#why do variables even exist

[extravertedintravert]

Have you ever looked at a math thing and known exactly what the answer was but you couldn’t explain to anyone how you did it? Like the numbers just idk number and you’re like ‘oh yeah the answers 53.2 squared’ and everyone just stares at you like ‘how tf????’ And you try to explain but the number just happened?

Or am I just the odd one out again T-T

[biblically-accurate-dca]

KILL!!!!!!!!!

[fisheito]

I really like the idea of just yakumo being able to change to type every snake. he can go from a big python taking up the whole kitchen to a tiny little worm hiding in the library shelves until his sobs give him away

i really like the idea toooooooooooooo if man's gonna have the range, he's GONNA have the RANGE!!!! MORE RANGE! I am bestowing upon him;;; -- further range.

serioslusly what's the fun in having yokai transformation powers if you can't get shapeshifty according to your daily moods and needs

[xjulixred45x]

Imagine an adult Yuu who arrived at Twisted Wonderland PREGNANT.

This could be considered part of the Yuu! Parent variables (?). Perhaps the poor woman was returning from an early ultrasound (at 2 or 3 months old) when the black carriage hit her, scaring her to death upon her appearance in TWST. She must have thought she was about to be sacrificed to a cult.

I can definitely imagine the Squad characters being much more understanding/soft of this Yuu, especially Ace and Deuce. Ace wouldn't be so malicious at the beginning of the game (I'd like to believe that not even he would be capable of laughing in the face of a pregnant woman), and instead feels obvious guilt because Crowley has entrusted her with a mediocre job.

Deuce, my sweet boy, will set off all his alarm bells. He's the most outraged that the headmaster is forcing a pregnant woman to work ALONE, and if his dorm leader hadn't been so strict in the beginning, he definitely wouldn't let Yuu sleep in a dorm that's falling apart. Has Crowley gone crazy? Does he have no shred of decency?!

Grim probably thought at first that Yuu had eaten her baby, haha, and had to receive the wonderful "birds and the bees" lecture (much to Ace's amusement at Grim's horrified reactions). Let's just say Grim now insists on standing sentry in case Yuu decides to do anything too "dangerous for the baby" (humans are fragile even with magic; he has to take care of his minion!).

Jack, bless him, also tries to help make the ramshackle dorm safer alongside Epel, whether by removing the most rotten parts of the structure, helping clean, assisting with Yuu's errands, etc. Especially when she starts showing more of her bump.

GOD, IMAGINE THE DORM LEADERS!

Riddle was probably the only one who didn't realize Yuu was pregnant until the events of the Savanaclaw episode. And when he found out he almost seriously hurt a PREGNANT WOMAN? Trey and Cater practically had to keep him from banging his head against a wall for half an hour out of embarrassment and shame. He also drafted a LONG apology for Yuu, which was delivered with a giant strawberry cake (and one of those exaggerated bows I KNOW Riddle would do).

Thanks to his mom (for once in his life), Riddle is the most knowledgeable about useful pregnancy stuff! Whenever Yuu goes to Heartslabyul, she has access to calcium- and iron-rich meals (prepared by Trey), and teas that boost her immune system and combat morning sickness. Riddle is careful not to give her things like black tea or rosemary tea, knowing they could have negative effects (if it were up to Riddle, Yuu probably wouldn't walk unaided).

Leona is much more respectful to a female Yuu, we know that, but I don't think he has the energy to be rude, or be especially , well, Leona, to a PREGNANT woman. This ends up bringing out a side of Leona no one thought existed: an almost delicate side. Sure, he's still lazy and sarcastic, but he doesn't say no to Yuu when she asks for help with something, whether it's bringing something to her dorm or dealing with a difficult situation. he dosent even COMPLAIN. what did he do to the real Leona??

We all know Crowley doesn't give Yuu and Grim enough money to live comfortably, let alone considering they could soon have a new member on ramshakle. Yuu is now surprised to find extra money in the dorm after certain visits. Not that he'll admit it, but it makes everyone feel more at ease.

Again, I want to believe Azul wouldn't be capable of leaving a pregnant woman homeless, at the very least he offered her a place to stay in Octavinelle. It turns out the twins (especially Floyd) quickly took a liking to Yuu.

A cute scenario I came up with, when Yuu already has a prominent baby bump, is that she tries to joke with the Leechs that the nickname "shrimpy" doesn't suit her anymore, and that maybe they should change it to "whaley."

AND FLOYD IS LIKE, "Why are you saying that, Koebi-chan? :( Is someone calling you that? Come on, tell me :)"

I think the Octavinelle folks genuinely don't know how human pregnancy works, so they're surprisingly gentle and caring with Yuu (even when the baby is born, I can see Monster Lounge having a kids' menu for them).

Kalim, my god, Jamil is going to have to stop him from giving Yuu a completely equipped nursery for both her and the baby. Ironically, the one who's the most normal about pregnancy (the guy has 30 younger siblings, so he KNOWS about these things) and genuinely knows some home tricks that helped his mother when she was pregnant.

offers to organize a baby shower/gender reveal party! The bad thing is that it ends up being a whole festival with all of Scarabia participating. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

There's no way Yuu, who's already 6-7 months along, will wear the school uniform simply for comfort, so if you need help finding comfortable AND cute clothes, Vil will gladly help! Obviously, he's not as strict or harsh with Yuu due to the circumstances, but he still wants the best for her. Who knows, maybe they can pick out some clothes for the baby in advance.

Idia is afraid to get close to Yuu, not only because of social anxiety, but because of the thought that he might "ruin" the baby in some way. He needs a lot of support from Ortho and Yuu to even allow himself to have normal physical contact with Yuu, and just as he does, the baby kicks. Idia's heart is gone (everyone wants to feel the kicks now, especially Ace, Floyd, and Malleus).

They probably use some STYX or Ortho equipment for some of the baby checks, and he even gives an approximate due date, which feels bittersweet. Even if everyone does their best, Yuu still hoped to have his baby at home, but he doesn't complain when the boys do all this for them. It feels like Home.

Malleus is another who doesn't fully understand human pregnancy and is incredibly intrigued. It doesn't help that Lilia's answers to his questions are even more confusing, so he ends up going straight to the source of his intrigue, Yuu. Malleus is completely mesmerized the first time he hears the baby's heartbeat, completely fascinated by what human life is like compared to fairies/dragons.

That said, he proceeds to "scold" the baby when it kicks Yuu for "hurting its mother," not quite understanding the concept, but he has the spirit. Malleus is very scared of the idea of childbirth once he's educated on it (WHERE will the baby come out? HOW!?) and will probably try to improve his healing magic SOLELY because of that.

All I can say is that if the baby is born in Twisted Wonderland, they'll have a wide array of adoptive siblings, father figures, babysitters, and weird and eccentric uncles who will take very good care of them and its mother. So you can rest easy.

__________

(ESPAÑOL)

Imagínate una Yuu adulta que llego a Twisted Wonderland estando EMBARAZADA

Esto podría considerarse parte de las variables de Yuu! Parent(?)Talvez la pobre mujer estaba regresando de un ultrasonido de los primeros meses (2 o 3 meses) cuando el carruaje negro le paso por encima, dándole un susto de muerte cuando apareció en TWST. La pobre mujer debio pensar que estaba a punto de ser sacrificada a un culto.

Definitivamente puedo ver a los personajes del Squad mucho mas suaves con esta Yuu, especialmente Ace y Deuce. Ace no sería tan malicioso al principio del juego (digo, quiero creer que incluso el no seria capaz de reírse en la cara de una mujer embarazada) y más bien siente una obvia lastima de que Crowley le haya metido en un trabajo mediocre.

Deuce, mi dulce niño, le disparan todas las alarmas. Es el más obviamente indignado de que el director haga trabajar a una mujer embarazada SOLA, y definitivamente si su líder de dormitorio no fuera tan estricto al principio, no dejaría que Yuu durmiera en un dormitorio que se cae a pedazos ¿¡que acaso Crowley perdió la cabeza, no tiene el mínimo de decencia?!

Grim probablemente al principio pensó que Yuu se había comido a su bebe lol, y le tuvieron que dar la maravillosa charla de las “aves y las abejas” (para diversión de Ace por las reacciones horrorizadas de Grim). Solo digamos que ahora Grim insiste en actuar como centinela en caso de que Yuu se le ocurra hacer algo demasiado “peligroso para él bebe” (los humanos son frágiles aun si magia ¡tiene que cuidar a su secuaz!).

Jack, bendito sea, también trata de ayudar en hacer el dormitorio destartalado mas seguro junto a Epel, ya sea quitando las partes mas podridas de la estructura, ayudando a limpiar, ayudar con los mandados de Yuu, etc. Especialmente cuando empieza a mostrar mas la panza de embarazada.

DIOS, IMAGINENSE LOS LIDERES DE DORMITORIO.

Riddle probablemente fue el único que no llego a darse cuenta que Yuu estaba embarazada hasta los eventos del capítulo de Savanaclaw ¿y cuando se enteró que casi lastimo gravemente a una MUJER EMBARAZADA? Trey y Cater tuvieron que físicamente detenerlo de que se golpeara la cabeza contra la pared por media hora por la vergüenza, también redacto un documento LARGUISIMO de disculpa a Yuu, que fue entregado con una gran tarta de fresa (y una de esas reverencias exageradas que SE que Riddle haría).

¡Gracias a su madre (por una vez en la vida), Riddle es el que sabe más de cosas útiles para el embarazo! Cada vez que Yuu va Heartslabyul, tienen acceso a comidas nutritivas en calcio y hierro (hechas por Trey), Tés beneficiosos para el sistema inmune y para combatir las náuseas matutinas, aparte de que Riddle es cuidadoso de no dar cosas como Te negro o romero, sabiendo que podrían tener malos efectos (si fuera por Riddle, Yuu probablemente no caminaría sin ayuda).

Leona es bastante más respetuoso con una Yuu mujer, eso lo sabemos, pero no creo que tenga la energía para ser grosero o especialmente, bueno, Leona, con una mujer EMBARAZADA. Esto termina sacando un lado que nadie creía que existía de Leona, un lado casi delicado. Claro, sigue siendo perezoso y sarcástico, pero no le dice que no a Yuu cuando le pide ayuda en algo, ya sea llevar algo a su dormitorio o con una situación difícil.

Todos sabemos que Crowley no da ni de lejos el dinero suficiente para que Yuu y Grim vivan bien, mucho menos pensando que PODRIAN TENER UN NUEVO INTEGRANTE PRONTO, por lo que Yuu ahora se sorprende después de ciertas visitas, aparece algo de dinero extra en el dormitorio. No es como que lo vaya a admitir, pero todos están más tranquilos de esa forma.

De nuevo, quiero creer que Azul no sería capaz de dejar sin hogar a una mujer embarazada, aunque sea le ofrecería una estancia en Octaville, ya que, además, resulta que los gemelos (especialmente Floyd) se encariñaron con Yuu muy rápido.

Un escenario lindo que se me ocurrió, ya cuando Yuu tiene una panza de embarazada prominente, es que ella trata de bromear con los Leech de que el apodo “camarón” ya no le queda bien, y que a lo mejor tendrían que cambiarlo a “ballena”

Y FLOYD ESTA COMO “¿Por qué dices eso Koebi-chan?  ¿alguien te está diciendo asi? Vaaaamos, dímelo ”

Creo que genuinamente los de Octaville no saben muy bien cómo funciona el embarazo terrestre, por lo que son sorprendentemente gentiles y cuidadosos con Yuu (incluso cuando nace el bebe, puedo ver el Monstre Louge teniendo un menú infantil para ellos).

Kalim, dios mio, Jamil tendrá que detenerlo de regalarle a Yuu absolutamente toda una guardería completamente equipada tanto para ella como para el bebe. Irónicamente el que es el mas normal al respecto del embarazo (el man tiene 30 hermanos menores, el SABE de estas cosas) y genuinamente sabe algunos trucos caseros que le sirvieron a su madre cuando ella estaba embarazada.

¡ofrece organizar un baby shower/ fiesta de revelación de genero! Lo malo es que termina siendo todo un festival en el que participa todo Scarabia. Pero hey, la intención es lo que cuenta.

No hay forma en la que estando ya en los 6-7 meses Yuu use el uniforme de la escuela por simple cuestión de comodidad, por lo que si necesitan ayuda en encontrar ropa cómoda Y bonita ¡Vil le ayudara con gusto! Obviamente no es tan estricto ni duro con Yuu debido a las circunstancias, pero sigue queriendo lo mejor para ella. Quien sabe, talvez puedan elegir algo de ropa para él bebe de adelantado.

Idia tiene miedo de acercarse a Yuu, no solo por la ansiedad social, sino por la idea de que podría “arruinar” al bebe de alguna forma. Necesita mucho apoyo de Ortho y Yuu para siquiera permitirse tener contacto físico con Yuu de forma normal, y justo cuando lo hace, el bebe patea. A Iidia se le salió el alma del cuerpo (ahora todos quieren sentir las pataditas, sobretodo Ace, Floyd y Malleus).

Probablemente usan algo de equipo de STYX o Ortho para algunos controles del bebe, incluso el da una fecha aproximada de nacimiento, lo cual da una sensación agridulce. Aun si todos hacen su mejor esfuerzo, Yuu esperaba poder tener a su bebe en casa, pero no se queja cuando los chicos hacen todo esto por ellos.

Malleus es otro que no entiende el embarazo humano completamente y esta increíblemente intrigado, no ayuda que as respuestas de Lilia a sus preguntas son aún más confusas, por lo que termina lleno a la fuente de su intriga, Yuu. Malleus se queda completamente hipnotizado la primera vez que escucha los latidos del bebe, totalmente fascinado por cómo es la vida humana en comparación a las hadas/dragones.

Eso sí, procede a “reprender” al bebe cuando patea a Yuu por “lastimar a su madre”, no entendiendo bien el concepto, pero tiene el espíritu. A Malleus le asusta mucho la idea del parto una vez que se educa al respecto (¿Qué el bebe saldrá DE DONDE? ¡¿COMO!?) y probablemente trate de mejorar en magia curativa UNICAMENTE por eso.

Solo puedo decir que si el bebe nace en Twisted Wonderland, tendrá un vasto abanico de hermanos adoptivos, figuras paternas, niñeros, tíos raros y extravagantes que lo cuidaran muy bien a él y su madre. Así que pueden estar tranquilos.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[scientia-rex]

as someone in clinical psych, it drives me up the wall that everyone accepts as a goddamn fact that stress is directly linked to weight gain, and yet every single study on diet and exercise just… ignores this as a confounding factor? it’s gotten to the point where if i open a study on weight and don’t see a stress measure anywhere i just close it again because EVERY TIME the behavior they’re saying causes weight gain is… surprise… a behavior people do when they’re stressed. so either the behavior itself is a spurious correlation to the already established causal relationship between stress and weight gain, OR the behavior does contribute some unique amount to variability in health outcomes, but we’re ignoring why people are doing that behavior. like ok maybe eating nothing but spaghetti-o’s causes you to gain weight. why is no one ringing alarm bells going WHY IS THIS PERSON SO STRESSED THEY CAN EAT NOTHING BUT SPAGHETTI-O’S? the intervention is always “eat less spaghetti-o’s” not “holy fuck what can we address in your life so you aren’t forced into the miserable existence of eating nothing but spaghetti-o’s.” setting aside “why is weight loss even your outcome variable,” if weight loss IS your target why the FUCK are you ignoring this piece! i am grabbing my fellow scientists by the shoulders and shaking them vigorously!!

