It twitched, rolling to the side desperate to get any attention. 

“Didn’t think I was packing like this huh?” Itto grinned, confidence fueling him once more. You struggled to find words as your eyes darted away trying to figure out a quick response. Sensing your change in behavior, Itto clicked his tongue walking closer to you. His hand brushed past your swollen nipples before gliding up to hold your chin.

“Wow, looks like the tides have turned, huh? Suddenly having second thoughts,” he chuckled. Your cheeks burned as a scowl overtook your features.

“No!” you barked back. Itto grin crept further on his face.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Large hands sprung you, capturing your waist as he pressed your back against his front. You could feel his heavy cock, hot as it brushed against your ass—pulsating more, it had finally gotten some traction. He grabbed ahold of his cock, pumping it a few times as he grunted in your ear before pushing his cock between your thighs. His length swiped passed your puffy folds, veins nudging against your burning clit as he continued to rut between your thighs. 

You squeeze them further causing Itto to grunt lowly once more, thrusting his hips faster. Precum smeared against your thighs and Itto reached a hand around, giving your clit a slight pinch before rubbing tight circles around it. A whine escaped your clit as Itto chuckled once more.

“Wow, look how pliable you are in my arms like this?” Itto groaned, tightly closing his eyes. The softness of your thighs and folds was beginning to get to him as his pace became sloppier and rougher. Clenching his jaw tightly, Itto pushed your upper body down, bending you down, and slipped his cock away from your thighs. He squeezed his member tightly and jerked it before pressing his thumb against your fold and pushing it slightly to the side to get a better look at your fluttering entrance. With a loud grunt, ropes of thick, white cum sputtered out landing right at your widened entrance. 

As cum dripped down your thighs, you couldn’t help but sigh. You were hoping he could get you off and you were so close. Watching his dripping cum, Itto groaned and shook his head.

“Fuck, I couldn’t stop myself. D-Don’t worry! I promise I’ll make you cum!” he chimed. Turned around you assumed he was already soft and was going to beg whoever to get his erection back but to your surprise, you could feel his thick member, still curved and sliding along your slit. 

“Uh-huh. Prove it,” you mocked, repeating his words from earlier. Itto’s hand rested on the globes of your ass, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh trust me, I will,” he replied. Your breath caught in your throat feeling your stretching walls burning as Itto sank his cock inside of you. Your nails harpooned into your leg as he inched deeper inside of you. He sucked a sharp breath, struggling to sink further inside of you as you struggle to adjust.  Itto snaked his hand around, rubbing circles on your clit once more trying to ease the burn of being stretched out and help you relax your pelvis, so he could reach farther inside of you. Your body shook as his cool piercing brushed against your gummy walls.

“Fuck!” you groaned out, pressing your hand against your lower stomach. You felt so full already, you couldn’t believe he was still plunging further inside of you. With a firm thrust, Itto finally bottomed out as you yelped. You were sure his tip was nudging against your cervix.

You yelp once more as Itto slapped his palms down against your ass before he begins to thrust inside of you. His pace is so fast, easily moving your body to the powerful sways of his thrusts. You quickly brought your hands to clasp over your moan as Itto’s cock stroked against that sweet spot inside of you easily from how big he was. 

The sound of skin slapping against one another echoed throughout the small bathroom. His nails dug into the plush flesh of your ass, spreading the cheeks out wider so he could witness his cock disappearing inside of you. A white ring of cum had developed along this base from his previous endeavors, plunging the cum deeper inside of you. Your own slick glistened as it dripped onto the tile floor. 

You muffled your cries, legs shivering as you finally reached your high—pleasure enveloping every inch of your body. Itto whistled in amusement, squeezing your ass in praise.

“See! Look at you cumming on my cock like that! …You should do it again!” he teased. His pace grew faster as tears began pricking at your eyes. His fingers continue to toy with your clit, pulling and slapping the nub before going back to massage it. 

He leaned forward, hunching himself over your smaller form before grabbing onto your chest and squeezing tight before rocking his cock deep inside of you. You grab onto Itto’s pistoning hips before your eyes glaze over white—and pleasure overtakes you once more. As your entire body shivered singling your climax, Itto grunted again satisfied before slipping out of your slobbery core.

Jerking his cock a few times once more, a moan escaped his lips as cum shot from his tip once more, smearing itself along your ass this time.  He slapped his cock a few times against it, bucking his hips as he tried to get ahold of his body once more. 

With a satisfied sigh, Itto grinned at you and pressed his softening cock against your drooling folds once more. You hummed, trying to catch your breath before your legs finally gave out. Itto quickly caught you in shock.

“Are you okay!? Fuck! Sorry I was too rough, wasn’t I? Here you need to drink some water—” Itto began rambling but stopped seeing you flash him a lop-sided smile.

“Itto, give me your phone,” you tiredly ask. Puzzled, Itto silently followed your task—leaning over to grab his phone from his shorts and putting his passcode in. As he handed it to you, you quickly went into his contacts, putting your name and phone number in before handing it back to him.

“(Y/n)...huh. So that’s your name…” he whispered to himself as you chuckled once more.

“I think you more than deserved that dinner date, Itto.”

[petermorwood]

One for St Patrick’s Day, also a recipe for any day when you don’t have any bread and want some really soon.

Best eaten with a generous spread of salted butter, Irish if you can get it (Dylan doesn’t do this, he has a thinness to maintain) or used to chase the last toothsome dregs of Irish Stew, Dublin Coddle, Strong Farmer’s Soup - or indeed stuff from outside Ireland such as chilli, goulash, Sauerbraten and any other tasty savoury thing whose last toothsome dregs need chased...

It makes washing the plates so much easier. ;->

Normally at this point I’d link to my Mum’s 4-or-maybe-5-generation-old recipe on European Cuisines, but the site’s not back up yet.

Instead this link goes to Sotsil’s Wordpress page, which not only gives full credit (Yay!) but adds some fun extra observations, including various ways to improvise buttermilk if you can’t find the real thing.

Here it is.

Here’s a pic of the last time we made it:

That photo, Dylan’s video and Sotsil’s page all show the oven-baked “cake” version more associated with the South. The North, where I come from, uses the same ingredients and method, but cooks with a skillet / griddle on the stovetop.

That version looks like this:

Here it is with the traditional “wee cup of tea”.

Remember how I said something about butter? Jam, too.

Either warm from the griddle or after being split and toasted, the butter does A Trick, and melts down into the bread. This was the way my Dad liked it.

The melted butter of course makes room for more butter, if you like butter (Dad did) though biting into it after that can be an adventure.

If you can manage a slice of street pizza without getting grease on your chin elbows, you’re halfway there already...

[tozettastone]

I've been looking at cuts of various Akatsuki related episodes for fic writing reasons and my takeaways — novel to me, but perhaps you already knew them — are as follows:

Kakuzu is way more stable than we as a fandom give him credit for being. He listens to Hidan. He stays out as requested. He steps in when necessary. He is impatient, cranky, and done with Hidan's shit, but he mostly treats him with the attitude of a 15 year old cat faced with a yowling kitten. Honestly I have become more confident in my maddieverse!Kakuzu characterisation, even though I was worried it was too even-tempered and friendly. Kakuzu actually isn't that volatile in canon. I think a lot of his characterisation is inferred from things we don't actually see on-screen, and so his murderous rages are mostly an informed character trait — he really only gets blindly angry, on screen, at Naruto, who has the main character vibes that make everyone act weird anyway.

CONVERSELY. Deidara is way LESS stable than we as a fandom give him credit for being. We looked at him being cute, blond, young, and relatably annoyed with Tobi and decided that meant he was relatively emotionally normal, for a mass murderer. He is not. (I may be a bad Deidara writer. I've been doing him so wrong.) When we write Deidara we need to write him eating clay and trembling like a chihuahua.

HE thinks he's normal though. Like very clearly. And he's judging everyone around him. He's the normal one in his own mind.

Still Deidara: he dodged Gai AND Lee AND Neji. At the same time. With no arms. With a knife in his mouth. (Tenten was there too but in true Naruto tradition she did very little.) Food for thought?? Might need to revise my "Hidan could probably beat Deidara under specific circumstances in close quarters," assessment. If Gai can't catch him, Hidan can't catch him! RIP Hidan I love you but you might be smithereens.

Hidan IS ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag, though. We are RIGHT about Hidan. We as a fandom might need a reminder to write more of the mid-combat whooping and giddy laughter though. Also he is super athletic. I think we are all so focused on his weird sadomasochistic murder technique (he does roll his eyes back in his head and sigh about how good it feels to get 6 inches through his chest cavity, yes, that's still Hidan) that we've forgotten that, actually, absurd acrobatics are like 45% of his taijutsu style. He is so, so athletic. No, more than that. No, more.

[amywritesthings]

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: march/farmer (fields of mistria) Word Count: 2.5k Summary: It's your first Halloween in Mistria, and you're excited for the costume party at the inn. One small problem: you accidentally match your costume with the worst possible person.

Tag: halloween, mild language, enemies to something, everyone ships you with march except march, friday night at the inn, unresolved romantic tension Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

HALLOWEEN AT THE INN.

Maybe the Kiki costume is too on the nose.

While you’re technically the new farmer of the town, tending your crops has recently begun to feel like a secondary job to the impromptu delivery service you’ve tripped into.

Not that you mind — if Hayden leaves a communal bulletin stating he needs an egg, then you’re more than happy to pop by and deliver.

(Though… doesn’t he technically own a ranch? Why would he need more eggs?)

Whatever.

Not your problem, just your solution.

Tonight marks your first-ever costume party at the inn.

While it’s been a town tradition for years, perhaps even decades, you find Hemlock stating that this year simply feels different.

Lighter, maybe. More exciting.

(Because the town needs a little excitement that isn’t privy towards an earthquake.)

You stand in front of your elongated mirror tucked against your bookshelves, tugging at the purple-blue skirt skimming your thighs.

It isn’t difficult to guess what you’re dressed as: between the massive bright bow wrapped around your head like a headband, the flats, the smock dress, and the stuffed black cat tucked under your arm, you should hope your friends know what you’re dressed as.

Kiki, the delivery service girl from the Studio Ghibli movie of similar title.