HELL! FUCKING! YES!!!!!!!! You, YOU keep talking!

[rottingghosty]

The Realms PR | DC X DP Part 2

this isn’t as good in my thoughts because writing as bruce??? really hard. how am i supposed to write a paranoid man if i am the most chillest person i can be… anyway heres your part 2 food of this au, not sure if i’ll continue writing more parts? depends on how i feel.

errors are made and sorry the the lackluster performance this might be

if you want to use my prompt please give me credits thank you

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny very much prefers to have nobody intervene on his business as the vigilante of Amity Park. He’s essentially called dibs on it if you consider the fact that the entire town is basically his metaphorical grave since it’s his haunt and he did die to make the portal to the Ghost Zone open. He very much ignores that specific can of worms because that’s a heavy topic that he won’t ever talk about because Spectra really ruined his own outlook on professionals. Jazz will most likely want to open that can but that’s for future Danny.

Where was he? Oh yeah.

Danny very much likes being a solo hero with his friends and sister aiding when they can. He very much dislikes the fact that people have been trying to enter his haunt without permission. Does he know why people who tried to pass through Amity Park suddenly find themselves back at where the welcome sign is? No. Is he going to ask? Also no because it allows the residents and himself privacy even when he’s got the GIW on his tail or even his own parents.

He’s not going to rebuke this gift especially with his influx of fame. Which reminds Danny that he needs to post a new tweet, maybe a video of Cujo playing with the kids in the park from a few days ago? He figures people would be more interested if they knew a ghost dog existed. Maybe he can include one of Ember’s concerts or something.

Man he has so many videos to post and such little time to do so, but he thinks Sam and Tucker are having fun being his PR team with the way Sam had a manic gleam in her eyes when Lois Lane and Clark Kent sent her a message of twitter asking for an interview. All while Tucker basically going giddy at Red Robin and Oracle trying to get through the firewall that’s blocking Amity Park from eyes being too close for all their comforts.

Bruce Wayne stared intently at the video before him, it was only thirty seconds but it was thirty seconds enough to cause him to tighten his grip on the arm rests of his chair in the Batcave. His blue eyes staring down at the figure in the video as it replayed on loop. His shoulders tense and bunched up as he inhaled sharply at the frame that happened ten seconds in.

Because right there, staring up at the camera looked too much like Jason. It looked too much like his boy, his son that he had lost when Jason was only fifteen. Normally he would’ve brushed it off but it was the way that it then shifted into Dick, Steph, Tim and then Damian—

Ancient of Hope is what Phantom had called them, the embodiment of hope and how its form switched to what people believed in. Apparently it looked so much like the Robins of Gotham because Gotham was— is the biggest source of hope there is. Yet, this was an unknown.

Bruce couldn’t trust a word that Phantom said, ghosts are an unknown. Trying to get Constantine to talk about it was a struggle itself, the equivalent of trying to pull teeth out because the man was equally as stubborn as Bruce and it was even worse when the man had cursed up a storm when they had a meeting about Phantom’s first videos.

Ghosts are a variable in an equation that Bruce is trying to solve but he simply can’t force his way into solving it, not when this whole thing has turned into a diplomatic nightmare with the fact that Oa has started pressuring the US government about the mistreatment of the Infinite Realms beings.

The Justice League Dark even adding in the pressure— Deadman being one of the more outspoken members as he explained as much as he knew about the Infinite Realms despite not quite qualifying as one of their residents but still considered as one in an odd way. Constantine grumbling about as he came and went, saying how the Ghost Investigation Ward could’ve started a war or destroyed everyone.

Clark and Lane were writing up articles, having conversations with the PR Team of Phantom— two teenagers who were involved heavily and considered ambassadors to the Realms because of their connection to Phantom.

Phantom who is the High King. Phantom who doesn’t want his subjects hunted anymore and took a peaceful route instead of simply declaring war.

Bruce takes a heavier breath, jaw clenched as he watched the video loop one more time before the closed the tab to look more into the GIW and their backers, eyes narrowing in two names.

Vladimir Masters and Lex Luthor.

[lordprettyflackotara]

habits || bloody painter

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: descriptions of gore, murder, abusive/toxic relationship, stalking, service dom!helen, borderline yandere helen, overstimulation, praise

Helen considered himself to be a poised and intelligent young man.

He had never considered himself lowly enough to crave romantic affairs, nevertheless develop a full fledge obsession.

He lived his life on a scheduled routine. The only variable he allowed to change was in which victim he selected. His creativity was shown through out his art pieces, he didn’t need tons and tons of action to keep him mentally satisfied. After all, he was an artist. A painter. One with methods society disapproved of, but a painter nevertheless. Helen considered himself to be content with life.

He came and went from the Trenderman mansion as he pleased. On Tuesday’s he spent quality time with The Puppeteer. What else could he possibly need?

That question became answered, once he saw you.

Helen hadn’t even meant to see you. Your neighbor had been his choice for his routine victim. Middle aged man with a habit of watching the neighborhood kids play in the street. One would normally find that endearing, but the contents Helen found in the mans household were not so much. Helen thought he had done a fine job, turning a scum of the earth pedophile into a work of art. He was spread like a starfish, pinned to the wall by his hands and feet with the handy kitchen knives. His chest of course was ripped open, the contents of his organs fallen onto the floor below. Helen's favorite part, the one he deemed to make this a masterpiece, was the removal of the mans genital's. Helen found it very appropriate to cut that off and staple it into the wall beside him.

As Helen admired his masterpiece, he couldn't help but overhear yelling coming from the direction of your house. Normally he would take this as his sign to leave. After all, his work here was done. But then he heard your voice. He was drawn to you like a sailor to a siren. Curiously he peered through the deceased mans curtains, looking over at your house. Your white curtains were closed, but he could make out the shadows of you arguing with a taller man. Helen wasn't a fan of domestic violence. He had witnessed all of that and more during his childhood stay at the psychiatric hospital. During that time he trained himself to stay neutral. To pretend what he was seeing didn't exist. But the pain in your voice intrigued him. Cautiously he slipped out of the mans house, dying for a closer look.

Using the shadows of the night to his advantage he slipped out of the neighbors backyard, hopping the fence. Helen creeped over to the window, peaking inside. That's when he saw you. Your face was red with anger, your eyes widened, and mouth running a thousand miles a minute as you argued with your presumed lover. Helen had never seen anyone like you. With your curves, feisty attitude, and bright eyes. You were something a man could only dream of. He felt himself frown at the sight of your oblivious and angry boyfriend, whose veins were popping out of his head from anger. Helen then made himself a vow, one he took very seriously. He was going to be your guardian angel, whether you knew it or not.

Helen didn't have obsessive tendencies. He had never spent his time stalking someone before. He didn't live at the Slenderman mansion, he wasn't sent on missions or anything absurd. He felt out of place as he studied you, becoming accustomed with your routine. You lived a simple and peaceful life, outside of your toxic relationship. Helen decided to study up on your lover as well, since he seemed to be such a massive issue. His name was Liam. Occupation: unemployed. If Helen had to take a guess he would assume that is why the two of you were arguing. Helen deemed Liam to be a useless slob. One that didn't do much of anything with his time, nevertheless tend to you and your needs. How you ended up with such a useless partner Helen could not figure out.

He enjoyed how modest you were. Your spare time was spent in libraries, curled up in the most secluded corner with a good book. You only ordered from small businesses, even if it meant going out of your way to attend them. All and all you were perfect. Helen thought of all the ways he’d introduce himself to you. Maybe he could run into you at the local book store. Or maybe he’d accidentally brush into you on the street. After all, Trenderman’s mansion was at least four states over from where he was wanted for being a serial killer. Showing his face in public was too much of a risk though, he feared. Especially with the cops now on high patrol in your neighborhood since the murder of your neighbor. If he could go back in time he wished he could’ve seen you first. He would’ve at least changed his victim to someone a few streets over.

The more Helen watched the more he noticed Liam’s violent tendencies. It all came to a screeching halt for Helen once he saw him put his hands on you. Now that. That did numbers on his mind. Who did he think he was? Stomping on such a delicate flower like yourself? If it wasn’t for the patrol car parked outside of your neighbors house he would’ve slit his throat and mutilated him for as long as possible. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not interfere. The look of despair and sorrow you had written all over your face resonated with Helen more than he would’ve liked to admit. It stayed in his head rent free.

The next day Helen saw the bruises that littered your arms. It was in your character to modestly try to cover them. He expected that of you, even if he didn’t approve. What he hadn’t expected of you, was for your night life to become so social. You previously had proven yourself to be introverted and borderline antisocial. Yet, he watched you through your window as you put in earrings. You were dressed up more than he had ever seen. A tight dress and strappy heels clothed you, his mind going to rancid filth at the sight of your exposed thighs. So Helen did what he thought to be the best course of action: he followed you. This time however, he had different plans.

He planned to finally meet you.

He was surprised your location of choice was the local club, crowded with local college students and overbearingly loud with music. Even as you paced through the door he could sense how uncomfortable you were with the bass booming. Straightening out his collar he trailed behind you, the bouncer not glancing at him twice. He followed you through the never ending sea of swaying bodies, your hips ones that Helen would recognize anywhere. You approached the bar, sliding up on the bar stool like you had done this time and time again. Helen tried to appear casual as he sat beside you, the bartender approaching him. “Whiskey, neat please,” He ordered. You hadn’t glanced in his direction, your fingers aggressively typing against your phone screen. The overworked bar tender looked at you, your gaze not meeting his.

“Ma’am?”

Embarrassed you looked up, eyes widened. It then occurred to Helen why you chose the club. Subtracting the alcohol from the equation, your bruises were practically invisible strobe lights. “I’ll have a sex on the beach, sorry,” You gushed, face flushing with heat. Helen tried to avoid looking at you as to not seem obvious, but it was so hard not to. You were so darling, a ball of nervousness as you sat in a location you felt so out of place in. “Come here often?” Helen finally said, the words escaping his lips faster than he meant them to. Your eyes finally met his, soaking in his blue eyes. They were so striking, even in the inconsistent lighting. You awkwardly laughed, not having expected to indulge in a conversation with someone new. “Who? Me? Pfft, no. Absolutely not,” You rambled, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Helen didn’t fail to notice this, giving you a polite smile. “I don’t come here either. I’m Helen, lovely to meet you,” He greeted. He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You flashed a small genuine smile, before shaking his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet someone like me. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing besides us,” You say, side eyeing a group doing body shots at the opposite end of the bar. The bartender set down both of your drinks, nodding before walking off to help another customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you in?” Helen pried. He sipped his drink, the firey liquid slithering its way down his throat. You slipped the little pink umbrella out of your glass, setting it aside on a napkin. “Just needed to get away from life, you know? I want to feel something absolutely liberating instead of the norm,” You say. Technically you were telling the truth, but you were smart enough to not spill your guts to a stranger. Helen liked that. He liked that you were smart enough to be cautious.

“How about you?” You asked, taking a large gulp of your fruity drink. Helen gave a slight chuckle. “Troubles at work. You know how that goes i’m sure,” He said. He was dancing along side you in the tango of word play. His occupation was untraditional surely, but the cop outside of your house was most certainly a thorn in his side. “Definitely. So do you live around here?” You asked, attempting to stir up conversation. You hadn’t expected to converse with anyone, nevertheless a handsome man. Helen was quick on his feet with an answer. After all, he had prepared conversation topics and answers for all of the different ways he could converse with you. “I’m new to the area actually. Been here about a month. You?” He replied slyly. You nervously pulled your short dress down before setting your drink on the counter. The obnoxious music seemed to be bothering you.

Helen had learned all of your nervous habits. Strike one was pulling down or picking at your clothing. “Dont freak out but I may live next to the murder house,” You replied. Helen raised an eyebrow, now curious. “Murder house?” He asked. Of course, you figured sharing something so frightful to the normal man would be safer rather than lying. Oh how bright you were. “Oh cmon i’m sure you’ve heard. It’s the most talk we’ve had in this town for ages. Creepy old Gary got torn apart by some serial killer,” You explained. Helen was intrigued by what you thought. If things were different he’d ask so much more. Maybe when he got to know you better he’d ask what you thought of his work. “Oh my. Sounds quite brutal,” Helen commented. You nodded, finishing off your drink. Huh. You seemed awfully desperate to get drunk. The bartender approached the two of you again, going to pour you another one.

“Oh no no just one please. Do you guys accept cash?” You rambled. You began digging in your clutch, searching for the crumbled up bills you had shoved in there. Helen knew this to be because of your lack of funds. He suspected Liam had some sort of control over your finances. “Put anything she wants on my tab please,” He intervened. Wide eyed you turned to Helen. “You didn’t have to do that,” You told him. He shrugged and sipped his drink, watching the bar tender deliver your drink before walking away. “The pleasures all mine. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be paying for her own drinks,” He said truthfully. Your blush may have not been visible because of the lighting, but you best believe Helen knew you were. You couldn't help but feel hopelessly attracted to him. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was nice being treated with respect for once.

The clubs music switched to a different song, one with more bass. Helen noted you nervously glancing over your shoulder, staring at the DJ booth. Strike two was the way your eyes darted around when you were nervous. Helen decided distracting you might be the best course of action. “So, may I ask you on a proper date? What fun activities are there to do around here?” He asked. You became incredibly flustered, the sight definitely one for sore eyes. “There’s an art museum down the street. It’s the only gallery I haven’t seen in this town,” You suggested. Oh how little did you know that suggestion secured your fate and locked it in place. Helen then had mentally deemed you to be his perfect match. You both would make a delightful pair.

“Thats a splendid idea. Truthfully I adore the arts,” Helen answered. It was then you delivered the third strike, the biting of the inside of your cheek. Helen wasn’t quite sure what set you off, but the room was overstimulating to say the very least. “How about we take this party elsewhere? Your place perhaps?” Helen asked. He knew that wasn’t possible, but curiosity lingered about what your answer would be. “Oh um, no mine it’s very unorganized right now. What about yours?” You asked. You were now gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Oh dear, had you developed a new habit? “I have the most obnoxious roommate. Here, take my hand,” He proposed, setting a neat pile of bills on the counter. Your soft hand took his, the painter leading you through the crowds of people. Truthfully he was searching for more of a supply closet, something more secluded and private. But he supposed an unoccupied handicapped restroom would do. “I apologize for the lack of cleanliness that’s surrounds us, but your well being is more important,” Helen said, locking the door.