With one last huff of anxiety, you turn for the front door and trudge through your dilapidated (see: work in progress) farm to make your way towards the heart of town.

Josephine has already decked out the front with strings of paper bats and pumpkins lining the doors to the inn. The gentle glow of recently-carved pumpkins framing said doors with the bails of hay you donated to tonight’s event brings a nostalgic warmth to your heart. 

You can’t remember the last time you went to a Halloween event, much less a costume party.

As your hand reaches for the door, you’re met with a sudden burst of wind.

The door flies open towards you, revealing a button-nosed Dell peering up from her perch. Whiskers streak her rosy cheeks, the black cat ears a stark contrast to her cropped blonde hair.

“You’re here!” she chirps excitedly, beaming up at you.

“Hey, Dell,” you greet politely, opening the door for her. 

It appears the rascals of Mistria are following in tow — as they tend to do all over town in a troop — all equal parts dressed up as various animals.

Maple has a small painted bunny nose with tall ears in her hair.

In true Luc fashion, a spider body with fuzzy arms attached to his appendages. He doesn’t look the least bit comfortable, but he’s clearly excited to be an arachnid nonetheless.

“Are you Kiki this year?” Dell inquires.

Luc fixes his glasses with his many arms before perking up at your added props. “Whoa, and you have Jiji with you!”

Dell gets this look on her face, as if knowing something you don't know, but you think nothing of it at the time.

“Celine is back by the kitchen with Adaline and Orlic,” Maple suggests as if assuming you’re looking for the eldest sister.

Celine had been one of your first friends in town, so it’s no surprise to you that one would anticipate you would gravitate right towards them.

However, hearing Orlic’s name in the mix makes your stomach flip-flop, because—

 .

. — —

.

.

    Well, let’s get it out of the way early.

For the record, you love to spend your time at the blacksmith shop.

For the past month you’ve been hard at work in the mines, exploring the ins and outs of such a mysterious place, so naturally you’ve come to the shop to forge your tools and weapons.

And you’ve gotten good at offering a helping hand when it comes to blacksmithing.

Like, really good.

So good that Orlic has even set up a little spot for you to consolidate and work.

—only issue is that it’s right next to March’s bench.

March.

The bane of your existence, if you ever had one.

The naysayer that wants you gone from this damn town.

The only person in town who seems to have a big problem with you being here.

You wish you understood why — it isn’t like you did anything wrong to him.

You show up to the shop with an ever-revolving door of gifts from the mines.

Slowly but surely, you’ve learned what each brother likes. Olric is easy to please: he’s happy to take any stone you find, hoping one day to find a gem in the rough.

March, however…

He couldn’t care less that you show up after a long day’s work, dirtied and exhausted, holding out a piece of copper ore like a proverbial olive branch.

(Tch, he clicks with his tongue like clockwork, I could do better.)

Still, you persist.

Because deep down, you don’t think March actually hates you.

Orlic has said it time and time again — his brother can be tough to get used to, but that’s because he doesn’t have many friends. A loner at heart; March would rather sit in solace and march (no pun intended) to the beat of his own drum.

He likes you in his own way!

If it wasn’t for one of the first nights at the inn, then you wouldn’t believe it.

You distinctly remember walking in with Adeline after accomplishing a renovation of a bridge (to nowhere, you’d like to preface, but a job’s a job) when a voice jumped out from the fray of baseline chatter.

“Yo, farmer!”

Slurred, maybe, but after so much time at the blacksmith shop, you know it well.

However there’s little bite to March as he stands from his bar stool, face flushed with a flourishing pink as he sips from his mug.

He makes it a point to poke his head over his brother’s to see your face, and he…

Smiles.

Not in mockery.

Not in hatred.

A real, bonafide, drunk-as-a-skunk smile.

“Come here,” he hiccups, sloshing some beer as he tries to beckon you closer. “C’mere—”

You don’t think March remembers, but he talked to you.

For three hours straight, actually, about nothing in particular.

Your farm.

Your week.

Your future plans.

Chin dropped to his propped-up fist, his eyes are hazy, but he listens. Intently. Like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say.

At first it was jarring, especially since Orlic hopped up to give you his seat and never returned, but after twenty or so minutes it was… nice.

The next morning you were strangers.

Six straight days of snappy remarks, but without as much bite.

By the time Friday rolled around again, you found him in the same position — drinking, happily enjoying a communal game, while waving to you periodically to get your attention while you’re busy spending time discussing the week with Celine and Reina.

You want to ask Orlic.

Hell, you want to ask anyone to make sure you’re not imagining the once-a-week friendliness.

But you don’t.

You just endure six whole days until the next Friday rolls around.

.

. — —

.

.

    As the kids shuffle out of the inn to get some air, you walk into the festively-decorated venue looking for a drink.

Reina had said something about themed finger-foods and drinks, both mocktail and cocktail, that she was beyond proud of.

There’s a circle near the tail end of the bar where Celine, Reina, Orlic, and Ryis all chat. Ryis has gone traditional cowboy, while Reina and Celine match in regency ball gowns, presumably a period-piece costume. Orlic is standing in an inflatable dinosaur costume, so you can only make out the visor of his eyes in the blow-up ensemble.

And when their eyes land on you, they stop talking completely.

At first it feels normal, albeit intimidating, but you wave and walk over anyway.

(Why has Ryis’ jaw dropped to the floor? And why is he excusing himself with a little laugh?)

“Hey, guys!” you greet as cheerily as you can, and Celine gives a look to Reina.

…huh.

The same kind of look Dell had on her face, like there’s something unspoken being passed around by your appearance.

“Oh — hello,” Celine replies in her musical voice, curtseying in character. “Lovely costume!”

“Yeah, it looks amazing on you,” Reina adds, but she keeps looking around.

You feel like there’s something you’re missing.

Staring down the cat and broomstick in your arms, you open your mouth to compliment them in return, but—

“So that’s why March didn’t want to match with me!”

Orlic pipes up, his dinosaur suit squishing and swishing around as he holds his arms out.

“I would have never guessed you’d plan a costume together,” pipes up Celine, shoulders deflating as if glad someone brought up the elephant in the room.

Except you can’t see said elephant — it’s still invisible.

“I… sorry,” you start, fixing your bow. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t have to be coy, Kiki,” Reina teases with a wave of her hand. “I think it’s cute!”

“But what’s cute?” you urge. “I feel like there’s something—”

“Hey, nerds, I got us the stupid punch. You could’ve told me the ladle was for baby hands. Took me like five minutes to make four drinks.”

At the sound of a gruff, annoyed voice, you turn—

Oh.

Oh, no.

March stares back at you through black-rimmed glasses with equal horror, sloshing one of the drinks he’s delicately balancing in his hands in a diamond.

His hair’s a little flatter than usual, but the fluff fights the frizz of the heated inn. On his body is a striped red and white t-shirt, along with some light blue denim jeans rolled up at the ankles.

The costume is just as distinct as yours.

Tombo.

“The hell are you wearing?” he blurts directly at you, and you hear a high-pitched giggle of excitement behind you come from Celine.

“I… a costume,” you lamely reply.

March scowls. “Yeah, genius, I know that it's a costume 'cus you never wear bows.”

“Yes, I do?”

“Not as big as that one!” he snaps. “They’re always smaller or, like… two, on either side of your— Whatever! But why that costume?”

“Thanks for the drinks, little bro!” Orlic happily states, waddling around you in order to gingerly pick up his punch. “We’re gonna go see how the mummy-wrapping game is going.”

March's eyes shoot wide in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Reina adds, taking two drinks for her and Celine, before giving one back. “Actually, I’m totally hydrated. Our lovely Kiki might need a drink. You two have fun.”

“Huh?!”

March’s head whips side to side so fast that you expect the glasses to fly off of the bridge of his nose.

You stand with your plushie cat and broom, blindsided by the matching outfits.

Oh, god — it clicks.

They think the two of you secretly conspired together to do a couples costume.

That’s not good.

“Why’d everyone leave?” March grumbles. “It took a lot of damn effort not to spill those drinks.”

When you say nothing, he reluctantly returns his attention to you and holds out a drink.

“For the record, I planned to be Tombo before you even got to town, Farmer Girl.”

“I put together whatever I had in my suitcase,” you confess, taking the drink from his hand.

“Sure you didn’t sneak a peek of my costume hangin’ up when you were at the shop?” he accuses, squinting while he sips on his alcoholic punch.

“No, March,” you groan, dropping your head back. “Trust me, I don’t want to be matching with you, either.”

In true March fashion, he contradicts himself without missing a beat.

“Why the hell not?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, what’s so bad about matching me?”

“Because people will think—”

“So?”

“So?” you repeat, slightly higher pitched. “Uh, hello, it’s your worst nightmare?”

“Nah, dressing up as a t-rex is my worst nightmare,” he corrects, like everyone knows this vital piece of information about him. “Orlic was pretty hell bent on getting us to match this year, but I wasn’t sweating my ass off in a damn blow-up suit.”

“And accidentally matching with me is significantly less than that?”

March pauses, marinating on the words, before growing silent to sip more of his drink.

Exasperated, you throw your hands up and switch plushie Jiji from one arm to the other.

“Well, I’ll go home and change. Maybe I have a black shirt and jeans.”

Surely you have to have something basic in your arsenal, even if you were really excited for this costume. But the implication is rearing its ugly head into a territory you’re not sure you went to venture into.

Friendship with the one guy who hates your guts, or worse.

Yet his voice rumbles against the lip of his cup. “What’s a black shirt and pants combo gonna be for a costume?”

“I don’t know, a cat?”

“But Dell’s already a cat.”

“Then a raven! I don’t know.”

March snorts, shaking his head. He uses his free hand to push his fake glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“That’s dumb. Just keep being Kiki.”

The huff out your mouth is laced with disbelief. “And what, have you be my Tombo?”

You don’t mean the words to come out as harshly as they do, but the options to rectify this awkward situation are limited.

It’s either he changes, you change, or—

Well, or you match with your sworn enemy of the town.

Both of you stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the rest of the party rage on.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak.

A few people greet the two of you, but beyond your initial friend group, no one else seems surprised to see the two of you in a common duo costume.

“I like your bow, by the way.”

The words are so quiet that you almost think you caught wind of a ghost.

Turning your head, the sight before you is one you’ve grown accustomed to: March’s cheeks are flushed, sprinkled with an embarrassed pink.

He side-eyes you, studying the bow before flickering his attention to your face.

You sip your drink, trying your best to look neutral.

“I… think you look nice with glasses.”

That pink turns into crimson, and he buries his head into his chest like he wants to curl into himself to hide the fact that your compliment affects him so deeply.

“...thanks.”

With a curt nod, you bring the cup back to your lips, only to realize it’s only left with ice. 

Huh. You didn’t think you drank it all down.

In your peripheral you see it, but it doesn’t register until something warm lands on your hand — 

March’s fingers overlap yours, gently nudging the cup out of your grip and into his.

“You're empty,” he mumbles. “I’ll get you some more.”

Before you can protest, he turns on a heel and rushes back to the punch cauldron. The blush goes so far as to creep up the nape of his neck and into his dyed-red hair.

You watch him disappear, your stomach flip-flopping with anxiety and…

Butterflies?

Weird. That’s new.

(But that’s how it goes on Friday night at the inn.)

.

author's note:

I wrote this in about an hour because I have been dying to try my hand at an FoM fic, and since I'm in a very Halloween-y mood, I figured I could write a little cute heart event for March!

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! What other costumes do you think March would be cute in? Let me know in the comments! (And thank you for any reblogs, likes, etc.)

[ilsolefiesta]

the unpleasant thing about asteroids

hello-hello, long time no see! this month has been crazy, but here we are again. today I want to talk about an important topic that might make some people disappointed or even angry with me. some might say that I don't understand astrology at all.  the issue I want to raise is the total madness surrounding various asteroids and their persona charts. take it easy, it's not more than a fun addition to "real" astrology. 

however, the fact that people have become suddenly obsessed with finding their Aphrodite asteroid in order to check if they are necessarily extremely beautiful... (note: guys, Aphrodite is simply the Greek name for Venus, which was already occupied...)

or Boda, for example. how will my wedding look? c'mon, Boda was only discovered in 1938. unlike the main planets and objects which have been observed since ancient times, and some for at least 200-400 years, modern asteroids discovered recently may not actually have any patterns yet. and the names are mostly given according to astronomical standards and the imagination of those who discovered them. sometimes, I come across really bizarre and far-fetched facts that are presented as genuine astrological observations. and many people become really disappointed when they don't find Fama in their 1st house/Leo/5 degree. do you want me to create a similar "100% true" fact right in front of your eyes? if asteroid Mr. Spock (2309) forms a conjunction with your Venus, then "Star Trek" is destined to be your favorite movie. (well, the asteroid actually gets its name from the discoverer's cat)  absurd, right? another example: there's an asteroid named Tomhanks (12818). oh. my. god. it falls to my 1st house! (I'm not kidding, btw) does it mean Tom Hanks has a great influence on my life or personality? I couldn't even remember his face until I looked up a photo...

want more? my best friend has a slightly unusual internet nickname. she calls herself "Stasik", which is a diminutive of a Russian boy's name. she has her own funny story about how and why she chose this nickname, and it has become strongly associated with her personality. guess what? exactly. there is also an asteroid called Stasik (4131) and it makes me feel cringey even to write that I've checked it... well, this name is literally a part of who she is, so there must be some connection, right? it's just in her 9th house. that's all. NOTHING special. I want to emphasize one thing: I'm not against asteroids, and I use them myself often. however, there is a point where it can become a strange form of self-made astrology with even less evidence than traditional astrology. everyone has the right to believe what they want, but my opinion is like that:

some asteroids, such as "Starr" and "Glo", don't necessarily make you a star, even if they are in a harsh conjunction with your ASC. and the absence of these asteroids in "important" houses doesn't mean you lack star potential. btw, why is "Glo" associated with popularity, actually? why can't it simply represent the fact that you smoke a tobacco heater of the same name lmao? I hope you understand what I'm saying. astrology is more complex than people think, which is why it's easy to manipulate facts. that's okay, but please stay rational. I always say this, but astrology can help provide insights, but it shouldn't define or rule your life. 

take care and thank you for reading! Picture credits: mine

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 07)

Soap/Reader

TW: sex

MDNI/18+

AO3 LINK

I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope this long chap made up for it. I really appreciate all the comments and reblogs. It really keeps me going. The next chapter is gonna be rough. Hope you're ready for it. I'm not!

CHRISTMAS EVE

The lecture hall slowly began to fill with graduate students and professors. A gaggle of undergrads huddled to the side with their notebooks, surely attending by someone else’s command and not of their own volition. They were all dressed in various layers of warmth. Anoraks and sweaters rustled and stretched in the cloth seats, the odd peacoat was hung carefully over the edge of a chair. It was nice to have a small crowd, but you were sure everyone had somewhere better to be. The only people that would show up to the long-standing tradition of a Christmas Eve colloquium were the die-hard academics and those desperately needing extra credit in their year-long lab classes.

You liked this lecture room the best. The big arching stadium seating made you feel like a surgeon in her theatre, carving up your poems and displaying their abnormalities, arguing in favor of their spectacular forms, illustrating your skills with grace and ease. It was all well and good not to be the patient on the table. Today’s victim would be Sonnet 91. 

The projector light blinded you in an unnatural blue, making you turn away from its lens, and you pretended to busy yourself with your notes as you waited for it to warm up. You shuffled the papers again, and you had a sip of water. Just fidgeting. If you stopped moving, you’d think about him, and you didn’t want to think about him. 

He’d gotten your message from Gaz, that much was clear. You knew because you started receiving sunrise texts again — just the pictures, though — and when he needed to go out on a mission, you’d get your little promises. You sent him back what you received. If he sent a sunrise picture, you returned it with your own. If he said that he promised, you said it, too. You wanted him to call. You wanted to drag it out, to gut it like a fish, to see all the entrails of your feelings and the bloody evidence of your battle to be together, all of its innards smeared across a cutting board, sterile and measurable. 

But, for some reason, you couldn’t do it. You tried to type out what you’d wanted to say, but none of it made sense. It was all just begging and pleading and wishing for things you couldn’t have. So, you stopped. You kept up the replies. You matched his energy. It wasn’t until he sent you a screenshot of his flight itinerary that you started to realize the other shoe was dropping on you very soon. 

He was supposed to fly in sometime this very afternoon, but it wouldn’t be only him. You’d heard from Pidge that his whole team was coming with him, eager to meet her and Hamish, apparently. You didn’t know what emotion you felt about that, but its anonymity didn’t stop you from feeling it. 

You’d sent him back a Google Maps screenshot of your apartment, since he was supposed to be your ride up to Old Kilpatrick, and he sent you back the thumbs up emoji. 

It was embarrassing to you that the slight change in send-reply patterning made your heart race. You felt like your brain could benefit from a hard reset, like an iPhone that had chosen to get stuck on the same application, unable to move forward to the next task. 

So, you’d tried to put him out of your mind. When your labmate begged you to take her place at this colloquium, you jumped at the chance. A presentation would take up so much time and energy; surely it would cure you of your obsessive behavior. Unfortunately, Sonnet 91 felt all too timely. 

You watched it populate the screen, the first four lines occupying the cold, unembellished center of your slide, professionally stark:  

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

You wondered where your glory would come from, if you ever had any. Then, as if to answer your question, the hall door opened and he walked through it, carefully propping it open behind him and letting his three enormous friends through. Johnny was freshly shaven, and his mohawk was back, trimmed on the sides and groomed to stand in a tall, brown shock. You could see the prominent scar on the side of his head, a sharp cross where the hair could no longer grow. 

There was an observable air of confidence to his movements, as if this was his hundredth colloquium, as if he attended them every week. His surety silenced you, and you stood staring, rapt. 

He met your eyes. The bright, glassy blues found you, set in a pleased way, fully at peace. It was the face made when something lost had been found, when a gift was unwrapped. A knowing gleam. 

If you didn’t start talking, people were going to ask you if you were alright. So, you introduced yourself, shakily but smoothing it out as you went,

“Good evening, and thank you for joining us at the 2023 Christmas Eve Colloquium tonight. I love this tradition, and I really appreciate you all being here. If you didn’t get the, uh… the handouts,” you pushed the stack across the desk toward the undergrads who all crowded around them like seagulls with an old French fry, “Okay...”

You pointed up to the sprawling slide,

“In looking at Sonnet 91, most would argue that it is a confession of love. But, it is a tentative one, at best. The speaker claims that despite whatever glory others may have, his glory is found in his lover. We don’t learn until the couplet that his affections are at risk of not being returned.”

You flipped the slide, showing the next four lines:

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:But these particulars are not my measure,All these I better in one general best.

It was all very simple. This was an easy sonnet, and there was no real mystery, but as you came to the end, you tried to reiterate your thoughts quickly, feeling the pressure to let people get on with their lives,

“The speaker makes quite a substantial claim here, so much so that the audience may be led to believe that he is being intentionally facetious, especially if one were to consider the content of Sonnet 92.”

“No,” a deep voice from high in the back protested, “I mean, I think I disagree with you, lass.”

The whole room woke up. Everyone turned quietly in their seats, generating a symphony of creaking and rustling of chairs and coats, craning their necks to look at Johnny who, for some reason, had stood up in his aisle.

“Oh, how so?” You said politely, trying to be deferential. 

It was more than a little uncomfortable in the room. No one ever asked questions during the colloquium, even though that was its intended purpose, and certainly no one ever stood up when they asked it. Everyone usually just allowed the speaker to drone on and on about whatever topic they were into that week, and there would be polite applause at the end so you could all go home early. Ironically, Johnny had committed an act of rebellion a mere five minutes into your talk. 

“Well,” he crossed his huge arms over his chest, shoving his muscles against each other. Amongst the mostly lithe, soft-bodied academic crowd, he and his friends looked out of place. He raised his voice, sending it arching down to you like an arrow, “I’m pretty sure he’s genuine. Look at the next four lines.”