It wasn’t terribly filthy, but he much rather would’ve taken you somewhere nicer. “Helen I- I must be honest, I have-” You began. He knew where this was going. And if he was being truthful with himself he did not want to discuss Liam at your first meeting. So instead, he decided an alternative. “I apologize if this is a little too straight forward,” He said abruptly. Helen towered over you, cupping your cheeks before planting your lips against his. His lips were soft and warm, the faintest taste of whiskey still lingering. You melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Stumbling you fell back against the wall, your head spinning. “You are so beautiful and you deserve to be treated as so. May I show you how beautiful you are?” He asked. You nodded profusely, watching him drop to his knees. His slender fingers pulled up your dress, revealing your lacey black panties. Helen couldn’t help but feel like you had worn them for him.

It only made his cock harder as he pushed them to the side. Your slick was already wet, your folds begging for attention. “This wet already? You poor thing, does no one tend to your needs?” He asked, a hint of taunting lacing his tone. You were desperate, the double meaning of his words flying over your head. “N-no, please, please touch me,” You whined. Who was Helen to deny you of that? He licked a stripe up your cunt, sending a shudder down your spine. You grabbed onto his jet black locs for support as his large hands settled onto your thighs. He lapped at your cunt like a starved man, devouring every drop of juice your body was producing. His eagerness to please you only made you wetter. Truthfully you couldn’t recall the last time Liam had ever done foreplay with you. Your moans were loud and shameless, the clubs music overpowering the sounds anyways. You grinded against his face, whining as you approached your high. His lips attached to your clit, sucking at the sensitive bud harshly. His ocean eyes watched your facial expressions intently.

You were like a divine art piece that came to life.

Helen kept your thighs apart as they trembled, his name falling off of your lips as you came on his face. Shamelessly he lapped all of the juices away, licking you until he deemed you clean. You went to drop to your knees to return the favor, Helen stopping you. “A lady such as yourself does not belong on this filthy floor. Where you do belong, is with my fingers buried in your cunt until I make you cum again,” He said. Your head was spinning as he picked you up, setting you on the sink. He nudged his way between your thighs, plunging two fingers into your eager cunt. “Oh my- fuck- holy shit,” You whined, tilting your head back. Helen curled his fingers inside of you, your gummy walls clinging to him. “Such a tight cunt, what a masterpiece,” He praised, licking his lips. He began to curl his fingers faster, placing sloppy and uncoordinated kisses onto your neck. “D-don’t leave marks,” You pleaded in between pants. Helen knew why, but agreed to your request.

“I would never mark such a beautiful masterpiece my love,” He agreed, his voice hoarse. He pulled down your dress, exposing your breast. He was pleased at your lack of a bra. With one hand he toyed with your nipple, the other abusing your g spot as it pleased. “Feels so good Helen, you make me feel so good,” You whimpered, pawing at his button up. You grabbed handfuls of the fabric, Helen more amused than anything else. How long had it been since someone had truly pleasured you? He concluded it must’ve been an entirety, based on the way he could feel your second orgasm coming. “Someone close again? Wanna make a mess on my fingers?” Helen asked, a sly grin dancing across his lips. You managed to meet his gaze, your mouth fallen open in the shape of an O. “So close, wanna cum for you,” You whined. Helen twisted your nipple painfully, triggering your second orgasm. You didn’t have time to process it, your vision going white as you creamed around his fingers.

Helen enjoyed watching you ride out your high, your body convulsing as you experienced euphoria. He removed his fingers from your cunt, licking them clean. “You taste divine my love,” He praised. You gave him a dazed smile, hopping off of the sink. Helen guided you to turn around, studying the mounds of your ass as he pulled your dress up to your waist. “Such a gorgeous body. Truly a walking goddess,” He mumbled, undoing his belt. It wasn’t long before you felt him rub his tip up and down your slick, earning desperate moans from you. You gripped the sink as he began to push inside of you. Your face told Helen everything. That truthfully Liam was no whereas big as him or as coordinated. That you had not had a good fuck in a longtime. Your body was the snitch to everything you were attempting to hide. Helen was quick to bottom out, your gummy walls clinging to him. “You’re so perfect,” He grunted, beginning to pick up the pace. Helen thrust were slow and powerful, each one hitting your g spot just right.

It was like he knew what your body needed, your sounds sinful and pure filth as he rammed into you. Your cunt told him everything he needed to know, the sound of his name falling off of your lips one he wanted to hear forever. He relentlessly snapped his hips into yours, your orgasm growing closer and closer as he fucked you. “I’m going to make you mine my love, my perfect masterpiece,” Helen huffed, his slender fingers digging into your hips. You babbled an agreement, your mind too far gone. Helen slithered one of his hands down to your clit, drawing fast circles. You stood upwards, your back colliding with his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your final orgasm. “Thats it, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” He praised, his breath hot against your ear. His name rang off of the bathroom walls as you creamed on his shaft, your orgasm triggering his own. Helen was quick to pull out of you, bending you over and cumming on your ass.

He watched his white seed paint your skin, creating a beautiful work of art.

Your fate was sealed, you were to spend entirety as his canvas.

[samkerrworshipper]

underneath the surface pt.2

i wrote a part two to a fic? sorry what?

anyways loved will always have a soft spot for this! hope you all enjoy and lmk how you felt about it xo

warnings: soft smut & soft angst viewer discretion advised

Alexia knows she should be the brave face in this whole situation, she’s not the one sitting in a hospital gown on a gurney about to head into surgery, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s sizzling with anxiety. She doesn’t know why, there isn’t anything particularly terrifying about her circumstances, this is a routine surgery, the chance of complication is extremely low, the chance of death is less than 1%. She knows because she’s google checked five times in the last hour.

She’s trying to hide it, because she knows even though you are putting on a brave face you are secretly terrified. She’s been playing the chivalrous girlfriend. Trying to eliminate any outside stress so that you don’t have to worry about it, which is causing Alexia to stumble into a spiral of worries. She’s worried for you, she’s worried for the future, she’s worried about everything that moves and breathes.

Alexia can normally cope under stress, give her a game winning penalty in a world cup winning game and she’ll treat it with the same amount of composure as she would a penalty in a 20-0 friendly game.

Alexia stressing about you though, is a completely different story. She’s snapped at everyone in the lead up to this week, she’s shut down, she’s in her fortress and until she knows that you’re going to be okay that’s not going to change.

You’re the best thing that happened to her, and even though she has absolutely zero impact on what’s going to happen in the operation room she feels like if she controls all of the outside variables then somehow that’s her contribution. She wants to believe that if she can make everything on the outside right, then it’ll somehow change what’s happening on the inside, Alexia wishes deep down that she could fix it all and that this situation wasn’t happening.

Alexia doesn’t understand why you suffer so much from a disease that has no cure, she doesn’t understand why something so horrible exists and why you are plagued with it.

You don’t seem phased at all, like this is normal routine for you which is making Alexia feel even worse.

You’ve gone about your morning as usual, denying Alexia in every way as she tried to do random acts of service that were actually useless.

You’d quite literally breezed your way through it all and to the hospital without a waiver, no tears, no worries, no stress. It was a long time coming, Alexia appreciated the fact that from what you and google had told her, laparoscopy’s could be life changing for people with endometriosis, it could effectively make your quality of life during your period so much better. But it was still surgery, Alexia remembers when she had her acl surgery, she was a bundle of nerves to the point where her mami had to sit by her bed to stop her from hyperventilating whilst they administered the anaesthesia.

There is no clutching for Alexia’s hand, no desperate admissions of fear, no articulation of any anxieties or stress. You’re practically meditative, sitting on the hospital bed in your gown waiting patiently for the doctors to come and collect you.

Alexia’s walked herself through the surgery hundreds of time, when she can’t sleep at night it’s the first thing that her mind drifts to, there isn’t any set routine for a laparoscopy, it’s based on how much tissue has built up and where it’s built up. They won’t know until they open you up, from the limited amount of information Alexia has been able to extract about your past surgeries she’s figured out that for you in the past, it normally builds up in your pelvis, fallopian tubes, the ligaments around your uterus, your ovaries and the last time you had a laparoscopy they even found small clusters on your bladder, vertebraes and bowel. Hopefully, they’ll just find it around your uterus, but if there are signs that it might have attached to other organs then the surgery can become far more invasive and longer. Your doctor has said that in the best case scenario it could take an hour or two, worst case scenario it might take upwards of 5 hours.

At least two hours of Alexia falling deeper and deeper into her fear that something horribly bad is going to happen.

You’d encouraged her to touch base with her therapist in preparation, a proposal that Alexia had laughed at. She knew that you’d talked to your psychologist a day beforehand in preparation, and told her that if possible you’d like to follow up a few days after your surgery. Alexia had no reason to reach out though, she wasn’t the one who was having her reproductive organs sliced up, it was her job to make sure that you were able to achieve optimal recovery. Your health was Alexia’s biggest concern, she needed you to recover, she needed you back on the pitch with her, she needed you back to normal as soon as possible, so that all of her stress and anxiety about everything that was happening could dissipate.

“Alexia, you’re squeezing.”

Alexia looked down at her hand, it was resting on the outside of you thigh, her hand all fisted up in your skin and the paper thin hospital bedding.

“Sorry bebita.”

Alexia retracted her hand as if had been burnt, she felt horribly guilty about the selfishness of her feelings, it wasn’t right for her to be so twisted up in her own troubles. She wasn’t the one suffering.

She didn’t know how to explain it, she felt like a child with her hand between couch cushions, reaching for something and only grazing for the edge of it. She only grazed the edge of understanding what you were going through, it felt like she was eternally reaching for more, trying to feel it, and yet she didn’t have hands big enough to grab what she wanted. She didn’t have the tools to fix this, she didn’t have the body to understand what you were going through, she was left searching without any chance of retrieving anything.

“Alexia.”

Alexia looked up at you, there was something in your body language, like you were uncomfortable, or on the border of being uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry bebe, is everything alright? Are you comfortable? I’m sure they’ll be in soon to come and get you, I know you must want to get this over with.”

You roll your eyes, and Alexia is aware that it’s your way of saying no, but for some reason it cuts deeper for her, she’s so on edge, she’s been on edge ever since you got your surgery date and it’s all starting to reach a certain point that is pushing Alexia in ways she doesn’t understand.

“I want my girlfriend to relax. I’m going to be fine Alexia, nothing is going to happen.”

Alexia knows that factually you’re correct, but in Alexia’s imaginative brain she can’t wrap her head around the truth.

“I know bebita, I just want to make sure that you are feeling good, si? You’re comfortable? It’s important for your recovery that you feel as good as possible.”

Your roll your eyes again.

“Alexia, everything is perfect, it’s all fine. I’ve recovered from this same surgery two times, I’m prepared. You’ve made sure that when I get home I’ll be comfortable, I’ve walked you through what the next week might looked like. I’m prepared and so are you, everything is going to be fine.”

You’re eerily calm and Alexia can’t tell whether or not it’s a front to hide your secret insecurities or if you seriously are content with what you are going through.

She supposes that when you’ve been living with something so debilitating for such a long time that at some stage you get used to constantly being disappointed with your body and constantly knowing that it doesn’t perform the same way that other people’s do.

“I know bebita.”

Alexia doesn’t even sound like she believes herself.

“Do you? Because it doesn’t seem that way.”

Alexia doesn’t want you worrying about her, she doesn’t want you worrying about anything, she wants you to feel calm.

“Bebe, I’m fine. I know our plan, I was the one who made it.”

It’s a weel made plan. Alexia had spent weeks getting everything in line for this moment. You were both going to take at least a week away from football, two weeks if need be. Alexia would return after the rest period, to training until she felt like she was in a place to be back on the pitch. You’d come in with her on the good days, meet with the team doctors and work through whatever exercise that was allowed whilst also just reintegrating into the team. If it all went to plan you’d make your way back into team training at the six week mark, and if it all went to plan you’d be back playing around the eight week mark. For the first week, you would be on mostly bed rest. Alexia had already meal prepped your comfort foods and easy foods to digest for the first week, and she had no doubt that her teammates would drop some more food off. You would rest, allow yourself some grace to recover from what you were going through. Alexia would make sure of it. She didn’t know what you’re previous recoveries from your surgeries looked like, you hardly shared any details about your past with endometriosis but what she could gauge it musn’t of been a positive experience. She was determined to change that though.

“You’ve got nothing to be scared about Ale, I’m going to be fine. I can’t guarantee how happy I’m going to be once this is over but I’ll be okay. I’ve been here, I’ve done this before, it’s the same as every other time.”

Alexia doesn’t think she’s seen anybody go into surgery so casually, as if this is truly just another surgery for you, as if there is no magnitude behind what is about to occur.

“I know bebita, I know.”

Alexia reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze before bringing it up to her mouth and pressing a soft kiss to it. Her lips linger for a second, it feels good to know that you are here with her.

“Ms Putellas, it’s time to take her.”

Alexia looked up to the doorway, where one of your nurses was waiting.

She didn’t want to say goodbye to you, she didn’t want the waiting to start.

Alexia stands up, moving her lips from your hand and pressing them to your hairline, breathing in everything about you. The smell of your shampoo that she’d massaged into your hair this morning, the smell of your body soap, the warmth of your skin. It was all you, the you that Alexia knew, the you that Alexia loved so much. She had so many hidden insecurities, but her biggest one was that deep down this surgery was going to somehow change you, and when you came back different to how you currently would, you wouldn’t want her anymore.

There was no explanation, but it didn’t change what Alexia had come to believe.

“Alexia, I love you, I am going to be fine, I will see you in a couple of hours.”

Alexia didn’t know it, but you had your own insecurities. You’d never had anybody, friends, family, partners that had stuck by your side through all of your issues. Who was interested in a person who was completely broken from the inside? Why would Alexia want to stick around for all the troubles. It wasn’t easy looking after a person with a chronic disease, even with her limited amount of time dating you she’d hardly experienced the real struggle. Sure, she’d seen you on your period, but that didn’t compare to a lifetime of struggles.

Alexia had advocated for you, with the team, with the physios, with the coaches, with your doctors. But was she prepared to do that for the rest of her life? Was she prepared to sacrifice her own health at certain times to prioritise yours? It was the ultimate sacrifice, and even though Alexia was genuinely the best person that you’d ever met, yet you wouldn’t blame her for being unable to compensate for you.

“I know bebe, I’ll be waiting for you. I love you so much, it’s all going to be fine.”

Alexia pressed her lips to your forehead one final time, you didn’t push her when she took her time. Alexia’s lips shook against your skin, the quiver silent as she kept any emotion she had at bay. She needed to be strong, she needed to stay strong for you.

“Ms Putellas, one of the nurses will take you to the waiting room, a doctor will come get you when she’s done.”

Alexia finally pulled her lips away, it truly did feel like she was parting with you completely, like she was being pulled away from you completely.