He pointed to the glowing screen. You sighed, flipping slides.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,Of more delight than hawks and horses be;And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

“Look, bonnie,” Johnny chuckled, “I dunno about you, but if I’m boastin’ about a wee hen who’s more than all that — more than wealth, more than all men’s pride? She must actually be somethin’ to boast about.”

You countered, trying to get the talk back under your control, flipping to the next slide: 

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst takeAll this away, and me most wretched make.

“Then what of his lamentation in the couplet?” You asked pointedly, listening to the sounds of creaking chairs again as everyone turned back to look at you as you responded, “Surely he has some reason to doubt this uniquely prideful love.”

Johnny shrugged,

“He doesnae doubt the love; his life cannae be separated from his love. Love is all there is. Ye ken it from Sonnet 92 when he asks: But what’s so blessed-fair that knows no blot?”

You smiled, slowly, knowingly, and then finished the couplet for him,

“Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.”

You were aware of the implication you were wielding like a knife down there in your theatre, staining your hands and hurling your scalpel at him, accusing him through verse of the same sin you’d thrown in his face the last time you spoke to him: of being false, of betraying Pidge. 

Johnny shifted his weight, frustrated, but standing his ground,

“It’s not… he doesnae think it’s false, hen. Tha’s not it.”

Were you still arguing about the poem? You couldn’t tell. His face had become serious and a little pleading. So, you responded in verse since it would fit the conversation either way, 

“How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”

“And I would bloody eat it anyway, thief. False or no.”

There was an awkward silence and then a short, if a bit unsettled, polite applause. People began to shuffle out, standing, stretching, and chatting with each other as they made their way back into the hallway. A few of your labmates waved at you, and a friend from your cohort wished you a happy Christmas. 

Johnny sauntered down the stairs toward you, leaving his friends lounging in their seats, and as he came closer and closer, you felt like you were the one on the slab of your own theatre, open and vulnerable to the empty room, fully at the mercy of your operator. 

You thought he might pause, that he may stop walking and stand a few paces away, ready to talk things out, but he didn’t. He didn’t even slow his pace. Johnny grabbed you around your jaw with his enormous hand, his wide palm hot against your chin, and he pulled you into him, your lips sliding into his, pressing together like the last piece of a puzzle, completing a picture. 

His body was so warm as you crashed into his arms, and he held you down, pinning you like you would fall away from him if he let go. You couldn’t do much else other than submit to his strength; you didn’t want to do much else. You grabbed him around his waist, feeling him through the thin cotton of his shirt, tumbling into him as he forced your mouth to take his tongue. 

Johnny let go of a low moan, a sigh that couldn’t escape, and the hand that had been holding your face was now fisting your hair and running thick fingers through your soft strands. 

He pulled back without warning, gasping as he whispered to you, speaking with his forehead resting on yours and his eyes pinched closed,

“Did you mean it, what you told Gaz? Am I right? Is this right?”

You took a deep breath, smelling his soap and his cologne, the scent of his skin so familiar to you it seemed like home. His eyes remained closed, and he wore a mask of pain, holding himself back from truly letting go. You nodded, whispering back to him,

“You were right.”

Then, his eyes shot open, finding yours immediately, looking back and forth to peer into both of them at once, searching for even the slightest hint of deception,

“Are you fallin’ for me, mèirleach? ‘Cause I’m… I cannae go halfway. I’m in, or I’m out.”

“I’m in,” you smiled, laughing a little at your confession. He kissed you again, softly petting your hair, holding you close. But, you paused and looked up at him with a warning glare in your eye, “But, look, she cannot know. Maybe after the wedding, but… she cannot find out.”

“She won’t,” he was smiling back at you, making it look like it would be on his face forever, “I’m a professional spy, lass, or did you forget my wee entourage back there.”

He nodded up to his friends. The captain was asleep with his hat over his eyes, snoring in long, regular rhythms. Ghost was using a datapad, staring intently at the screen, and Gaz was using two hands on his cell phone, tapping vigorously, engrossed in some sort of game.

Johnny whistled, quick and shrill. The men stirred, peering down at him and making their way toward you. When they reached the bottom, they all towered over you, ready for polite introductions.

“John,” the scruffy, bearded one shook your hand first. His fingers were dangerously strong, and it shocked you to feel it against your own palm.

A young man was next. You knew it was Gaz, but you hadn’t seen a photo of him yet.

“I’m Kyle,” he smiled. He was even nicer in person, “We texted, before.”

You nodded, smiling back, and introducing yourself.

Then, it was the big one.

“Simon,” the tall blond shook your hand for a brief moment, just enough to squeeze and release. 

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” you said, “I’m glad you made it for the holiday.”

“We try to stick together ‘round this time of year,” Price explained, but you weren’t sure you fully understood his meaning. You just smiled and nodded. 

“You ready to head out?” Johnny asked you.

“Yeah, just need to head back to my place and get my bag.”

“Alright, hen,” Johnny smiled, “Lead the way.”

You led them up and out of the building and into the cold night air. Your apartment was only a short walk from this side of campus, so you decided to forego the bus ride. 

Johnny had your hand clasped in his so tightly that you wondered if he was alright. You looked up at him, and he smiled. You didn’t know how to say all the things you wanted to say, so you just commented on the most obvious one first,

“Where did you learn Sonnet 91? Or 92 and 93 for that matter?”

Gaz interrupted you, turning his head to talk over his shoulder as you walked behind him,

“Bloody stuck in his Kindle for months, he was. I think he read them all, and then he read them all to us. We’ve had more of the Bard than fuckin’ Lizzy the first.”

You gasped and made a face at Johnny, waiting for him to answer for his actions. He just shrugged, his cheeks flushed either from the embarrassment or the cold. 

Price walked up beside him and knocked him a bit on his shoulder, ribbing him along with Gaz,

“Especially that one. What number?”

“Fuckin’ 145,” Ghost groaned.

Then, in unison, the three soldiers all started reciting it aloud, their voices sing-song and purposefully annoying, 

“Those lips that Love’s own hand did make breathed forth the sound that said “I hate” to me that languished for her sake…”

Johnny shoved Gaz back to the front of the group with his free hand, laughing it off,

“Alright, alright, you bastards. I may have read it two or three times…”

“Two or three hundred, Sergeant,” Price rolled his eyes. 

You grinned up at Johnny, humming your pleasure,

“Wow! I’m impressed. Didn’t know you were such a Shakespeare fan.”

Gaz scoffed, 

“It’s not the poems he’s a fan of!”

Price smacked him on his arm, stopping Gaz from being too mean in his playfulness, aware that Johnny had his limits of what he would allow to be said in front of you.

“Mmm,” you answered noncommittally, squeezing Johnny’s hand as it held yours, clutching at you like the end of a rope, holding you like an anchor to his hull.

As you made it to your apartment, you pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner of your block,

“Do you wanna wait somewhere warm? I’ll only be a minute.”

Price snorted, grinning as if he had just remembered a private joke, 

“Go help her with her bags, Sergeant. C’mon, lads.”

The trio left you together, and Johnny waited for you to open the door to the lobby. You buzzed in and waited for the elevator in the quiet foyer. 

He was silent the whole ride up to your floor. You thought he’d have more to say, especially after just getting back from a tour. You wondered what was keeping him so quiet. 

You jiggled your key into the lock and pushed your way inside. Marlowe was on the futon, lounging in her favorite position, but when she saw the strange man in her house, she bristled and fled beneath your bed. 

“Marlowe,” Johnny said, recognizing her. 

“Yeah,” you smiled, grabbing your vitamins from the kitchen cabinet to put in your bag, “Sorry, she’s afraid of strangers.”

“It’s alright, hen. I love your place. Look at that view. You can see the river and everything. That’s class.”

He was being polite. Johnny was way too big for your apartment. With him in the space, it felt like you may as well have lived in a tent. It was such close quarters that you spent most of the time edging around him to get to your stuff. 

“Can I…?” He was pointing down at your bed, asking to sit. 

Recognizing your rudeness, you nodded,

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Can I get you a water or something? Tea?”

“No, I’m good,” he sat and smiled, still looking around the space, taking it in. To be fair, there wasn’t much to see.

You continued to pack, trying to hurry knowing his friends were downstairs waiting for you. 

“Okay, toothbrush… I think I’m all set. Are you ready?”

“No,” he was looking down at the floor, and his tone was so soft that it made you stop your packing whirlwind to listen to him. 

The silence deepened between you, and you tried to be patient. Neither of you dared to move, but he met your eyes. 

“What is it, Johnny?” You asked, still waiting. 

He stood and walked the half step it took to stand before you. His huge shoulders blocked out the light, and you could tell he was chewing on his words, working them over and over to make sure they were right. 

“I need to know…” he said quietly, running his fingers through your hair again, “I need to know if you are havin’ any doubts about this, lass. I dinnae want to pressure you, and I know I shouldnae be asking you to lie to her, but I need you, mèirleach. I need to know you’re not still havin’ doubts about the way I feel about you.”

Were you? You weren’t sure. You knew he cared about you, and you didn’t have any evidence that he was playing you, but Pidge’s warning still raged in the back of your mind. 

You sighed,

“I don’t doubt that you have feelings for me.”

“But, you think they willnae last?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. It’s just hard to have confidence in a secret.”

He furrowed his brow,

“I’d call her and tell her now, if you’d let me. You wanna wait, hen. And I’m fine with that. I am. But, how am I supposed to show you who I am when I’m not supposed to be showin’ you anything at all?”

You didn’t know what to say to him, and it made you feel discouraged. Maybe you were wrong. Perhaps you should have kept your promise after all, and this was just too complicated. 

Johnny watched the guilt spread across your face and chased you down with his eyes, his tone laced with dark suggestion,

“Unless you want me to show you now, thief.”

You did. You wanted him to show you everything he was. And, you understood what he was asking you for. The nerves between your legs pulsed, and blood rushed down your arms, excited for whatever he was threatening you with. You wanted him to fuck you right here in your apartment. But, you hesitated, very aware that if you said yes, if you let him show you what he wanted you to see, you wouldn’t be able to come back from that. The guilt would eat you alive. 

“Your… friends…” you picked at the zipper of his thick coat, stepping close enough to him that you could feel his heat radiating from inside the fleece lining of it. 