The nurse reached for Alexia’s hand and she shook it free.

You frowned at her, like she was making this so much harder, it made her feel bad, but she needed this, she needed a moment.

“I love you.”

You let up on your frown.

“I love you too.”

Alexia nodded, if there were tears in the corner of her eyes then she had no idea, her focus was on you, only ever you.

Only when she finally felt comforted, did she let the nurse lead her out.

The nurses took you down one end of the hallway, and she dragged herself in the opposite direction.

The waiting room was the same as any other, random stock pictures of scenery from somewhere around the world, chairs that were more uncomfortable then any other surface, bright white lights that were bound to remind Alexia exactly where she was.

It was all uniform, besides her mother sitting in the corner.

Eli looked the same as she always did, her lips sitting in a content smile. There were big lines all over her face from her smiling all the time, it was the reason why everybody gravitated towards her.

“Mami.”

Alexia had known there was something slightly suspicious happening when her mother had been dodging her calls for the last few days. She’d assumed in typical fashion that whilst Alexia was looking after you, Eli would go into overdrive, cooking all the meals, helping Alexia. She hadn’t quite expected this.

Alexia had kept the details about your surgery vague with her family, she didn’t feel like it was her information to give away and also she wanted to keep some privacy. She knew it was going to be a tough period for you and also for herself.

“No, before you say anything, I am staying.”

Alexia smirks, pushing back the words that had already been on the tip of her tongue.

“You don’t need to be here, I could be waiting for while. I can call you when she’s done and you can come to see her.”

Alexia walks towards her mother, and she knows by the way that Eli is looking at her that she’s not going to be able to convince her to leave. Alexia’s stubbornness came straight from her mother.

“I will do no such thing. I shall wait here with you, I’m here to support my daughter.”

Eli nudges Alexia into the seat beside her.

“I’m not the one having surgery Mami, I will be fine waiting on my own.”

Eli slaps Alexia’s arm.

“Estupida. Tan estupida. When I was in hospital with your faher do you know how alone i felt? No, you will not be alone. Maria has gone to go and get coffee, we will all wait here together until she’s done. Comprendida?”

The tears that were in Alexia’s eyes a couple of minutes ago are back, the sick feeling of anxiety that’s been in her stomach all week, especially today suddenly feels less all consuming.

“You don’t have to do this alone, there are people here for both of you. There is support for you.”

Alexia nods, and for the first time in a while she actually feels like she doesn’t have to handle it all, like maybe she can off load some of the responsibilities that are making her chest ache with every breath she takes.

“Thankyou.”

As the doctors had told Alexia, the first week is by far the worst.

Your surgery ends up going for a lot longer then expected. As the doctors had expected, it hadn’t looked good, and it had spread to some of your organs. The positives were though that there hadn’t been any complications and they’d managed to remove all the affected tissue.

It had ended up being a day procedure and the doctors had cleared Alexia to take you home once you’d woken up and were eating and talking.

It had only gone downhill from there.

You were in a lot of pain, and pretty much delirious on the feeling of it and anaesthesia.

Getting you out of her car and into the house had been near impossible, carrying you was too uncomfortable for your incision, and walking was also impossible.

Eventually, with a mixture of limping, Alexia bearing all the weight for you and dragging you as carefully as she could she got you into your bed.

Alexia had set the house up so that when you were home everything would be easy, she hadn’t organised though for you to be completely immobile.

She got you set up underneath the blankets, allowing you to rest whilst she worked on making a light meal for dinner.

When Alexia came back, you were running a fever.

It was a low grade fever, something the doctors had told her to expect but it made her feel uncomfortable.

A fever was the first sign of an infection, and you weren’t awake enough to know what was going on. What if something bad was happening and she didn’t know? What happened if she didn’t catch it early enough? What if she was the reason that something bad happened?

Before Alexia could find the warning signs of slipping into her own brain she was falling deep into a fog of anxiety.

Alexia was the one who was responsible for making sure that you were okay. She thought that she’d worked out every different variable and issue that could arise, she’d promised you that she’d be there for you after your surgery. If she couldn’t help you with this though then was she really capable of dealing with all of it?

You stirred slightly as Alexia removed the thermometer from your lips, your eyes hazily opening up, looking at her with confusion.

“Hugs.”

It’s almost laughable the way that you whine at Alexia, the doctors had said that you would be pretty out of it for the first few days. You’d told Alexia that in the past, the first two or three days after your surgeries tended to consist of mostly sleep and adjusting to the pain of your healing incisions. After they had healed it was all upwards from there.

“How are you feeling? Do you want some more pain relief? Do you need some water? Food? You’re not feeling nauseous or cold?”

You shook your head, your lips morphing into a soft smile as you took in Alexia, all flustered and clearly worked up.

“Want hugs.”

Alexia was guarded, she always was when she was focused on protecting people. You didn’t want guarded Alexia. You wanted relaxed, homey, calm Alexia. The Alexia who would sit on the couch with you after a rough game and eat icecream, the Alexia who would silence her alarm on a morning workout day to stay in bed with you, the Alexia who just wanted to spend all of her time with you. You just wanted the Alexia that would put whatever you wanted above all else.

Alexia looks torn, really torn, like she knows that she should probably be caregiving in some way. She promised you though that she’d let you guide her through your process, that she wouldn’t try to control how you wanted to recover.

“Okay bebita, if that’s what you want.”

Alexia slips to the wardrobe quickly, pulling off her sweats in favor for changing them in for some softer pyjamas. She doesn’t know how long she’s going to be in bed with you but she assumes it’s going to be long enough that she’ll want to be comfortable.

When she makes her way back into the bedroom you’re waiting patiently, like you know that if you’d fallen asleep whilst Alexia was gone she probably would have gone off to tackle some non-existent chore to make herself feel better. Alexia rolls her eyes at how well you know her more unobvious traits and tells.

Alexia, without trying to shift the mattress at all, pushes herself under the covers of your bed. She’d made sure to put down fresh sheets, so it’s comfier and snugglier then it normally is. When you realise that Alexia is going to make no attempt to shift within cuddling distance you pull your arms out from underneath the blankets. Everything is sore and accompanied with a tinge of pain that makes your head hurt. It sucks. You want your teddy bear of a girlfriend to hug it away.

Even though it hurts, you reach for the hem of her sleep shirt, tugging it towards you. There is no power to your movements but there is a general message. Alexia shuffles closer to you, but still far away enough that you definitely can’t use any part of her body as a pillow. You don’t know why it hits you then, you know you’ve got a lot of built up emotions, and that hormonally there is so much going on in your body and the pain medication isn’t making it any better. You don’t know why, but all of a sudden the tears start to fall and you can’t contain the sniffle that you make.

“Bebita, what’s wrong?”

Alexia shoots up, ready to take action in whatever way is needed.

“Do you even love me? What person wouldn’t want to give their girlfriend a hug? I know I just had surgery and I’m digusting and haven’t showered and smell like hospital but can you not just give me a hug, is is that big of a ask?”

Alexia almost immediately recoils, the feeling that sets into her stomach is one of horror. Of course she wants to hug you. Of course she wants to love you, she’s just scared to hurt you.

“Bebita, no. It’s not about any of that, I just don’t want to hurt you bebe. I love you so much bebe, none of the surgery stuff bothers me, not in the slightest. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

At this stage you’re sobbing hysterically and Alexia feels so horrible.

“I know you didn’t want me to get the surgery, I know it was stupid but can you just hug me?”

Alexia genuinely does a double take when you say that, it’s a insecurity that you haven’t expressed to her at all and she doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Bebe, of course I wanted you to have the surgery. I can’t tell you whether or not it was a good decision for you, but for me it was a no brainer. Bebe, you were in so much pain, you were struggling so much and for me it was so hard to see you go through that. I don’t know why you’d think that I wouldn’t want you to get the surgery but I can tell you that any decision that makes you feel happier and healthier is always going to be the best decision. If this surgery makes you feel healthier and happier then why would it be stupid?”

You don’t really know what you are thinking or why you’re suddenly thinking all of these things but you just feel so wrong all of a sudden.

“You promise?”

Alexia smiles at you, finally leaning over into your personal space. She bring her hand up to yours and interlocks your pinky with hers.

“I pinky promise, now how about we work out that hugh that you want. I don’t want to hurt you, so what’s going to work best?”

Alexia reaches up to thumb away the tears that are still leaking down your face, you can’t control the random emotions that are flurrying through your body like a tornado.

“The doctor said I should sleep propped up, so I could lie with my back pressed to your front?”

Alexia figures that probably is the best way to approach this whole situation.

It’s not easy getting you to sit up for long enough for Alexia to slip in behind you, but you both reap the reward when you get to relax against each other.

Even though you’re wrapped in Alexia’s hoodie she swears that she can feel your bones relax against hers and even though she knows that you might be in pain she selfishly couldn’t care less. For the first time since she’d walked through the doors of the hospital this morning she finally feels like she can breathe, like she has you, like her inherent need to protect you from everything has finally been fulfilled.

Alexia worries about you more then anything else, when you get injured, when you’re sick, when you’re away from Alexia too long she worries. Her need to protect and care for you has only developed more over the course of your relationship, and when she found out about your endometriosis it doubled. She’s never worried much about anything besides football, and even when she worried about football it was never the same kind of worry, it’s more internalised stress about achieving what she’s set out. For you, everything is irrational, none of it makes any functional sense, it’s ridiculous. And yet she kind of loves it, because she knows that it means it’s all real, that her love for you is so real and true that she worries irrationally because the thought that anything bad could ever happen to you she knows that it would break her in ways she’s never been broken before. She saw it in here mami when here papi died, the way that she stopped being able to function in the absence of him, and god forbid anything similar happened to you Alexia knows she’d be the same.

There’s this thing about recovery, about recovery from a non-injury that makes your skin crawl. You’re not a good person to be around when you’re struggling, it’s the half the reason you’d kept your reproductive issues from Alexia, because it all made you grumpy and tired and borderline and fucking bitch. There was a pattern of shutdowns, emotional, physical, mental, every single time you had a slip or bad period. A surgery though, it was a whole different story.

By week two you felt pretty much back to normal, but as the doctors kept reminding you, you weren’t. That was the problem with internal surgery, eventually the outside of your body returned to feeling normal, but the healing process on the inside took ten times longer. Your scars were healed, even the swelling had started to go down, the pain was minimal but you were still healing.

By week 4 you knew that you were toeing the line of being a bitch and being intolerable. You stomped your way around the halls of the training facilities, annoyed with your lack of progress and the fact that whilst all of your teammates were out on the pitch, you were stuck indoors under the air conditioning doing the exact same pelvic floor exercises that you’d been doing for two weeks. You were now allowed to run on the treadmill, instead of the slow walk that you’d been doing for the past few weeks. It all felt like nothing though, like you were being pulled through hell with no real picture of when you would be allowed to return.

You’d known about all of this before your surgery, known that it was going to be a slow process. What you hadn’t realised though was just how lonely that process was going to be, nobody understood what you were going through. At least with injury there was common ground, everyone on the team had been through some kind of back setting injury that had them in the gym more then on the pitch. They’d never been sidelined for something inside of them though, something that was going to keep coming back and keep hurting them over and over again.

Week 5 was when you broke. There wasn’t any exact reason, maybe it was the way that Mapi continuously kept trying to get you to try some stupid gym challenge when she knew you weren’t allowed to, maybe it was the way that Alexia kept coming home everyday complaining about how the defenders couldn’t get their act together, or maybe it was just the overwhelming pressure that was starting to get to you.

All you know is that after a particularly hard day and Alexia groaning about the sprints they’d run after every drill on the way to the car, it had been the final straw for you.

The minute your seatbelt was fastened there were tears pouring down your face.

When Alexia reached out you smacked her hands away.

“Bebe, talk to me, are you in pain? What hurts?”

If you weren’t busy crying you’d probably slap Alexia for the stupidity she was exhibiting.

“No, no I’m not fucking in pain. I’m sick of you constantly fucking tell me about all of your problems and acting like I wouldn’t die to be doing what you’re fucking doing. I’m sick of everybody thinking that I can do everything that they are doing just because I look fine. I know I look fine, I know I seem fine, hell at this stage I’m pretty sure I am fine. I’m sick of feeling like I’m back to normal and being told that I’m fucking not, that I have to wait another week, that I can’t do things that are so normal to my life.”

Once again when Alexia tries to give you a hug you deny her, wiggling out of her hold as soon as she tries.

“Bebe, no recovery is linear or easy. Just because yours looks different to most peoples doesn’t make it any less valid. You need to be more gracious to yourself, you are going to get back from this. Just because it isn’t a normal process or what a recovery normally looks like for you doesn’t mean that you are any less entitled to your process.”

You know that like everybody else, Alexia doesn’t understand. Sure, she’s injured herself, she’s been through hell and back for her recovery. She doesn’t understand though what you feel, the immense struggle that you are going through.

“No Ale, you don’t fucking understand. There was no point in your recovery where you weren’t able to eat your favourite foods because your body didn’t react well, there was no limiting you from sex, there was no limits on what the unaffected parts of your body could and couldn’t do. There was no limits on how much time you could spend in certain positions or limits on whether or not you could fucking vaccum or carry something heavier then 5 kilos. You don’t understand, I have nothing to look forward to, i’m going fucking crazy watching everybody do things daily with ease that I can’t fucking do. My fucking body hates me, it betrays me everyday. And I can’t change that, I can’t do anything about that.”

Alexia forces herself to take a deep breath, to truly consider what you’re saying. She doesn’t want to invalidate you, not even remotely, she knows how easy it is for people like you to be invalidated because of your disease. She has no idea what you are going through, she can’t even begin to understand, and yet she’s been trying to. She’s been trying to empathise with what you’ve been feeling, she’s tried her hardest to force her feet into your shoes but the reality is that she will never be able to. Nothing is going to make her understand the magnitude of what you are going through, and she thinks that she needs to stop pretending that she does.

“You’re right bebita, you’re right. I’m so sorry, just tell me what you need, whatever you need and I will help you. I will try my hardest to do whatever it is you need. Just take some deep breaths with me, vale? It’s okay, the world isn’t going to end right here and right now, it might feel like it but I promise it won’t. These are fixable problems, we can fix this, maybe not right now which sucks but eventually this will all be fixable.”

This time when Alexia moves to hug you, you don’t flinch away. For the first fucking time in five weeks you be slightly heard, less alone and isolated.

You sob into Alexia’s neck, not caring that it’s making her neck wet and also your face. It feels good to let it all out, like all of the weight, all the words from your psychologist, from the doctors, from the physios, from your teammates, from the coaches, from Ale are slowly becoming background noise. All you want is for it to be background noise, for it to all disappear.

“We’re going to be okay bebe, you’re going to be okay, we’re going to work this out.”