“My friends can wait, thief. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

The same way a bear trap snapped shut, its teeth digging into the writhing flesh of the creature inside its metal maw, that was how he caught you in that moment. You looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant, and you were greeted with a hunter’s smile. He knew he had you, and he went for the kill, putting you out of your misery. His arms wrapped around your body as he kissed you with a high fever, moving from your mouth to your neck as quickly as he could, devouring your soft flesh there, nipping and sucking at you frenzied and harsh. All of his gentle reservedness was gone, pushed aside in favor of sating his wild craving. 

You were on the bed in a second, your back flat, pressed into the mattress by his heavy weight. He didn’t readjust. He allowed his body to pin you down, crushing you beneath him. You tried to rid him of his jacket; there were so many layers between you, and you were eager for there to be none. 

He helped you, shucking off his coat and shirt layers quickly before returning to your mouth and throat, breathlessly panting as he kissed and licked your throat. His chest was bare to you then, and the cold metal of his tags stung your chest as they jingled out of his clothes, falling onto you like two silver coins. You rubbed his body down, pressing into the muscles of his neck and back, feeling them jerk and lunge as he moved above you. He kissed your mouth again, moaning through his nose. 

Then, he was peeling you apart, taking your clothes and tossing them away, pulling off the tissue from a coveted gift. Johnny didn’t even take time to pause at your bra; he just yanked it over your head with the rest of your clothes, unceremoniously. While you were sucking on his tongue and kissing down the scruff of his jaw, you heard his boots thump onto the floor, one after the other. 

All that remained between you were your slacks and his jeans, and he was forced to leave your mouth to deal with the barriers. He made his way to your breasts, sucking on them hungrily, but not playing. He was done playing with you, it seemed. 

He popped the button on your pants and tucked both of his hands into the waistband, grabbing your panties along with it, and ripped them down your legs with a deep grunt. You were naked, and the denim of his jeans raked against your sensitive skin. He was grinding his body against you as you were trapped beneath him, and you felt his hips rock back and forth as he rubbed his cock against your core, trying to use the friction inside of his jeans to find some pleasure, returning to your nipples to lick them into stiff peaks. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, your thighs halfway between the skin of his ribs and the bite of his belt, letting him thrust against you. 

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Take them off.”

“Not yet, hen.”

You moaned, feeling his crotch pressing hard against yours, but not being able to find any sort of consistency in the texture. 

“Why not?” You asked and begged at the same time.

“Because…” He kissed his way down your belly, settling his face between your thighs, “As soon as I do, I’m gonna fuck you, mèirleach. And I’ve not tasted you, yet.”

His mouth was wet and hot and just what you wanted. Johnny ate you like he was on a mission. There was no careful exploration like the first time. It felt like he was eating you to satisfy his own craving, and your enjoyment was merely a fringe benefit. 

You keened as loudly as you dared, crying out for him as he lapped at your folds, hunting down your flavor. 

Then, he began to speak to you as he sucked on your clit, pausing to say his words before returning to his font to swallow more of you down into his throat. 

“Do y’know how long I’ve waited for this, hen?”

Suck, lick, kiss…

“How many nights…”

Suck.

“...in the sand…”

Lick.

“...in the bloody dark…”

Kiss.

“...waiting to have you in my mouth like this.”

Lick. Lick. Liiiickkkk…

“Oh, fuck, Johnny!” You bit down on the back of your hand, reeling from the pressure building in your center, feeling chills on your arms and chest, “Please…”

“And when Gaz told me…”

Suck.

“...I didnae believe him.”

Lick.

“But, I wanted to. I wanted to believe…”

Kiss.

“...that you were really mine…” 

Suuuuckkkk.

“...mo mèirleach…” 

Liiickkkk.

“...mo ghràdh.” 

You started to come, your hips vaulting into his strong jaws, and his eyes found yours, bright and clear, staring at you, watching you fall apart in his mouth. At the last moment, just before you fell over the peak, he wrenched his eyes shut and sucked even harder, yanking you into a furious, crashing orgasm. 

Then, desperately scrambling to taste the result, he thrust his tongue deep into your hole, his entire mouth suctioned to your pussy, reaping his soaking reward. 

“Johnny,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the power you felt growing inside of you, bursting across your body like hundreds of little fireworks.

He was back up by your face in a moment, cradling you and kissing you with your come smeared all over his lips and cheeks,

“Shh, shh… it’s alright, lass. I know what you need. It’s what I need, too.”

You heard his zipper and watched him slide out of his jeans, kicking his socks off with them, naked with you once more, and now with full intent. His cock was drooling onto your belly, the precome leaving long, sticky trails as his swollen shaft traced its way up and down through your folds. Johnny’s cock was so hard that it felt like a warm, iron pipe was pressing into you, threatening and dangerous. 

You must have worn the concern on your face because he chuckled down at you, kissing your forehead sweetly as he humped himself against you,

“Too much for you, thief?”

You let your hands meet in the middle, holding his dick with one on top of the other, effectively jacking him off as he thrust forward and back, wetting him with his own lubrication, and you watched him throw his head back in sharp need. You smiled up at him,

“Not yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he paused, holding his position, poised like a viper. Then, he looked down at you, suddenly serene, “Do you need a condom?”

“No, do you?”

“Fuck, no,” he said, and he immediately sank his head into your softness, melting into you with a slick slide, trusting you implicitly, believing you like a disciple. 

Your body hadn’t experienced a cock as thick and as hard as his. It wasn’t uncomfortably long, but its upward curve was particularly cruel. It was built to torture the soft pleasure-ladden spot inside of your walls, dragging across it as he fit himself inside of you. It took a few thrusts until you felt his hilt, but you were wet enough that your pussy didn’t need much coaxing. He was sighing above you, audibly and full of relief, his face bent and twisted in a perfect torment. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… thief, holy fuck. Oh, Christ. I cannae… oh…”

His thrusts were audible. Flesh pounded into flesh, and the wet noises coming from you seemed unreal. Each and every time he entered you, pressing through you and molding you to his shape, you felt sparks of bliss within your belly, expectant and eager. 

“Johnny… it feels so good. You feel…” 

“You alright, mo ghràdh? Do you… mmmph, fuck… do you need me to slow down?”

You imagined what that would be like, and your pussy railed against it, feral and wanton, fighting any semblance of gentility with sharpened teeth and greedy claws. 

“No, please… don’t.” you kissed his cheek as he lay his head into your shoulder, deep in concentration, rolling in his passion.

Your kiss made him turn to face you, kissing your mouth so softly, with loose, relaxed lips, gently sliding his cheek across yours like a huge cat, rubbing himself all over you. He didn’t stop, but he spoke to you darkly, 

“I’ll do whatever you want, lass. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“This,” you sighed, moaning as another wave of pleasure made you clench down around him, gripping him from within you with a fluttering squeeze, “You. Just you, mo chridhe.”

You tested out the nickname you’d used before, hoping to encourage him. You may as well have poured kerosene on a fire. He narrowed his eyes at you in disbelief, obviously hearing it and using it like war paint, covering his body in it, staining himself in it, changing himself from the inside out to fit its definition. He lay his head next to yours as he worked his cock within you, grunting through gritted teeth with each heavy thrust. His body started to tremble, shaking with his need to come, and the low, long whine that came from his throat made it sound like he was boiling over with blinding pleasure. 

He took both of his arms and crossed them behind your back, grasping your shoulders from behind in a painfully tight hold. Then, pressed to his chest, he lifted you, settling you in his lap in the lotus position, keeping his cock sheathed deep inside of you. You grabbed onto his neck instinctively, holding him like a lifeline, rocking your hips into him to chase that friction. 

Johnny sighed, pressing his forehead to yours, 

“Yes, yes, yes, thief. Take it. Fuck yourself on me, hen. Use me. I wanna feel you come, mèirleach…” 

He begged so sweetly, and you were happy to oblige. You used his shoulders to brace yourself while you pushed your body down onto him, spearing yourself over and over. At this new angle, his cockhead hit your g-spot every single goddamn time, and you were dizzy from his menacing shape. He snaked his hand between you to press on your clit, not even rubbing it but applying force, giving you something to grind against. The combination of his hand and his cock and his growling whines of struggling for control were enough to do the trick, and you saw white behind your eyes as you fell into a chaotic, plunging orgasm once again. 

“Fuuuuckkkk…” He groaned loudly, his voice turning vicious, “You are mine.”

Your body fell back to the bed and he shoved your legs onto one of his shoulders, fucking you as deep as he could go, stretching you as he did, throwing himself into you as you came down from your high. He was shouting, curses and praises, all in a filthy, animalistic snarl. Johnny just kept repeating the same phrase in a cultish chant, mindless and recursive, completely beyond himself, past reality. 

“You’re mine, thief. Mine.”

As he came, he searched for your eyes, staring into them, showing you his elation. You ran a hand across his scalp, your fingernails dragging through his mohawk, and you saw the whites of his eyes as he rolled them back into his head involuntarily. You held onto his hair and gave it a little pressure, holding his skull in your hands as he filled you with his spent pleasure, his cock throbbing, pulsing rope after rope of hot come into your belly, frothing and foaming around the base of his shaft as he fucked you through it. 

20 MINUTES LATER

You were so worried that his friends would make some sort of comment. As you walked back to the coffee shop, tucked under his heavy arm, you prepared for the playful banter and the jeering. His mohawk was destroyed, and you were both glowing with a sheen of sweat, matching in your states. You knew that they knew. You could also tell that Johnny was bracing himself for the worst, steeling his resolve before entering the cafe. And you thought you would get, at the very least, some mention of how long it had taken to get your bags. But, when you made it to the coffee shop, they didn’t say a word. They smiled, and although they smiled knowingly, there was more affection in it than mischief. It shocked you. After all the ribbing from before, to have none now seemed like some kind of gift. When Johnny realized they were going to let him keep his prize for himself, uncontested, he began to glow with pride as much as pleasure. 

The ride was not quiet, though. All of their stories from Urzikstan and its many dangers started to come out. Price told you about how Gaz and Ghost were almost incinerated in a cobalt mine, and Johnny was showing off his newest badge - a retro SAS pin Price had given him for rescuing the other two from said mine. The blue wings and the motto surrounded a bright sword.