Alexia doesn’t really believe her own words, she doesn’t know if everything is going to be okay, not remotely. She doesn’t know how to help you, after you became self-reliant after week 2 her job as your caregiver was pretty much nonexistent, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t still need help. It was all confusing, a back and forwards dance that didn’t really make any sense really. Whether Alexia had realised it or not though, she’d assumed that you were happy to do it alone, inadvertently. She was giving you your space to recover how you wished, even though it was clear that wasn’t necessarily how you wanted to go about your rehab.

When your cries softened Alexia let go a little bit, so she could look at you.

“How can I help bebita? Tell me what I need to do and I will do everything I can.”

Your eyes are all glassy and full of tears, it makes the hole of guilt in Alexia’s heart even bigger.

“I just want to play.”

Alexia furrows her face, because of all the things she can do, that isn’t one. She can’t clear you to play and she won’t condone you rushing your rehab to get back. She wants you to play, do desperately, but only when you’re at full health.

“I can help you with your rehab, bebita you can be cleared from the six week mark onwards, if you work really hard this week there is a chance you could be back in training next week. But you can’t rush yourself, I know you want to be back on the pitch, I want you back on the pitch. But you need to be ready, and right now you aren’t.”

Alexia thinks it might be a little bit too brutal, but the way you nod at her with real determination tells her that she’s said the right things, she’s supporting what you need whilst also being honest.

“I can’t get you back on the pitch but how about icecream, huh?”

You look like you might start crying again but after a few seconds you roll your eyes in the same way that you would to Alexia on any other day.

“It’s a wednesday, your cheat day is Mondays.”

Alexia shrugs, because cheat days aside, she’d break any and every rule just to see a smile on your face.

“Well last time I checked everyday is a icecream day, especially on wednesdays.”

Alexia’s goofy smile never leaves her face. It’s clear on your face though that you’re still worrying.

“Bebita, you can’t do anything about this. You just keep doing what you’re doing, even though it sucks and we wait until your six week appointment and hopefully you get good news. The doctors said if everything went how it should then next week should be when things start to pick up, you just have to trust the process bebe and it’ll all work out. Until it all works out, we have icecream, no?”

Your barriers break and for the first time since you’d sat down in the car you smiled at Alexia.

“Yes, we do have ice cream.”

Alexia had been forbidden from coming to your six week appointment, you wanted to do it alone, wanted to face whatever news you were given on your own and she respected that.

It didn’t make it any easier.

In the space of around an hour she had reorganised her wardrobe and then reorganised it again because she couldn’t handle not having certain things in certain places. She then moved on to folding all of the laundry, making sure her kit bag had everything that was necessary for the away game coming up and then out of pure desperation she moved on to cleaning all of the dishes.

She’d seen the way that the last week in particular had drained you, how everyday had been even more of a struggle. For the first few weeks, there had been moments of intimacy, moments of love and softness. All Alexia wanted was that back, she wanted to be able to love you and have you reciprocate it without withdrawing. She just wanted some part of you back.

When she heard your keys turning in the door, she tried her hardest to look normal, perched on the kitchen bench like a kid waiting for their parents to come home from work.

She listens to the sound of the door clicking open and shut, then the sound of shoes scuffing off, a bag being dropped and then your footsteps. Alexia’s heart beats faster and faster as she listens to you slowly get closer to her.

She’s rewarded when she finally sees you, and you’re not crying and don’t look like your about to punch something so she thinks there must be some kind of good news on the horizon.

When you spot Alexia clearly waiting for you, you almost laugh, she looks like she’s trying so hard to not ask you what she clearly wants to. She looks almost antsy.

“Hi.”

You keep walking, closer and closer, until your standing in between her legs and looking up at her from her spot sat on the counter.

Before she asks a question, you lean in, you need it. You need to feel Alexia in a way that’s been forbidden for far to long.

The kiss is breath taking, not to rough, not to over bearing. It’s just enough of everything that you feel like you’ve been missing out on. It makes everything better.

Alexia lets you take control, it feels good to not be out of control with everything that’s been happening.

Eventually though, when your hands move from her neck to the hem of her shirt, she pulls away.

“Bebe, I love you, but if you haven’t been cleared we should stop here.”

You roll your eyes and fish your hand into you back pocket, pulling out a folded up slip of paper.

“I think you’ll find that you have a girlfriend who has been cleared to return to all activities except games until I’ve gotten sufficient training hours, I’ve got the green light amor.”

Alexia pulls the paper from your hand, her eyes scanning every single word of the clearance form your doctor, making sure that you’re telling the truth. When she gets to the bottom, her face lights up and before you can say anything she’s standing up and lifting you in her arms.

“Alexia, put me down.”

You giggle as she balances you on her hip as if you are much smaller then you truly are, already walking towards your bedroom.

“I think it’s time to show my beautiful, patient, hardworking girlfriend just how much i love her, unless you disagree?”

You have no objections.

Alexia drops you down on the bedding as softly as possible, a big cheshire grin plastered across her face, like a huntress whose found her prey.

She joins you on the mattress, crawling up your body and kissing different places as she goes.

When she get’s to your head she presses her lips to yours, there isn’t any inhibitions or barriers, she kisses you like a person whose been so deprived of something that they’re craving it, like she’s greedy for you. Alexia moves her lips everywhere, your neck, your collarbones, as low as she can get until your tank top stops her and when she wants more, she gently tugs the top off.

Alexia worships your skin like it’s holy, she kisses and sucks and bites until your sweating and so worked up that you can’t think. When it starts to get to you, she unclips your bra, and that’s a whole other level of worshipping every inch of breast and then your nipples.

It’s glorious, 6 weeks of celibacy had been hell. Technically this would have been okay, but neither of you trusted yourselves to get to this stage and not go further.

So being here, being at this level of pure ecstasy and pleasure was everything you’d wanted and it made all of the tough moments feel so much smaller.

After she was sufficiently happy with her worship of your upperbody, she began her campaign downwards, spending time on your ribcage and stomach before spending extra time showering your incision with soft kisses.

It was something she’d done regularly since the bandages had come off, everytime you stared in the mirror for two long, or complained about how ugly it looked she would spend at least half an hour reminding you just how perfect your body was with certain scars. Those scars were proof that you were healthy and taking care of yourself and for Alexia that mattered far more.

From your incision it was down to the band of your leggings, which after a quick glance up to check you were still happy, she slowly peeled off.

“Alexia, enough teasing.”

Alexia pressed open mouthed kisses all along the outline of your panties.

“I’ve been away from your body for so long bebita, I’m just reintroducing myself.”

You rolled your eyes at the blonde, and were about to say something bratty but were stopped when she moved her open mouth a bit further down, just above your mound.

Instead of a bratty retort Alexia’s ears were met with the glorious sounds of little moans slipping from your lips as she teased you.

When you started bucking up into her, Alexia made the executive decision to move things ahead a bit quicker then she intended, after all she had plenty of time to do this, over and over again.

“You’ll tell me if anything hurts, si? If anything feels wrong say something, we’ll just stick to my mouth for now and work our way back up.”

You nodded at her, even when you felt good sex could be painful, it was a weird back and forth of you feeling good and then all of a sudden feeling bad. All you craved right now though was sweet release.

“Want to taste you bebita, god I missed tasting you.”

You swear your legs go numb and you almost orgasm just from her words.

“It might be quick, it’s been a long time Ale and I’m sensitive.”

Alexia smiled at you, kind and genuine like she had all of the time in the world.

“Just feel it however you need to, if it’s fast then it’s fast, whatever you feel just take it.”

You nod at your girlfriend before relaxing against the pillows on your bed, allowing Alexia to pull one of your knees above her shoulder.

The feeling of her mouth on you is truly the best feeling in the world, you don’t care how loud you are because the fulfillment you are getting has been so hard worked for that you can’t help but just enjoy it.

Alexia licks and sucks in all of your most sensitive places, places that have been untouched for so long that you’d almost forgotten just how good it could feel. When she pulls your clit into her mouth you see stars and you know that you aren’t going to last long at all, you gather Alexia can tell from the way that your octave heightens.

“Ale-Ale I’m going to cum.”

You can feel Alexia smirk against you.

Even though she knows that she’s able to satisfy you, there is nothing better then actually doing it.

“Go ahead bebe, I’m right here, you’ve been so good and patient. You deserve it, if you feel it just let go.”

You nod your head, biting down on your lip as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, there is no hesitation from your edge, when she grazes her teeth against your clit you are well and truly gone.

Normally, you’d last more then one round, or you’d reciprocate at the least but before you can even try Alexia has you bundled up in her arms, pressing kisses all over your face.

You squeal and flinch but she doesn’t stop, not until your face is all red and your both relaxed against your pillows.

“You know how proud I am of you? You’ve been so good this whole process bebita, so perfect, so hardworking, so determined. You’ve pushed through it all, and you’re going to keep doing ti because your the toughest person I know, truly. I love you so much amor.”

You know that for the rest of your life, Alexia will take care of you, like nobody else. Underneath the surface she cares for you more than anybody else ever had and ever will.

[andy-wm]

Moving out, Moving in

Mission accomplished by sleight of hand?

This is just a collection of thoughts so it's probably full of holes, but it seems to me that Jimin and Jungkook always have a plan in motion.

I guess it's not surprising since they live and work in a fast paced environment in which most of their waking hours are scheduled to the max. It's not just the day to day that's planned down to the wire, their albums and tours are planned years ahead of time and coordinated with military precision.

Their lives run on plans and schedules

Random anecdote: Someone I was friendly with a couple of years ago worked on the BTS Samsung ads as a translator. She described how she was expected to be awake and ready to take calls and edit copy at literally any time of the day or night. Hybe does not sleep. There are staff all over the world, working around the clock. Time is money.

We've all heard these stories, right? So we can imagine the project/event management going on there. The place must run like a Swiss watch.

When you live like that it becomes your normal, so i have no doubt ALL the members are used to planning out their lives.

Also, when you have hardly any free time you use it carefully. If you want to do anything you have to plan and schedule it.

I'm not suggesting they project manage all these things on their own. What's the point of having an endless well of money if you can't hire people to help you make life happen the way you want it to. But I am saying they would know that if they don't plan it, it aint gonna happen.

So, back to Jikook and their plans.

Solo albums

Despite how different their solo album were in terms of musical styles and themes, their promotional materials were astonishingly similar. From colour palettes to photo styling to identical outfits they were far too similar for it to be a coincidence. In fact, if those albums had been people walking down a street they would have been couple dressing without a doubt.

Are You Sure

The travel adventures they squeezed in between deadlines and performances must have been carefully orchestrated too.

Home sweet home

And let's not forget Jungkook finding time to design, plan, and execute the building of the Itaewon house in between everything else.

They plan down to the fine details. And they also play the long game. It's how they're used to operating.

Keep that in mind as i move onto the next thought. This is the interesting bit...

Military service.

It's a reality for every able bodied man in Korea. For a group like BTS it's another thing that would have been carefully considered. Enlistment timing, yes, and every other variable they could choose: locations, divisions, roles etc.

They would have been thinking about their options for MS from the time they were eligible to enlist. Jungkook would have been acutely aware that his tattoos would prevent him from doing anything in security. But that didn't prevent him from inking up his whole arm.

So, we can assume other plans or priorities for MS existed even then.

And those plans included a major decision:

Companion enlistment.

They would have thought carefully about this, having heard all the horror stories of how it can go wrong.

Besides that, despite being dismissed as no biggie by most of the fandom it is extremely rare for idols to enlist as companions.

I did the research. There might be one other occurrence of this. Enlisting at the same time does happen (still rare) but as companions... almost never.

It meant their enlistment was even more newsworthy. They must have known it would highlight their closeness. Was that a conscious choice too?

Maybe.

Everyone, not just jikookers, knows they're inseparable now. It's proof for those who needed it that their relationship is genuine and not fan service.

If they were concerned about how their relationship was perceived i guess thats a bonus. But they coukd have just been more visible in Seoul.

So I'm still asking myself... why?

Why take the chance? Why risk the relationship? So many couples just have to deal with the MS separation, it's simply a fact of life. All the other members had to go through it alone. Jimin and Jungkook could have done it too. They spent months barely seeing each other when they were on solo schedules.

And I'm absolutely not denying they most likely wanted to be together if at all possible. But besides that, what could be gained? Its a long game, remember... so what could be their ultimate goal here?

Where will this lead?

What comes next for them?

Logically the biggest thing for any of the members one they've completed their MS, is their adult life. On a personal level it's the next step.

Nobody is naive enough to think these guys are still going to play boyfriend to the fandom. Not when Hobi our sunshine, who wouldn't even show his armpit on camera, describes the Sweet Dreams lyrics as BEST HOT SEX and then adds 'am I right?' with a smirk because he knows ARMY are all adults too (or that's the part of the fandom he's choosing to engage with).

There's going to be an expectation - or for some ARMYs a resigned acceptance - that the members will actively date, maybe settle down and have a long term partner or a family. But it's only acceptable for those who are going to date or marry a woman. It'd have to be an unknown and discreet or better yet totally secret lover if they're with any other gender.

Which brings us back to Jikook

So what might adult life look like for our lovebirds?

<<content warning: unbridled speculation>>

As a person who believes they're in a long term intimate relationship with plans for a future together, i think they'd want to share a home.

Could they share a home & future?

Imagine the absolute pandemonium that would ensue if Jimin and Jungkook suddenly paired up and set up house together. It would be wild. Possibly the most scandalous thing to ever happen to kpop. The press would roast them, carve them up, and serve the to the nation for dinner. Every conservative right wing mouthpiece would have an opinion on their morality. It would be hideous.

Unless....

Unless they didn't need to suddenly pair up because they were already living together!

Like maybe... as companion enlisted soldiers. And not just any ordinary soldiers but cream of the crop, highly commended, much adored soldiers. Soldiers who have done their nation proud together.

By enlisting together they've already bridged the possibly fatal social chasm they needed to navigate (aka rampant homophobia) if they wanted to move in together.

They ALREADY live together

They've done the hard bit.

It would be no big deal, really to continue to do so. All they'll be doing is relocating to the house in Itaewon.

And my goodness what serendipitous timing... the build was completed while they were snuggled up in their barracks so there's no awkward in between stage. They can just slide right in to their cosy new home and nobody can really say a thing.

What a cunning plan

Now before anyone yells at me of course i have no idea what their plans are. Zero. Nobody does except their trusted circle. This is entirely fabricated. But ya know what?

It's also entirely possible.

💜🏠💛

[kiyomitakada]

hi everyone so ages ago i translated watari's diary from the movie tie-in material L File No. 15 (sourced from this post by @mikami) but i just realized i never posted it here?? of all places??? so here you go! i recommend reading this translation along with the screenshots from that post since there are pictures that i did not bother actually including.

(spoilers for the live action films!)

---

QUILLISH WAMMY'S DIARY

The following diary was included in the discovered files. It is thought to have been written by Quillish Wammy (who is said to have gone by "Watari" while acting as L's intermediary), but as with the previous files, it contains information of dubious veracity.

May 7, 1973

Recently, I find myself thinking idle thoughts.

The metal I invented, which is superconducting under 28.7°C, is now used in 87% of electrical cables worldwide. It has brought me great wealth. Too much to know what to do with, I feel. No matter how much money I accumulate, there is no way to buy a human life, so I can't imagine any interesting way I could spend it.

May 12, 1973

Today, I had a revelation.

My talents mainly skew towards the sciences, and there are many things I can do with them, but also many things I cannot. But what if I use my wealth and my enthusiasm to raise new talents? Then there will certainly be one or two who can achieve things I cannot. Extremely interesting. To what extent can humans cultivate their talents? This is what I should dedicate the rest of my life to finding out.

I will gather children with talent and intelligence from all over the world — the brain develops very quickly from ages 9 to 13, so children around that age range should work best — and educate them thoroughly. Eventually, I believe, they will be able to change the world. Perhaps I will call the institution Wammy's House.

[Notes on the children]

F: Strong sense of justice, and quick to action — which is why he can make mistakes.

R: Has recently shown interest in astronomy. Has fallen asleep while looking through a telescope before, and thus contracted a cold. Twice.

K: Talented in multiple fields. Has perfectly understood almost everything I teach. I have not yet determined which area she is most skilled in — very exciting.

*1 (T/N: shaky translation): Many researchers have reason to believe members of Wammy's House are referred to by single letters of the alphabet. However, there is no consensus as to what extent these nicknames were used. Some suggest only Quillish Wammy and the person themselves recognized the nickname.

February 23, 1987

Today, I have learned a lesson. Sometimes an overly nurtured talent goes beyond the will of the person who nurtured it. [T/N: I genuinely can't tell if he's talking about the kid raising their talent or Watari raising the kid] K has left Wammy's House of her own volition. This is the first time something like this has happened since I founded Wammy's House. I feel a strong sense of loss.

---

[Notes on the children, 2]

D: Mainly talented in physics. Frequently smashes radio-controlled models, possibly to conduct their own experiments. The degree of destruction is being monitored.

P: Often found with their nose buried in a novel. I think I will try teaching them psychology once they are a little older. It would be nice if they showed some interest in profiling.

L: Invests in stocks. Clearly talented, but so far an unknown variable.

July 10, 1994

Currently, out of all the children, L holds most of my interest.

While he does show interest in existing fields of study, he is even more enthusiastic about using his own methods (adjacent to statistics) to make deductions. Right now, he is spending the most time on criminal investigations. He is working against actual human beings, which is why the cases are so complex and difficult to unravel… He seems immensely fascinated by this.

L, when in pursuit of an objective, is able to immediately determine the necessary information. L. You are my hope.

August 13, 2005

L has selected FBI agent Naomi Misora for the Los Angeles B.B. Murder Cases. It seems he did so in recognition of her bravery and deductive abilities. L dislikes unnecessary physical exertion, since he wants to keep his mind functioning as quickly as possible. Thus, he has to rely on others to act as his agents on the scene. Naomi is reliable.

[A photo of Naomi, along with the text:]

Naomi Misora FBI Investigator Achieved investigator status unusually quickly Specialty: Marksmanship Intelligent and passionate

---

February 26, 2006

I was present at an ICPO conference today. The focus was exclusively on the "Kira case." Criminals all over the world are dying of simultaneous heart attacks. Some members of the public might call this "judgment," but it is murder. L is very intrigued by this new type of crime.

*2: The Kira case, as detailed in the other files, refers to the phenomenon where criminals globally die of simultaneous heart attacks. Rumors flew around the Internet claiming that "'Kira' is our savior and carries out justice," and the name was attached to the phenomenon even though this was not actually proven yet. Since the case affected the entire world and was growing in momentum rapidly, the ICPO's response was necessarily rushed.

March 2, 2006

It seems Naomi Misora and Raye Iwamatsu are now engaged. They are planning to hold the ceremony in Japan. Naomi says she is retiring from the FBI. That took me by surprise.

I am unsure how L feels about Naomi's decision, but he has chosen her for his plan to make contact with Kira. Raye will be the driver. I'm sure Naomi will carry out the plan perfectly. Yes, L's choice is correct. But making a bride approach a murderer… making her groom drive her there…

L. That calmness in you is what I hoped for, what I raised. Still. Is hesitation not an option for you?

March 10, 2006

It's been raining since morning. It's coming down in sheets. I haven't seen such weather for a long time.

L believes there is a 97% probability Kira is in Japan, so we are headed there. Even so… Why did L say something like that? He never says things so sentimental, so unsettling… Could it be that he can see something I can't even imagine lurking in the future of this case? L, why did you say, "I might not be able to come back?" You are only in charge of directing the investigation. There's no reason to think you will come face to face with danger.

The lesson I learned from K is once again swirling in my head. Sometimes an overly nurtured talent will go somewhere I cannot follow…

L. Tell me you weren't thinking straight. Please. Tell me it was just the rain.

---

April 1, 2006

The twelve FBI agents who L ordered to tail the families and associates of the Japanese police have all died simultaneously of heart attacks. …Including Raye Iwamatsu… It was a shock, considering the pattern up to now, that Kira would kill so many human beings who weren't criminals. I think L wasn't able to predict it either.

I tried expressing my condolences to Naomi Misora over the phone, but I couldn't reach her. I am worried.

April 2, 2006

L met the Japanese investigators in person. Starting from now, he will work together with them to advance the investigation. L has never shown his real face to anyone before now. I can feel his anxiety about this case radiating off this decision. Or perhaps it's impatience?

L asked them to call him Ryuzaki.

[Notes on the Japanese investigators]

Soichiro Yagami: Chief of the task force assigned to the "Kira case." Overflowing with a particularly Japanese sense of justice. Trustworthy.

Ukita

Aizawa

Sanami: The only woman on the investigation team. A little too kind.

Mogi

Matsuda: A hot-headed young man. Slightly too presumptuous.

---

April 11, 2006

L is fixated on Light Yagami. He says that the probability of Light being Kira is only around 1% to 3%, but from his behavior, I can't help but think it must be higher. But although I suppose Light is decently intelligent, he's nothing more than a regular college student. To even consider the possibility of him being a mass murderer, there has to be some additional factor — an inconceivable one.

What is it?

Are we fighting against something entirely new?

[A photo of Light, along with the text:]

Light Yagami Student majoring in law at To-Oh University. A prodigy — he has already passed the bar exam. Hates to lose; focuses on winning in everything. His father is the chief of the task force, Soichiro Yagami.

[Memo so I don't forget my orders]

An emergency order from L. Written below so I don't make a single mistake.

Macarons (DALLOMIU) x 12 boxes

Marshmallows (MEIGI-YA) x 12 bags

Donuts (Donkin Donuts) x 12 bags

Black tea (F and N) x 12 cans

Potato chips (Golbee) (specifically BBQ flavor) x 2 bags

[T/N: The potato chips are the type Light eats in The Chip Scene — they're consomme in the original Japanese (both manga and diary) but BBQ in the Viz translation, which I'm going with.]

*3: The Donkin Donuts company shut down all its stores in Japan in 1998. Therefore, this memo conflicts with the range of time in which L and Quillish Wammy were thought to be in Japan. Whether this is a mistake on Wammy's part or an indication that the diary is of unreliable origin is still a topic of discussion.

April 15, 2006

I think the incomprehensibility of what happened today will stay with me for the rest of my life. Naomi Misora shot herself. It was after she told L, "I'll use my own life to prove that Light Yagami is Kira." But Naomi wasn't able to prove anything.

She must have, in her own way, found something confirming her theory. Considering her actions up to now, she wouldn't have made such a declaration without some kind of proof. But she took Light's girlfriend hostage at the museum. She killed her. And then she took her own life. Why would she do such a thing?

It wasn't like her. No matter how I think about it, it wasn't like her. She looked almost… confused, right before her death. Not like Naomi at all.

[Photo of Shiori, a movie-only character!]

Shiori Akino Student majoring in law at To-Oh University. Dating Light Yagami. Possesses a strong sense of justice and articulates her ideals clearly. Postscript: Was shot and killed by Naomi Misora at the Oumei Museum of Art.

*4: Naomi Misora's murder of Shiori Akino and subsequent suicide is the greatest mystery of this case. As Quillish Wammy wrote here, the question "Why did Naomi kill Shiori?" is still entirely unexplained; some have even proposed that it had no connection to the Kira case at all. Also, in regards to Shiori, it bears mentioning that some believe she was dating Light Yagami while others believe they were simply classmates.

---

April 18, 2006

The construction of the Kira Response Building is complete. We will be moving the investigation headquarters there.

[Memo with cutouts so I don't forget]

[T/N: As you can see in the Tumblr screenshots, this page of the diary is entirely filled with cutouts from advertisements showing different parts of L's outfit.]

[picture of jeans]: The feeling of a new working style, a dominating sense of existence — Loose silhouette, straight frame. Its special characteristic is the five pockets it boasts on the front. Two of the pockets are integrated into the seams on the sides for a working-style taste. There is an adjuster in the back so you can adjust the size slightly.

[T/N: I tried for ages to figure out if this meant 5 or 7 pockets total, and then I decided accurate translation of an advertisement for jeans in the tie-in material for a movie spinoff for a 2000s manga wasn't worth this effort.] [No offense, L.]

[picture of sneakers]: A strong impact! Each step brimming with confidence — These shoes are made with the ripstop fabric used in military wear. It won't tear, no matter how much you wear the shoes out. Additionally, the camo pattern is piece-dyed with black and deliberately scuffed, giving it a tasteful finished look.

[picture of white sweater]: It looks good in any season: a must buy item — Silhouette is loose enough to hide the lines of your body. The neckline is also loose, so wearing it is a delightfully relaxed experience. The white color has outstanding compatibility with denim.

[picture of Hyottoko mask] Hyottoko mask

[doodle of white bag]

[picture of a chessboard] CHESS: The definitive version of the battle of minds

---

April 29, 2006

An individual calling themselves "the Second Kira" has sent video tapes to TV stations. Their patterns are clearly different from those of the Kira who has acted up to now. According to L's theory, while the previous Kira needed a face and a name for the murder, this Kira only needs to see someone's face to kill them.

Also, Light Yagami is now part of the task force. Light can't forgive Kira for taking his girlfriend's life. He's burning with determination to solve the case. He really is a smart teenager.

I wonder which L feels more for him: sympathy or competitiveness. Even I can't tell.

*5: In this time period, there were several unexplainable events, documented by the news and TV broadcasts in Japan at the time. For example, several police officers died of sudden heart attacks near the doorstep of the TV station that was broadcasting a message from the person claiming to be "the Second Kira" (including a detective whose name appeared in the earlier "Notes on the Japanese investigators"). It is thought that L's theory that "this Kira only needs to see someone's face [...]," as documented by Quillish Wammy above, was based on this incident.

May 11, 2006

Misa Amane has been arrested under suspicion of being the Second Kira. She is in confinement. The Japanese investigators seem somewhat opposed to this method. L is feeling cornered. It makes me anxious.

[Photo of Misa Amane, smiling in a sleeveless skull-and-crossbones shirt]

Misa Amane Idol There was an advertisement on the bus for fashion magazines with her on their covers. She seems to be a rather well-known figure in Japan.

Postscript: I have acquired Misa's photo albums, CDs, and DVDs as evidence. I passed them to L. L has not informed me of any new data from this analysis, but he has been playing the CD.

---

June 2, 2006

L announced to the investigators that "as of now, I have concluded that Light Yagami and Misa Amane are not Kira."

Light will still stay in the Kira Response Building to help with the investigation. L has accepted this. Could it be that L has recognized that someone else is on his level for the first time? I am happy for him, but also have complicated feelings about this. Is it possible that Light has become L's first-ever friend?

June 9, 2006

The Kira murders continue. L has been chewing his nails more often lately.

L, you should already know this: you do not need to carry the burden of all the world's crimes on your shoulders.

June 26, 2006

Light Yagami's theory may be our breakthrough in the case. His line of investigation has turned up a name: a Sakura TV newscaster, Kiyomi Takada.

[Photo of Kiyomi Takada, smiling placidly on a news channel, hands folded together]

Kiyomi Takada Newscaster for Sakura TV

She became the current face of the news channel EVENING SPOT after her predecessor Saeko Nishiyama's sudden death in a car accident. She quickly began hosting segments supporting Kira. She lives alone in a condo within the city.

---

June 30, 2006

You could say my scientific skills have started to rust, but as an inventor who tries to always think things through logically, I am feeling bewildered. There are "Shinigami," gods of death, who exist in this world. The Shinigami each carry a notebook, which is called a "Death Note." And the human whose name is written in the Death Note will die.

What on Earth? We've been up against Shinigami this whole time?

L was shocked. Unusual for him. But when I saw that surprise on his face, I actually felt relieved. At least Wammy's House — my creation — has not taken the capability for shock away from him.

Death Note: How to Use (Rules) — a partial excerpt

[T/N: Translations mostly copied from the Death Note wiki, with minor edits]

The human whose name is written in this note shall die.

If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds (in human-realm units) of writing the person's name, it will happen.

If the cause of death is not specified, the human will simply die of a heart attack.

After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

If the time of death is written within 40 seconds after writing the cause of death — even if the cause of death is a heart attack — the time of death can be manipulated, and the death can go into effect even less than 40 seconds after writing the name.

The note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

The owner of the note can shorten their own life by using the note.

Even someone who does not own the note can use it by writing a name and thinking of a face, with the same effect as if they were the owner of the note.

After a name is written in the note, it cannot be changed.

The time of death written in the note must be within 23 days (in human-realm units).

July 3, 2006

Misa Amane has been released from the Kira Response Building.

July 4, 2006

The strange situation of a Shinigami coming in and out of the Kira Response Building has continued. I can't help but feel restless seeing a huge, white silhouette wandering about. This Shinigami is not cooperating with us, but isn't trying to hinder us either, it seems.

There have been multiple persistent calls for L to assist with the investigation into Princess Joan's overturned yacht. But L seems uninterested in any other cases right now. I have filed the investigation requests where he won't see them.

---

July 7, 2006

[This entry was translated here by @lunalit-river. I'll copy it over, but please show some love to the original post!]

L.

Was this the outcome of giving you the opportunity to learn? Was it arrogant of me to think that I had given you everything you needed? A genius without parents or relatives, without food or education, a genius who may have had a miserable past. Was I wrong?

L wrote his name in the Death Note.

Was this all for victory? Was this all for justice?

To fight something supernatural like the Death Note, it is true that we must arm ourselves with something that is also beyond human understanding.

It is highly possible that Light Yagami will write L's name in the Death Note. In theory, L must write his name in the Death Note first to prevent Light from doing so.

But don't human emotions have a tendency to refuse to accept the truth and instead hope to twist logic and theory?

L. Don't you ever place your emotions prior to your goals?

L. I never meant for things to end this way. Your talent has surpassed mine, and now you are consuming yourself. But I…

Today I learned F's death. Am I about to lose you, too? I have never felt so powerless as I do now.