“Who dares, wins?” You asked, trying to see the words in the dark backseat. 

Ghost, who had needed to sit in the front with Johnny because of his height, nodded, taking the pin back from you to admire it.

“Well deserved,” Price commented beside you. 

“Sounds like it,” you agreed. 

Johnny had been so sweet to you after his ferocious lovemaking, you thought all the medals in the world might not be enough to thank the man. No one had ever been so kind nor so attentive. Most of the time, you and whatever lad would clean up separately, maybe watch a show or two and then say your goodbyes. Not Johnny. He spent most of his time admiring your body, making sure you were intact and unharmed. Then, after covering you up with your softest throw, he came back with a hot towel and cleaned you up meticulously. He lay beside you until you felt good enough to get dressed, and still as you were putting your hair up, he made you a tea and finished packing your bag with the things you’d forgotten; your vitamins on the counter and your phone charger. 

When you came out of the bathroom, he had stripped your sheets and put them in the hamper, and Marlowe’s food timer had been set. Her litter box was clean, and the automated litter keeper was reset. You wondered fleetingly if he had wiped down the counters as well. 

The drive felt shorter than usual, especially since your thoughts were on other things. But, when you pulled into Old Kilpatrick, Johnny spoke up to the whole car,

“Look, no one says a fuckin’ thing about us to my sister. To anyone, alright? She’ll find out when she’s bloody meant to.”

The men agreed to keep quiet, but Gaz mouthed off beside you, 

“Sure we can keep a secret, Soap, but what about you? I wouldn’t give you a medal for impulse control, mate.”

Johnny eyed him in the rear-view mirror with a stern glare,

“Aye, but then that’s my problem, you daft bastard.”

 Gaz rolled his eyes, grinning all the while. 

By the time you’d arrived, the only open spot to sleep was a big pallet on the floor of the living room. Hamish was the only one awake to welcome you, and he set you up with pillows and blankets to camp out like a row of sardines. 

“Hey, lass,” Hamish told you, “Go sleep with Pigeon. She’d murder me for leaving you on the ground.”

He looked worn out, and although you didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, you didn’t have any real reason to insist. So, you hugged all the boys good night, making sure not to take too long on Johnny’s turn, and retreated to your post. 

Pidge was snoring softly as you entered the room, and you got ready for bed as quietly as you could, plugging in your phone to the nightstand. It buzzed, and you saw his message flash up on the screen:

Mo Chridhe: miss you 

You: i miss you too

Mo Chridhe: im still in a wee shock

You: why

Mo Chridhe: you. cannae believe youre mine

You: i am. and youre mine johnny mactavish.

Mo Chridhe: promise

You: promise

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Waking up with Johnny and sitting around the tree together with your coffee was every bit like Christmas morning as when you were a child. Instead of presents, you were content to sit as close to him as you dared, pretending to be making room for others by finding spots on the floor beside the gifts and stockings. 

All together, it was Johnny, his three soldiers, you, Pidge, Hamish, Hamish’s mum and dad, and Roger. Rodger had crashed on the couch last night, the Hamiltons had taken Johnny’s room, and now you were all crowded up in the small den, passing gifts around and chatting as you opened your presents. There weren’t many, but it was enough to feel like a holiday. 

Roger got the Playstation he’d been begging for from his brother, and his parents had bought him the games. Pidge had given Johnny a new set of headphones since his had melted in the cobalt mining fire. She also got him a pound of her shortbread cookies, which he was stuffing into his mouth with absolute abandon. He’d bought her a tea set off her wedding registry, and Hamish had landed a very aggressive knife from him. The professor was already being given a tutorial by Captain Price, and you tried not to laugh as he practiced stabbing the air with him in the kitchen. Price was scary when he did it, but Hamish looked downright silly. 

“Okay, alright. My turn. Here,” you gave out your cards to everyone in attendance, but pulled out a box for Pidge. 

“What did you do! I told you not to, hen. I am going to give you a laldy, and you’d deserve it!” She hugged you around the neck and jiggled the box. 

Satisfied with the rattle, she tore into the paper and gingerly lifted off the lid. Inside, she saw the MacTavish tartan, woven into a full shawl, embroidered with a tiny pigeon in the corner, just for her. She inspected it with wonder, her breath fully stolen away. 

“Did you… You made this? Are you doin’ your weavin’ again, babe? I thought you gave it up.”

You shrugged,

“I found a reason to give it one last shot.”

Pidge started to cry real, honest tears, and she reached out for you, clutching the shawl to her chest, sobbing, 

“Thank you, hen. Thank you so much. After they buried mum in hers, and I didn’t… I couldn’t touch it anymore, I just…”

You held her and rocked her back and forth, smiling at her outpouring of love,

“I know, babe. I remember you saying so. But, now you’ve got one of your own.”

For a moment, you stole a glance at Johnny. The whole room was a little moved by your gesture, but he looked… unwell. He was standing behind everyone, and you were the only one looking at him. His hand was clasped over his mouth, and he had tears coming from his eyes, unblinking, letting them roll down his cheeks one after the other, staring at you, frozen in place. He was so unsettled that, for a moment, you thought you’d made some error. But, as Pidge recovered, so did he, and he wiped his face to return to normal; putting on a mask of an expression, hiding whatever he had just shown you. 

“You’re the best damn friend I’ve ever had, hen. And I love you. Dearly.”

“I love you too, Pidge.”

“Here, here, open mine! It’s not as braw as all tha’ you did, but still.”

You were handed a gift bag, and you peeked inside. You found a book of poetry with some incredible illustrations inside, and a charm necklace with a silver boar hanging from it. 

“It’s our wee clan beastie. You may as well be a MacTavish by now, hen. So, I thought you should have it.”

You smiled, letting her put it on you. Then, you hugged her tight, 

“You don’t know what that means to me, Pidge.”

Pidge laughed through dried tears, still emotional,

“Ha! Says you, miss weaver. Honestly.”

You let her gush over it a little more before you retreated back to your position beside Johnny. You pulled out the four smaller boxes from your bag and handed them to the soldiers, indiscriminately since they were all alike. 

“What did you do, thief?” Johnny’s voice was low, and he was grinning up at you, staring at you through those dark lashes.

“Open them,” you urged him. 

They did, and one by one they all pulled out small compasses, made with built-in flint strikers, hanging from tied paracord. It was the most tactical practical thing you could find on such short notice, but they all seemed pleased. Gaz shook it at Price, 

“This would’ve been bloody helpful in South Tobraka!”

You laughed, 

“Well, I’m sure it’s a little too low-tech for you, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

“It’s bloody perfect,” Gaz smiled, clapping you on the back. Ghost nodded, and Price hooked it to his lanyard without questioning it. 

Johnny bent over to whisper to you as discreetly as he could, 

“Gotta sneak off to give you mine, lass.”

You smacked him on the arm, whispering back, watching Pidge like a hawk as you did so to make sure she couldn’t see you,

“Don’t be naughty.”

Johnny laughed, 

“No, no. I’m serious.”

“Alright!” Hamish clapped his hands, causing you to jump out of your skin, “Who’s ready for crackers?”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

You and Johnny were curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of sweet wassail, scrolling through the photos you’d taken that night. You popped two crackers together, pulling out your paper crowns, your gold and his blue, snapping selfies and reading the jokes to each other. Everyone was in their crowns by the end of the night, and while Price smoked cigars on the porch with Gaz and Ghost, Pidge and Hamish had driven his parents and brother home. 

You were finally alone after having such a full house, and your gift for him was burning a hole in your bag. You were dying to give it to him, but he beat you to the punch.

“Alright, mèirleach, are you ready for your wee gift? It’s probably gonna earn me extra PT for a few months, but it’s worth it.”

“Why?” You asked, setting your cup down on the end table and turning your body towards him. 

“‘Cause I’m not even supposed to have these off-duty, much less hand them over to my American lassie.”

Johnny dug into the neckline of his shirt and pulled out the dog tags that you had encountered last night when he took you to bed. The coin jangled on the chain as he pulled it over his head, and like a medal for an award you had not won, he looped it behind your neck, letting the coin fall between your breasts, still warm from his body and now warm from yours. 

You pulled it up to read its stamp, staring at the words:

O POS 2073521 MACTAVISH SAS RC

“Wanted you to have it, lass. A wee piece of me to keep safe, if you will.”

It was hard to know why you started crying, but you felt the searing tears fall down your cheeks as you stared at the tag. His blood type was what started it all, and you began to imagine all of the times that this thin coin would have warranted such a label. 

“It’s alright, mèirleach, if you dinnae —”

“No,” you raised your hand to his face, closing your other hand around the coin and pulling it in to your chest, eager to keep it safe just as he had asked, “Thank you, Johnny. I love it.”

He turned his face toward your hand as you caressed his scruffy jaw, and kissed your palm, holding your hand with his so you couldn’t escape. 

“I got you something, too. But, it’s small, and now I’m afraid you won’t have anything to hang it on.”

You dug in your bag and pulled out a small cardboard box with a thin red string tied around it. There was no card, there was no name printed on it, but he knew it was him nonetheless. He took it from you, almost snatching it, excited and surprised, not waiting for it to be given. 

“Thief! You didnae have to do that,” he was grinning, and his eyes gleamed, full of sudden joy. 

You’d found an old locket at the charity shop, and your gift had fit inside perfectly. When he opened the clasp, he froze. You’d use a scrap of the shawl that you’d woven for Pidge and cut a little circle from it, embroidering a tiny map of Scotland over the threads, planting a little red heart over what was almost Glasgow. 

“Mo mèirleach…”

“Mo chridhe.”

As soon as you said his name, his eyes found yours and he leaned in to kiss you, clutching the locket in his fist, tight, tight, tight. 

BEFORE DAWN

That night, in his bed, smelling his oranges and cloves, his scent filling your nose, covering you with his sheets, you lay buried in his chest where his tags used to lie, your cheek now warming the skin beneath. You imagined the compasses that dangled from the four sets of keys strewn across the kitchen counter. You thought about the shawl that was wrapped around his sister as she slept in her bed. Holding his locket in your hand, you ran your fingertips over its tartan, borne of the same threads as hers. You wondered about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the year ahead of you, and you felt a tightness in your own chest as you considered the timeline stretching out before you, woven from the choices you and your lover had made together. It was as if you had altered fate’s plan somehow, shunning your intended path and forging one of your own making. What future had you created? Did you have the guile to craft the right course? You held his hand, his fingers laced between yours, and whichever way you went, you hoped that he would be braving it with you.