L. I am confused. When I established Wammy's House, I might not have anticipated this.

I learned a lot from being with you, L, just as parents learn a lot from their children.

L. Just one sentence is enough. Please tell me you want to live.

L. L…

July 7, 2006

L Lawliet Heart failure Dies 23 days from now, peacefully, in his sleep

---

July 10, 2006

This is the end of the case, isn't it? Everything has been arranged. I will bring Misa to headquarters, and as long as Soichiro Yagami and the other Japanese investigators do as L says, everything should go perfectly. Tonight, the Kira case will be solved.

I have learned from L, who moves towards his goal still, indifferent in the face of death. I too will not waver.

L still has 20 days left. I'll spend them with him. Not because of everything I gave him in his lifetime, but because of everything I deprived him of. I can devote all my time to him now.

L, what do you want to do? You can play silly games, if you want. You can go make friends. If you don't mind my old age, I would gladly be your friend. Or your

Do you want to see sights you've never seen before? Do you want to feel breezes you've never felt? [T/N: He switches to polite speech just for this paragraph. Back to regular now.]

Get up from that way you always sit; let's go outside. Everything I took from you — the small, the inconsequential, the boring things — and the beautiful, dear ones too: let's go find them together. It's okay if you don't have any conclusions to draw. I just want you to have fun. To love the world in front of you. To savor it.

L. That's right. Just like a father and son on holiday.

I've been writing in this diary for forty years. I think I will stop in twenty days. I can't imagine anything I would want to write about, anything I should write about, would happen after that.

Alright. I'd better go and bring Misa over.

This is where the diary ends. The Kira case has been dormant ever since the last entry here.

[occasionalsnippets]

I like to know more about Damian and Talia's relationship with fd au reader

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream

Talia keeps tabs on her beloved so obviously, she's well aware of when Bruce takes in a new Robin. And with that Robin comes an unexpected variable, his blood sister.

You do not catch her eye, not at first. Not until she finds Jason Todd and dunks him in a Lazarus pit. Not until she finds you being Robin while your little brother rests within the walls of Wayne manor. Not until you become the CEO of the failing Drake Industries.

The first thing of note, Jason Todd recognizes you and your brother. The pits are unpredictable in their effects and even she was uncertain of about much Jason Todd would remember after being taken out. Yet he knew of you. The feelings are vague, ambiguous at best but never malevolent. It is enough to curb some of his anger at being replaced.

It gives him enough stability that she introduces him to Damian.

The one thing that is blatantly obvious is that you care deeply for your brother, for Timothy Drake. The two of you are more affectionate than any other pair of siblings she has seen and certainly closer than she is with any of her own siblings.

The best indicator that you are Robin and not your brother is that you play. Not in some childish innocent way but rather sharply and precisely. You dance around the points you want to make but the meaning is clear nevertheless. She has been very careful to conceal Damian's existence from her beloved but he has not escaped your notice. Yet, you haven’t told Bruce. How curious.

Perhaps it is that curiosity that drives her to meet you as yourself and not as Robin. Her father takes an interest in your brother. She takes an interest in you.

Talia finds herself waiting in your office at Drake Industries on a weekday afternoon. There’s a pleasantly soft melody being played on a CD somewhere. When you enter, there is no surprise, only a slightest trace of amusement.

Without the mask, you are still every bit as sharp and cold as her favourite blades. It's a delight to have a conversation with you.

A thought arises. You would make a lovely sibling for her Damian.

She is under no delusion that Damian will settle nicely with Bruce at first but with you there to ease the transition, it just might work out better than anticipated. She may even introduce him sooner than she had originally planned.

You, on the other hand, have no idea why Talia Al Ghul of all people keeps showing up at your office. You guys don't really do much other than gossip (and occasionally, you fight off the assassins she sends) but it's become something of a routine. It's weird. You take it in stride.

As for Damian, there were several things his mother had told him before she left him on his father's doorstep. The first of which was that you were to become his sister.

There is no reason to doubt his mother's words. You spend most nights at the manor, you attend family dinners and you are very involved with the family's night life. In addition, you hold great influence over the household, enough to block his attempts at claiming his rightful role as Robin.

You are endlessly helpful in integrating him into the family. He is... reluctantly grateful for your assistance. The others are uncertain of what to do with him. Grayson and father coddle him. Todd does not remain within the manor often. Cain and Drake are distrustful. You remain steadfast and steady.

He can see why mother is fond of you. You are an acceptable sibling. Strong willed. Successful. Far better than the other riff raff father keeps around.

Eventually he does come around to everyone else, though he remains jealous of Tim who clearly holds your affection and the position of Robin. You tell him that it’s Tim’s decision whether he’ll pass on the title or not so he does end up somewhat playing nice with him.

You remain near the center of his life. He continues to go to you for advice, he hands you his marked tests and preens when you praise him, you allow him into the Batcave and teach him about the comms system, and so on.

And then, he finds out you do not consider yourself to be family. You call yourself Tim’s sister but not his. Damian’s first emotion is anger, then betrayal, then jealousy.

Are you simply dense? Have the others done something to make you believe you are unworthy? If so, it must be rectified. Immediately.

His mother had said that you were to be his sister and Damian Al Ghul-Wayne won’t accept anything less than what he is due.

[jeszrosse]

🧬 “Deviation”

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MANIPULATIVE!Albert Wesker x Reader | One-shot AU | Reader Unaware | Deep Psychological Control | Obsession-Slowburn

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⚠️ Possessive behavior • Surveillance • Delusional Justification • Isolation tactics • No reader realization • Smut • Stalking

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🧬 1. [Observation]

It begins, as most things do with Wesker, in silence.

Your first day on the team, you barely warranted a glance in the surveillance feed.

Another lab technician. Another replaceable assistant. Another insignificant moving part.

But then you lingered.

Stayed late. Came early.

Read the case files beyond your clearance level and didn’t flinch at the corpses.

You passed the first test.

Not that you knew there was one.

You thought it was coincidence that no one sat beside you in meetings.

That your access card opened doors you never requested.

That the intern who made a joke about your smile was transferred within the hour.

It wasn’t coincidence.

It was calibration.

He was isolating the variables.

And you, you became an anomaly worth noting.

He began compiling minor reports on your behavior, tucked into encrypted files labeled with meaningless acronyms—justifications for your existence in his system. He logged your arrival times, the hesitation in your speech, the way you handled scalpel trays with a certain… reverence. Clinical on the outside, but with the sharpness of someone who wanted to understand.

You weren’t like the others—those limp, nodding bureaucrats or ambition-hollowed researchers. You read between lines. You saw things. You didn’t ask for approval.

It should’ve been threatening.

But instead, it was fascinating.

---

🧬 2. [Containment]

Wesker doesn’t trust easily.

He trusts data.

Outcomes.

Silence.

But you unsettled the metrics.

You moved differently. You saw things. You questioned protocols he didn’t authorize you to read.

And he watched.

The way your fingers hovered over a scalpel you didn’t need to touch.

The way your reflection lingered in the biohazard glass.

The way your laugh, rare as it was, made low-ranking guards look up.

So he changed the guards.

Restricted hallway access.

Reassigned co-workers.

Built your world to orbit only him.

And still—still you never noticed.

Not when your new desk faced his office.

Not when your login synced with his terminal.

Not when your lunch orders began arriving, already paid.

You thought it was protocol. Efficiency. Company structure.

It wasn’t.

It was obsession.

Even your chair was adjusted—replaced with one designed to support your back based on posture data from security footage. Your lighting changed imperceptibly across weeks, tailored to prevent eye strain and keep you awake longer, sharper.

He scheduled briefings when you were most alert.

Redirected minor crises to ensure you'd report directly to him.

He watched the way you blinked when you were confused.

Memorized the twitch of your mouth when you were about to ask something risky.

Your coworkers left one by one. Transferred. Fired. Reassigned.

Those who got too familiar? Disciplined. Quietly.

You didn’t wonder why your inbox felt so clean.

Why no one interrupted your concentration anymore.

Why the company started feeling like a corridor, narrowing around you.

---

🧬 3. [Degradation]

It got worse.

Or—closer to the truth.

He found himself pausing the security feed just to watch the curve of your spine as you bent over notes.

He rewound your voice recordings, cataloguing the inflections in your “Good morning, sir.”

He deleted the word sir from your tongue in his mind.

He didn’t want your respect.

He wanted your obedience.

Your trust.

Your presence, constant and unrelenting.

You belonged in his space, like air belonged in lungs.

He just hadn't told you yet.

Sometimes, you left behind small things—sticky notes, paperclips, coffee cups. Harmless. Forgettable. But he kept them all.

The mug with a faint mark of your lip balm.

The pen you once clicked while reading virology samples.

A typed memo, crumpled, with a single word scratched out and replaced. "Necessary."

He examined them not with sentiment but calculation.

These were not keepsakes.

These were proofs of proximity.

You were slipping under his skin molecule by molecule, and he needed evidence of your presence in his domain.

But there were moments—dangerous ones—when calculation gave way to something darker.

Moments when you reached for a dropped stylus beneath the lab table and the hem of your coat pulled taut across your thighs.

Moments when you tilted your head to read something over a microscope and exposed the soft column of your neck.

Moments when the feed from the surveillance cameras caught just enough.

He knew every angle of your body from security footage.

The way your blouse sometimes gaped slightly when you leaned forward.

The way you stretched without thinking, unaware of how it framed you.

Unaware of the man watching—memorizing.

It was a weakness.

A flaw in his design.

But sometimes he would watch the footage at half-speed, eyes burning, jaw clenched, and tell himself it was for behavioral monitoring.

That the brief tightening in his chest wasn’t arousal, but concern.

And yet—when you bent to pick up a file one night, alone, late, and the back of your skirt lifted just slightly—

—his fingers had twitched.

Not from irritation.

From restraint.

From the raw, silent thought that he could take you. Right there.

Not in fantasy. Not in dream. But in brutal, clinical, breathtaking reality.

He could fuck you against the sterile counter and no one would stop him.

No one would even know.

But he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t.

He was control. Discipline.

He filed the footage.

Encrypted it.

And watched it again the next night.

Hands behind his back.

Jaw locked.

Throat tight with the sick, hungry coil of desire he refused to name.

You didn’t know.

Didn’t see.

Didn’t feel the weight of a man who no longer saw you as a subordinate or asset—

—but as something already his, simply awaiting the correct time to be claimed.

---

🧬 4. [Denial]

You never caught it, but he looked away first.

Every time.

Every instance your gaze met his, however briefly.

You assumed it was deference. Coldness. That clinical thing he wore like a second skin.

But it wasn’t.

It was containment.

Because the sound of your voice—the precise cadence in which you said “Understood, Doctor Wesker”—lit up some dormant, vile thing in him.

Something untested.

Something monstrous.

He was not above temptation.

He was simply better at dissecting it.

The way you smiled at your coworkers, never at him?

He noticed.

The way you stood just a fraction closer when anxious, fingers tightening at your sides?

He filed it away.

He let others believe you were isolated by accident.

But he'd engineered that loneliness. Curated it.

Suffocated anything that threatened to pull your attention elsewhere.

You never got that offer for project co-lead.

Never received the anonymous gifts left at your desk by interns.

Because Albert intercepted them.

Silently. Strategically.

You didn’t know it was his hand pulling you toward him, only that every direction seemed to fold inward until he was the only constant.

The only man who saw you.

Who understood you.

He watched you trace your notes, watched your lips form silent syllables, and all the while he denied himself.

Denied the heat pooling in his abdomen.

Denied the cruel ache behind every “Goodnight, sir” you uttered.

Denied the nightly compulsion to run simulations of what you would sound like begging.

And when he couldn't sleep, he listened to your voice on the lab’s intercom archive.

Just to hear it.

To pretend.

To substitute control for contact.

And still—he told himself he had not crossed the line.

Not yet.

Because you were still untouched.

Still pure, in the way only someone unaware of their ownership could be.

---

🧬 5. [Possession]

He began to see it in everything.

The way others looked at you—a threat.

The way you spoke about your family—a liability.

The way you said “thank you” when he passed you reports—intolerable.

You didn’t thank him.

You didn’t understand him.

You couldn’t.

But that was fine.

Understanding would come later.

He started curating your tasks more delicately.

Steered you away from field ops, too dangerous.

Assigned you exclusively to him, citing “performance optimization.”

You didn’t protest.

You thought you were being promoted.

But in truth, you were being drawn in.

Woven tighter.

Placed carefully, perfectly, exactly where he wanted you.

In his office.

In his world.

In his reach.

Your name was embedded in his daily reports. Your security log-in pinged his terminal every time you swiped a door.

The other researchers stopped referencing your work without Wesker’s express permission. He had erased your reputation as independent—you were his now.

And no one questioned it.

Not when his gaze burned through the glass walls of the lab.

Not when he stood beside you in meetings like a shadow wearing a tailored suit.

Not when his hand briefly brushed yours while reviewing samples, and he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t need to pull away.

He had already claimed what he wanted.

---

Now, his fingerprints existed on more than your reports.

He’d rewritten your schedule to end near his. Aligned your meals. Synced your lab hours. Even your breaks were subtly shifted, your elevator stops timed perfectly with his descent.

You didn’t see it.

But he did.

Every day you returned to your workspace slightly adjusted—your chair moved back in, your pens restocked, your personal mug rotated exactly one degree counter-clockwise.

“We’re optimizing,” he’d say.

“For your convenience.”

He'd begun accompanying you to biometric checks. At first, a coincidence. The second time, an excuse. By the third, he was inputting your medical logs himself.

His voice was always calm. Always formal. Always patient.

But his gaze lingered.

His presence loomed.

And his hands—always gloved—brushed against the small of your back far too often for protocol.

---

And he watched.

From behind glass. From dark monitors. From still frames and slow replays. When your blouse sat a little too low. When your eyes wandered where they shouldn’t.

You were careless with your innocence.

But he would be careful for you.

He adjusted the brightness of the surveillance feed. Zoomed in. Studied the way you leaned too close to your keyboard.

Imagined your breath fogging the screen.

Imagined how easily that breath could hitch. Could falter. Could beg.

You have no idea, he thought.

But you will.

Not yet.

But soon.

Understanding would come later.

---

🧬 6. [Infection]

The final stage was the most dangerous.

You said his name once.

Not “sir.”

Not “Wesker.”

Just:

“Albert…?”

His gaze snaps up from the report.

You’re standing in the doorway of his office, the heel of one shoe slightly kicked back, as if you weren’t sure whether to enter. The folder in your hand trembles slightly—an involuntary twitch you don’t even notice. But he does.

He notices everything.

The breath that stutters in your throat after the name escapes.

The flicker of hesitation in your pupils when his expression doesn’t immediately soften.

The way you shift—defensive, unsure—before you correct yourself:

“I mean—sir. Sorry, I meant—sir.”

But it’s already too late.

The damage is done.

You spoke it aloud.

Not in passing.