[hebrewbyinbal]

Israel is renowned as one of the most dog-friendly places in the world, where these loyal companions are revered for their roles in various aspects of life.

That is why we see so many videos of IDF soldiers rescuing dogs in G@z@ risking their lives to bring them to safety in Israel.

From cherished pets to essential members of the military and beyond, dogs hold a special place in Israeli society.

Dogs are cherished members of our family. Whether frolicking in the parks, accompanying their owners on outdoor adventures, or simply lounging at home, dogs are integrated into daily life with love and care.

But their significance extends far beyond the domestic sphere. In the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF), dogs serve alongside soldiers, playing crucial roles in reconnaissance, search and rescue missions, and detecting explosives.

These highly trained canine units are instrumental in safeguarding the nation and its citizens, showcasing the deep bond between humans and dogs in the pursuit of security and protection.

Moreover, dogs in Israel play a vital role in rehabilitation and therapy. Trained therapy dogs offer comfort and support to individuals facing physical or emotional challenges, including veterans recovering from the traumas of war, victims of trauma, and people with disabilities.

Their gentle presence and intuitive nature provide solace and encouragement, aiding in the healing process and restoring hope to those in need.

In Israeli society, dogs are revered not only for their practical contributions but also for their innate qualities as healers and angels. Their unconditional love, empathy, and ability to lift spirits make them cherished companions in times of joy and sorrow alike.

In this land where ancient traditions meet modern innovation, dogs are celebrated as valued members of the community, embodying the virtues of loyalty, compassion, and resilience.

Dogs in Israel exemplify the profound bond between humans and animals, enriching lives and touching hearts.

Source Credit: the_dog_sheba

[choerypetal]

Lost Souls / Sejanus Plinth

summary : You were Coriolanus's closest companion, much like Sejanus. While you and Coriolanus seemed to embody the ideal image of true love, the snowfall couldn't dispel the lingering shadow of a phantom, preventing anyone, including Snow, from witnessing the genuine happiness you sought. Consequently, you were implicated in Coriolanus's criminal act, coerced into playing a role in his misdeed alongside Sejanus, only to be betrayed. What if this entire ordeal was a meticulously crafted plan to make Coriolanus face the consequences of his actions and instill in him a yearning for a love that was forever out of reach? The roots of this scheme trace back to District 12, where Sejanus fled, ultimately reuniting with the one he truly loved—you. Two fractured souls, both attempting to escape a haunting past that seemed destined to linger.

ps: english isn't my first mother tongue language so i deeply appolagize for the small errors etc. (which will be corrected shortly) also this story was requested by @anonys-world! hope you will all enjoy. + pls do not copy my work without proper credit as it can be marked as flagged or being ban if doing the case, thank you!

Snow embodied the ethos of his era—a man rooted in tradition when deemed necessary, yet undeniably a shrewd egotist with a proclivity for favoring purity over squalor. In his aspirations for the presidency of Panem, he envisioned himself alongside a woman he once loved and now considered his closest confidante, Sejanus. Sejanus played the roles of both friend and foe in Snow's perception, especially when faced with the earnest plea for forgiveness. This plea stemmed from actions Sejanus himself had committed, contingent upon Snow's willingness to acknowledge his own transgressions. However, Snow staunchly denied any possibility of having erred, viewing Sejanus' contrition as nothing more than a theatrical display in his own eyes.

Fortuitously, Sejanus managed to elude capture, albeit not without difficulty, as he had been keenly aware of his vulnerability during Snow's attempt to eliminate another tribute. Subsequently, when he found himself compelled to take the life of his closest friend. The revelation of these events came to you, ensnared in the intricate web woven by Snow's devious plans. You, too, were drawn into the narrative when Coriolanus's name was invoked in a plea for release, a plea tinged with the assertion that the situation was a grave misunderstanding. Contemplating how this news would reach you, it was likely to be delivered abruptly, considering Snow's peculiar interest in your affairs. This was a certainty that Sejanus was intent on ensuring. And for Snow, it wasn’t enough. 

On a rainy day, you discovered that Sejanus had managed to find his way back home, despite your exile and nomadic lifestyle. Luck favored him, when he had heard that a small group of familiar Peacekeepers aligned themselves to escort you from your current dwelling. This meant that Sejanus had to navigate through various deals and threats to pinpoint your new residence. However, even with his friend Snow's assistance, it was clear that no amount of persuasion could make Snow divulge the truth. Conversations with him only yielded a cascade of lies. Thus, Sejanus began his journey to find you– Find home. 

While you held onto a glimmer of hope that Sejanus would come home, it wasn't because he sought to return to his District and face a father intent on shaming him as a distasteful and ignorant child. Sejanus's primary aim was to reunite directly with you. He longed to hear the soothing cadence of your voice, feel the delicate touch of your fingers in his curls, and share deep, comforting embraces, all while listening to your soft singing. However, this desire became complicated as Snow's intense animosity toward the Plinth escalated, leading him to harbor resentment towards you as well. Consequently, both of you became the targets in the crosshairs of a man driven solely by aspirations of wealth and power. 

Before his departure, Sejanus had intended to pen a letter expressing the sentiments he had shared that night. The letter encapsulated his commitment to stand by you even before tending to the needs of his own people. He envisioned a future building a family with you, whether it meant establishing a life beyond the District or securing an apartment in the Capitol with you at his side. Regardless of the path chosen, Sejanus planned to formalize the relationship upon his return. Despite the vehement hatred from his best friend, Snow, Sejanus remained indifferent, embracing his own pride. The prospect of witnessing Snow's rage only fueled his determination, understanding that Snow would never comprehend a love as profound and meaningful as the one he sought with you.

It was in that same day, you received the letter, and read it as followed: 

                 Dear, Y/N. 

How I yearn to be in your presence. My comrades and I successfully completed our duties ahead of schedule, taking strategic measures in our actions. When our commander learned of my last name, suspicions arose, prompting him to curtail my Peacekeeper duties and training. At my father's urging to return home promptly, little does he know that I won't be heading to District 2 but to our shared sanctuary with you. Fear not; I've discovered through fellow Peacekeepers that they aided in your escort right after the Games. My love, please be patient as I make my way back to our home. I'll be reunited with you soon.

Love, 

Sejanus. 

The letter was a gift from Tigris, and as you held it, you couldn't shake the suspicion that it might not be Sejanus's handwriting, at first. Yet, as you read the words and felt the essence of his expression, it became clear that it was indeed his authentic account transcribed on paper. Unbeknownst to Snow, the spectacle of witnessing his best friend's hanging was merely a staged performance. Sejanus, genuinely fearful that any Peacekeeper might release the cord prematurely, managed to escape District 12 right after the act. Consequently, as long as Snow remained alive and well, both of you would need to conceal yourselves, disappearing from sight to avoid any further repercussions. 

"I disclosed nothing to Snow." Tigris asserted during her visit to assist you in unpacking at your new home. "He's only kept tabs on your well-being and made sure to update you on Sejanus..." Despite recognizing Tigris as a friend, a twinge of sympathy welled up within you, understanding that she was acting only to bring joy to her cousin. With the realization that she still had some family left while you faced complete exile, survival instincts kicked in, overshadowing any sense of pride. "As long as he remains unaware that Sejanus is alive, I'm content with the information." You quietly expressed, hoping not to arouse suspicion when Tigris communicated with Coriolanus in the future.

Sejanus's journey appeared to be heading north. As he received updates about your whereabouts, he understood that in a short while, he would be left alone. The companions who had accompanied him would return to their respective Districts. However, for Sejanus, a compelling need drew him back to the person he cherished the most. This individual had once too, been broken by the actions of Snow, experiencing a sense of betrayal and utter brokenness that could only be healed by genuine love. Sejanus's plans centered around reuniting with the one thing he loved above all else—you.

Arriving home, he was aware of finding you peacefully asleep. Not far away, a cabin caught his eye, and a wave of relief washed over him as he noticed the subtle glow of light inside. It signaled that life had continued to thrive. Approaching, he made his way to the front door, eager to be the first to comfort you as you shed tears in your slumber. These were tears he would gently wipe away, planting a tender kiss on your cheek. After all, the two of you were nothing more than broken souls, central figures in Snow's machinations, destined to be reunited for a chance at living in undisturbed peace. 

The knock on the door that evening caught your attention, and though you suspected it might be Tigris with her usual errands, Sejanus casually heard your voice, responding with a quick "Coming." A surge of relief and comfort washed over him, and excitement filled him at the prospect of seeing your beautiful and now rested face. As the door began to creak open, your face and entire body froze in place. Sejanus smiled at the sight of you, standing right in front of him. You wore your usual flowery dress that he adored, but this time, Sejanus's hair had been shaved into a style that brought out the depth and honesty in the color of his eyes. "Seja—" you began to speak his name, only for him to chuckle at your disbelief. "But Tigris told me you would only arrive later—" He cut you off, gently cupping your flushed cheeks with his hands. His face drew closer, his breath mingling with yours, and your lips almost brushed against each other as he spoke in his defense.

"That doesn't matter right now, Love. Did you receive my letter?" Sejanus inquired, and you nodded, exhaling a soft sigh of relief. "Snow doesn't know I'm here, and neither do my parents. Everyone believes I'm dead. I was planning on bringing you back to the Capitol with me, but father knew about our plan long ago." There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he attempted to spare you from further difficulty. However, in the grand scheme of things, the chaotic planning didn't matter as much to you in that moment. What truly mattered was seeing him here, alive and well.

"You can't imagine how long I waited for you, Sejanus." You confessed, your voice delicately threading through the words you had struggled to find. The vulnerability stemmed from Snow, who had taken great pleasure in exploiting it to your disadvantage. "At this moment, Snow couldn't care less about me, either." You finally expressed your feelings toward the situation. The emotions resurfaced not long ago, with Snow killing Mayfair and Sejanus being thrown under the bus. The plans were twisted, part of Snow's undoubtedly sadistic scheme, leading him to believe that his closest friend was now dead.

Sejanus’s features darkened at the mention of a friend he once trusted. “Does he know anything of your whereabouts?” He asked, a little serious this time, as you shook your head a confident ‘no’. “I made sure that Tigris would only use the “She is okay” or “Living in the Capitol safely.” He has no idea about your current status. You have no idea how scare I am, what if she has to accidently slip away our little secret. Little do we know he could become aware of it anytime soon.” You tried to make sure not to sound frightened yourself when in reality you were completely aware of what Snow was capable of and please what he favors in the moment. If only you had the audacity the object his actions but if you had done such things– who knew if you’d remain alive at the very least. 

"Hush..." Sejanus's voice softened as he realized the tremble in your fingers, a manifestation of your grief. It wasn't just the fear of the plan's potential failure that shook you, but also the realization that, had things gone differently, Sejanus might not be by your side at this very moment. His hand gently caressed the back of your head as he allowed you to bury yourself in the comfort of his chest, absorbing the familiar scent you had longed for. "Snow acted recklessly for our benefit. If we maintain our resolve, he won't come close to us, let alone lay a finger on you. I promise." He reassured. Little did both of you know, Snow was already privy to your whereabouts. It was only a matter of time before he discerned his cousin's peculiar behavior while inquiring about your well-being, signaling an impending discovery. This time, however, Sejanus might not be in the equation. 

However, in the current moment, the present took precedence. Being in Sejanus's company was all you desired, and he shared the sentiment. As you reluctantly broke away from the embrace, you noticed a piece of paper threatening to slip through Sejanus's uniform pants. Your curiosity piqued, and you furrowed your brows, prompting you to reach for it. Yet, Sejanus, with a swift reflex, intercepted your hand, his eyes pleading for you to refrain from picking it up. "Don't—" He uttered firmly, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on yours, his grip tightening as a silent plea to respect his request. It became evident that whatever the object was, it held significant meaning for Sejanus. "Quite amusing, isn't it?" He remarked with a touch of sarcasm as he retrieved the crumpled item from his pocket.

"And I used to believe that this moment would mark the beginning of a special friendship." His hands seemed almost compelled to crumple the already battered piece of paper, which once held a photo of Coriolanus and Sejanus together. It was a day etched vividly in your memory, a day when he had also taken a photo with you. Snow had envisioned celebrating the exceptional prowess of two extraordinary peers for the 10th Hunger Games. However, it turned out to be a complete disaster, a spectacle that Sejanus perceived as a grotesque display orchestrated by a man devoid of humane intentions. As you gazed at the photo, you noticed Sejanus's voice cracking on the last sentence. His tears were tainted with bitterness rather than sorrow. How could someone so heartless, someone who only considered his own interests, be the same person you once admired? 

"Hey—" Your fingers gently cradled his face, echoing the comforting gesture he had extended to you just moments ago. It was a consoling touch you had inherited from Sejanus's mother, a gesture he had come to hold dear. His lips formed a strained yet hopeful smile, and he endeavored not to falter in your presence. "Snow manipulated both of us. He was the puppet master... But we won't let him control us any longer." you asserted, striving to convey confidence in your words. However, a lingering suspicion gnawed at you, especially as Snow's persistent quest to discover your exact whereabouts began to cast a shadow over your assurance. 

Honestly, Snow eventually uncovered the location of your exile. However, uncertainty shrouded Sejanus's whereabouts, leaving room for the unsettling possibility that his old friend might still be alive but in a place where Snow could find him with nefarious intentions. Despite Sejanus hanging onto your every word, he found himself unable to restrain the tears he had been trying to hold back. While you continued to cradle his face, he leaned in to touch his forehead to yours, closing the gap until he could feel the tender brush of your lips against his own. In the paradox of the situation, love felt secure within each other's arms, leading both of you to share laughter through tears. Sejanus, in a spontaneous gesture, swiftly tossed a memory he once cherished directly into the fireplace. 

"We'll face this together." He uttered in that moment, fervently desiring that the two of you could navigate through whatever challenges lay ahead, even if it meant making sacrifices to cherish every precious second and moment together. 

“Together.”

[vvinirl]

bucky. b

fluff

bucky barnes arrived in wakanda under the cover of night, his mind a chaotic mess of memories and triggers implanted by hydra. the wakandan air felt fresh, a stark contrast to the dark and cold places he had been before. he was here to be freed, to finally break the chains that had bound his mind for so long

bucky was escorted to the research facility where shuri awaited, accompanied by a team of scientists. among them was you, a dedicated scientist specializing in neurological rehabilitation. you had been working with shuri on various advanced technologies, and your expertise was crucial for bucky’s recovery

“welcome, sergeant barnes” you said with a warm smile, trying to put him at ease. “we’re here to help you”

bucky looked at you with wary eyes but nodded, trusting that wakanda, a place of unmatched technological marvel, might finally bring him peace

the first few weeks were intense. shuri led the efforts, using a combination of technology and traditional wakandan methods to deprogram bucky’s mind. you were responsible for the one-on-one sessions, a crucial part of his mental recovery. these sessions involved talking through his past, helping him distinguish his true memories from the ones hydra had implanted

at first, bucky was resistant. his trust in people had been shattered long ago. but your patience and kindness slowly broke down his walls. you listened without judgment, providing a safe space for him to express his fears and frustration

furing one session, bucky looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “why are you doing this for me?” he asked

you smiled softly. “everyone deserves a chance to be free, bucky. and I believe you have the strength to overcome this”

as the weeks passed, the bond between you and bucky grew stronger. you found solace in each other's company, your shared moments becoming the highlight of your days

you discovered that beneath his hardened exterior, bucky was kind, thoughtful, and fiercely protective of those he cared about. he, in turn, admired your intelligence, compassion, and unwavering determination to help him heal

one evening, after a particularly grueling session, you found yourselves sitting under the stars, the serene wakandan night sky providing a moment of respite

"thank you" bucky said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "for everything. i don't think i could have made it this far without you”

you smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. "you're stronger than you give yourself credit for, bucky. and i'm honored to be a part of your journey”

the day finally came when the results of your and shuri's efforts bore fruit. the final sequence of codes that held hydra's control over bucky's mind was neutralized, freeing him at last

as the realization dawned on him, bucky turned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. "i'm free" he whispered, as if afraid to believe it

you nodded, tears of joy glistening in your eyes. "yes, you are"

without thinking, bucky closed the distance between you, pulling you into a tight embrace. the world seemed to fade away as you held each other, the connection that had been growing between you culminating in this perfect moment

as you pulled back slightly, bucky looked into your eyes, his gaze intense yet tender. "i couldn't have done this without you” he said, his voice filled with emotion. "you mean more to me than you'll ever know”

you smiled, your heart full. "and you mean the world to me, bucky”

with that, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle, heartfelt kiss. it was a promise of new beginnings, a testament to the love that had blossomed between you during his journey to freedom

in wakanda, under the watchful eyes of the stars, you and bucky found not just healing, but a future filled with hope, love, and endless possibilities

months after bucky’s recovery, you and bucky were living peacefully in wakanda. the serene environment allowed your relationship to flourish, and soon, you discovered you were expecting a child. overjoyed, you planned to share the news with bucky after his mission to help captain america

but then, everything changed. thanos arrived. his forces overwhelmed the avengers, and the snap wiped out half the universe. bucky was gone, disintegrated into nothing right before your eyes. you were left alone, heartbroken, and pregnant

determined to bring bucky back and ensure a future for your unborn child, you joined the Avengers in their fight against thanos. with a fierce resolve, you used your scientific knowledge and wakandan technology to support the team. every battle, every challenge, you faced with the hope that one day, you would see bucky again

years passed and your son james was born. he grew up in a world without his father, but you told him stories of bucky, of his bravery and kindness. the fight to reverse the snap continued, and with each passing day, your determination grew stronger

the day of the final battle arrived. the avengers assembled, ready to face thanos and his army once and for all. the fight was brutal, but you fought with a ferocity fueled by love and the promise of reuniting with bucky. when the moment came, and iron man made the ultimate sacrifice, the snap was undone

and then, there he was. bucky emerged from the chaos, alive and whole. tears streamed down your face as you ran to him, your heart bursting with joy. he saw you, and a smile spread across his face as he opened his arms, pulling you into a tight embrace

“i thought i’d lost you” he whispered, his voice choked with emotion

“i’m here,” you replied, holding him tightly. “and there’s someone else you need to meet”

after a few days with repairing all the damages made by thanos and tony stark’s funeral, you brought bucky back to your home

bucky nervously entered the home and was instantly met with a little boy

“bucky, this is james” you said, your voice trembling with happiness. “our son”

bucky’s eyes filled with tears as he knelt down to embrace the boy. “james” he said softly, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry I wasn’t there”

james hugged him tightly. “it’s okay, daddy, mommy told me all about you”

as you watched bucky and james together, your heart swelled with love and relief. the battle was over, and your family was finally reunited

the future was uncertain, but with bucky and james by your side, you knew you could face anything

[jstor]

Feeling superstitious this Friday the 13th?

Superstitions, magic, and witchcraft have deep historical roots, spanning across cultures and civilizations. Rooted in the human quest to understand and control the mysterious forces of the world, these practices often involve rituals, symbols, and beliefs that go beyond the realm of empirical evidence.

Superstitions are often cultural traditions or irrational beliefs, while magic encompasses rituals and spells believed to harness supernatural powers. Witchcraft, historically associated with individuals, often women, who were thought to possess magical abilities, has a darker side marked by persecutions. The infamous witch trials, such as the European witch hunts of the 15th to 18th centuries, resulted in the persecution and execution of thousands.

Fear of the supernatural, religious fervor, and social tensions contributed to these dark chapters in history, underscoring the dangers of unchecked superstition and the persecution of those labeled as practitioners of magic or witchcraft.

Learn more on JSTOR in "Superstitions, Magic, and Witchcraft," an open access chapter from The Consistory and Social Discipline in Calvin's Geneva.

Image credit: A Postcard Wishing Good Luck Illustrated by Various Lucky Charms. Chromolithograph. From the Wellcome Collection on JSTOR.