Not as a slip of protocol.

Not with bitterness or irony.

But with concern.

Soft. Tentative. Almost gentle.

And that… that is what undoes him.

You don’t know he has a file buried six levels deep into a server no one else can access—labeled with your name, storing every image of you captured on internal footage.

You don’t know he’s wiped out four internal transfer requests that would have pulled you from his floor.

You don’t know he personally selects your meals for team events—ensuring your preferences are always met, even when no one else notices.

You don’t know he’s kept you here, orbiting him, perfectly placed, under the illusion of promotion.

And now you’ve said his name like it belongs to you.

Like he does.

“Sir,” you try again, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Apologies. I—I didn’t mean—”

He stands slowly, measured, the desk separating you like a fragile boundary he’s had to respect for far too long.

“No need to apologize,” he says coolly. “You simply… surprised me.”

But inside? His thoughts are nothing but static.

He replays the syllables.

Not just the sound, but the shape of your mouth when you said it.

He files it into memory. Deep. Permanent.

And he knows—sooner than even you do—that this is the beginning of the end for the illusion.

Because from this moment on, you’ve stopped being a project.

Stopped being a subject.

You’ve become a trigger.

A fixation.

An opening he hadn’t anticipated—but cannot ignore.

You said his name once.

You won’t realize until it’s far too late:

You’ll never say it the same way again.

Because you didn’t know what you’d done.

You didn’t hear it the way he did.

Like it was already yours to say.

Like he wasn’t a god.

Like he was a man.

A man who had already rewritten every security protocol to keep you near.

A man who eliminated colleagues who made you uncomfortable.

A man who—if you ever truly looked—might shatter the illusion of “normal” with one cold sentence:

“You’re not here by accident.”

“You’re here because I designed you to be.”

But you don’t know.

You smile politely.

You offer your reports.

You drink the coffee that arrives on your desk precisely how you like it.

You go home.

You live your life.

While he rewatches your day in full.

While he listens to your voicemails and deletes names from your inbox.

While he studies you like you’re the last unexplained miracle on Earth.

While he reminds himself that love is irrelevant.

Control is what matters.

And he already has it.

---

He’d timed every entry and exit.

He knew how long you took in the restroom.

Which hallway you paused in to check your phone.

What time of day your voice grew tired.

He saw it as clearly as he saw cell degradation under a microscope.

That slow unraveling.

That quiet compliance.

You were adapting.

Your posture had shifted. Subtly. You walked faster when alone. Slower when near him. You dressed differently—more reserved, perhaps without realizing. You avoided eye contact with male superiors.

Wesker approved.

He didn’t speak of it.

Didn’t need to.

The conditioning was holding.

You had stopped asking questions.

Stopped challenging schedules.

Stopped requesting to work from other wings.

You had folded into the environment he designed—one where he was a constant hum beneath your daily routine. Where his name lingered at the back of your tongue. Where his voice set your pace and his silence set your nerves.

---

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” he muttered to himself, watching the security footage replay. While he studies you like you’re the last unexplained miracle on Earth.

There you were again. That exact moment. Your eyes soft, confused, lips parted: Albert…?

He paused the video.

Leaned back.

Let the sound echo in the sterile quiet of his office.

It was not an accident.

Not some sweet slip of tongue.

No.

It was the infection taking root.

Your body catching up to what your environment had long accepted.

Dependence.

Deference.

Attachment.

He could work with that.

Love was messy. Emotional.

But dependence—he could mold.

He could reinforce it, reward it, create just enough tension to keep you needing his approval.

To keep you needing him.

---

(A/N: should I make a part 2??? I mean- I already have it. I just wanna hear it from you dirty sluts;>)

[aventurineswife]

helos fre :3 random but any thoughts on self aware hsr 🙏🙏 ngl it's absolute peak to me cuz the fics I've read about it is so good I wanna digest it into my blood cells 😍🥰🥰/hj /lh

AHHHH I HAVE FEW BUT ITS PROBABLY NOT GOOD 😭🙏 (I might need to write a series about it in the future lmaoo)

The Express itself, and the crew aboard it, start referencing an "observer" that influences their journey. They might leave cryptic remarks like, "We wouldn’t have made it here without a guiding force…" or, "Are you out there, watching us?"

Himeko and Welt have deep discussions about the metaphysical implications of being part of a "game." Welt's past in other dimensions makes him particularly reflective.

Occasionally, your Trailblazer might break the fourth wall and stare directly "out" of the screen. They’d ask questions like, "Why are you helping us? What’s in it for you?" Or even, "Do you think you’re doing the right thing?"

Their dialogue changes subtly depending on your in-game decisions, showing that they’re paying attention.

Kafka is one of the few who seems fully aware that you’re pulling the strings. She might tease, "How long will you keep playing this game? Or is it playing you?" It’s unclear if she means it literally or as a metaphor.

Pela starts digging into the concept of "higher dimensions" where powerful entities (like the players) influence their world. You might find hidden journal entries speculating about the possibility of unseen forces guiding their lives.

Characters start commenting on how often you farm the same materials or run the same domains (?). For instance, Dan Heng might say, "You’ve had me fight this exact enemy over fifty times… What are you preparing for?"

When summoning characters, some of them might react to being "chosen." For example: Silver Wolf might say, "Took you long enough. Were you saving for someone else?" While Seele could mutter, "You really wanted me, didn’t you?"

As beings tied to the metaphysical order of the universe, the Aeons might perceive your existence. Xianzhou scholars hypothesize that you are an entity akin to an Aeon of "Control" or "Fate."

The Stellaron within the Trailblazer seems to have an awareness of you, treating you like an ally—or a potential threat. It might whisper cryptic messages about your choices or consequences.

Herta becomes suspicious of the odd behaviors in the universe and starts referring to you as a "prime variable." She might even try to communicate directly through simulated events, asking for your cooperation.

Some characters, like March 7th or Natasha, might express gratitude for your care and attention. "You always bring me along… Do you think I’m special?" they might ask, breaking the fourth wall.

Certain antagonists, like Cocolia or Jade, might break from their usual dialogue to challenge your decisions. "You think you’re the hero? You’re just another player, aren’t you?"

A secret cutscene or dialogue could play if you act in unexpected ways, revealing that the characters have fully realized their reality. It could be bittersweet, with them either embracing or lamenting their lack of agency.

Aventurine might acknowledge your influence subtly. After completing a mission for the IPC, he sends a message: "Noticed your knack for efficiency. You deserve a little bonus for all the extra effort you 'inspire.' Don’t let it go to your head." He attaches an unusually large amount of credits, as though recognizing you directly for optimizing his profits.

Argenti might kneel before the screen during a heartfelt moment (or after a battle): "O noble guide, it is your divine hand that shapes my path! I dedicate my blade not just to the people, but to you. May your will continue to shine upon us!" He also gifts you rare items or sends messages of gratitude, as though you're a divine figure he serves.

AHHH I wanna write fics for certain characters or something (this could also lead to yandere themes depending if the person/anon reqs for it).

[zazaiafe2]

My theory on shifting and manifestation: a deeper take based on experience, data and observations.

I want to explain here my current vision of the shifting process, how I personally see manifestation, and how I try to integrate scientific reasoning, personal experience, and collective data. This isn't meant to be the only truth, just my contribution, based on my own research, practice, and discussions.

1) Shifting is not purely about intention or assumptions

First I feel the need to remember people what is an assumption because I feel like something we're losing the plot regardless of what is an assumption or not .

The mainstream community often emphasizes intention or assumptions as the key to shifting. While I agree that intention plays a role, I don’t think it’s the sole determining factor.

Why I also highly doubt beliefs is the only cause of shifting.

If intention alone was enough, most people would have shifted after years of practice. Yet even highly motivated shifters with strong assumptions sometimes struggle, while others shift accidentally. That suggests that other variables are at play.

From my perspective, the emotional state, mental state, and neurocognitive profile of the person are also very important. Shifting happens when our awareness, which I personally view as informational or non-physical consciousness(or awarness), disengages partially or fully from this reality interface (the brain-body) and realigns to another system.

So yes: you need the intention, but also a certain inner state that allows this "disentanglement" to occur. Some people can enter that state easily, others need more practice depending on their cognitive profile.

2)We are not just "manifesting everything", Co-creation exists

I am highly skeptical of the narrative that "you manifest 100% everything that happens to you just by assuming it."

If that was fully true, then:

We wouldn’t experience accidents or unexpected suffering we never consciously assumed.

People wouldn’t struggle with fears that do not materialize despite strong and repetitive intrusive thoughts.

For example: I have strong anxiety sometimes about my heart, I’ve assumed many times that I was having heart issues during panic attacks, yet here I am, healthy. That’s not due to luck, but shows the limits of the "assumption = creation" model.

I believe we co-create reality. There is an interactive field of information where multiple variables (external, collective, individual) play a role. Your assumptions and beliefs influence probabilities, but they’re not almighty. Other informational structures (external laws, collective energies, higher self, system coherence) participate in this co-creation.

3)Why I still care about brain function even if shifting is non-physical

People asked me: "If shifting is non-physical, why do you care about the brain, neurocognition or psychology?"

Because even if awareness is non-physical, in this current CR, our brain is still our interface. It filters, limits, and structures how awareness functions here. Our cognitive flexibility, dissociative capacity, identity fluidity, self-talk regulation, and emotional regulation, all tied to brain functioning, directly impact how easily we can "detach" from this interface.

This explains why highly dissociative or identity-fluid individuals often shift more easily: their interface allows easier awareness movement. Others may need to "train" their interface to allow for this loosening of fixation, I believe that if everyone had the same capacity we would not have such strong correlations in certain areas.

For exemple most people who shift on command have a very fluid identity while the majority of people who have little or no shifting have a very busy mind all the time and a lot of self-criticism.

4)Emotional states: high impact vs. low impact

One major pattern I’ve observed through data (including my own small research polls) is that emotional state plays a major role , but not in a simplistic "positive = good" way.

States like calmness, serenity, even sadness (if soft and stable) seem to support shifting.

States like stress, panic, anger, high euphoria often disrupt shifting.

I call it "low impact vs. high impact" emotions rather than "positive vs. negative". The nervous system needs to be at low activation (low arousal), with some inner focus. That allows the awareness to untether more easily from this interface.(In most case)

5)identity fluidity matters more than most think

Shifters who report being able to shift "on command" often have highly fluid identities. Their sense of self is flexible and less anchored to rigid structures.

This doesn’t mean you must be "neurodivergent" to shift. But cognitive profiles with:

-Less rigid self-concept

-High imaginative capacity

-Dissociative traits (non-pathological)

-Flexible internal narratives

…tend to have an easier time. For others, it takes more training to loosen those structures.

6) Shifting ≠ Manifestation

I differentiate shifting and manifestation:

Manifestation (as I see it) is the local manipulation of probability lines within one existing reality system. You "tweak" conditions within a coherent field (can be done in any reality).

Shifting is the relocation of your awareness field to another coherent informational structure (i.e., a parallel or alternate reality).

Assumptions may play into both. But shifting seems more complex than "I assume and shift instantly". System coherence, informational entanglement, and permission of higher informational structures seem to participate.

7)"If we had full control, reality would collapse"

If every individual fully manifested instantaneously everything they assumed, we would live in non-coherent chaos. Yet reality remains generally stable across billions of individual awareness fields. This suggests structural coherence rules exist.

It’s comforting to believe we have full power, but maybe more mature to accept that we have high influence within a shared structure.

8)Shifting accidents are one of the strongest proofs of co-creation

Many shifters report accidental shifts when they weren’t even trying. This shows that there’s more than just conscious intent: it involves deeper informational permission states, external resonance, or unknown factors.

If conscious intention was 100% responsible, accidental shifts wouldn’t exist.

22% of those who shift on command say the time they will shift is unpredictable

9) We need more nuance, less dogma

The community often lacks room for nuanced discussions. Dogmas like:

-"You manifest 100% everything instantly."

-"Assumptions are all that matter."

-"If you fail, it's your fault for not assuming strongly enough."

…are mentally exhausting and unrealistic for many. We need models that allow for:

-Individual variation

-Neurocognitive diversity

-Emotional state regulation

-Acceptance of external informational structures

-That doesn’t mean disempowering people, but giving them more accurate tools.(And also recognizing we don't have all the full truth)

✅ In short in my pov :

-You do have creative power.

-Assumptions influence reality, but are not absolute.

-Emotional regulation and interface flexibility matter.

-We co-create within a semi-autonomous informational multiverse.

-Shifting involves more than just beliefs; it’s a realignment process of awareness.

-We need nuanced, mature models, not spiritual meritocracy (for me it's clearly a reflection of this reality mindset)

I hope this helps clarify my view. I welcome respectful discussion, even if you don’t fully agree. My goal is not to "convert" people, but to enrich the understanding of a highly complex, fascinating process that deserves better investigation.

I also want to add this: many of you say it’s "effortless", but I often see people beating themselves up with endless affirmations, reprogramming methods, assumption drills, and techniques you try to force into your mind. To me, that still requires a certain form of effort. While I do believe shifting can eventually become more effortless, many of you don’t seem to actually follow this principle in practice.

Some will think or say "I create limiting beliefs" well even with this way of thinking I managed to shift (13 time) and manifest more times than I can count, I plan to shift to a scientific Dr to be able to study shifting in a more scientific way with adapted tools.

[1800titz]

TDIAG extra | temperature play extra

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His ring-clad digits are wrapped over the handle of her overnight duffel, and as the pair amble into his home, the man sets the bag onto the closest cushion of his sprawling, burgundy sectional. It’s an old sports bag his girlfriend had utilized since childhood, toting it on through the years and refurbishing it through variable purposes it had been called for. An assortment of charms still accessorize it— ones she’d been too lazy to remove: a crystal-beaded keychain, a miniature dog figurine the length of his pointer digit with matted, gray fur, and an empty leather slot for an ID card that’s speckled with aged, partially torn stickers. He thinks it’s cute— it’s an endearing mosaic of pieces of her that existed before he knew her, and her lack of removal of the childish decorations makes his chest feel soft the same way old photographs do.  Anyways, it’s a half-shame he’ll be unraveling its owner into a soppy, pleading mess. 

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Harry blinks flatly from behind his sunglasses, pocketing his cellphone unceremoniously and shifting in the seat before he obnoxiously stretches one of his legs out beneath the table. Instead of toying with the obvious thread she’s been tugging at, he kicks his foot in between her own and huffs, “Alright, budge up, bigfoot.”

The way Isla’s self-satisfied smile melts clean off her face almost draws a bark of laughter from him. Harry, however, has mapped nonchalance down to a science, so it sits on the back of his tongue before he swallows the mirth back like a shot of undiluted glee. 

An offended squawk falls from the girl’s mouth as she sits up straighter, pouting sulkily at him for the mean tease, “I have— perfectly normal-sized feet.”

The moody defense does cause his mouth to quirk, though the curly-haired brunette is quick to school it down before sighing dramatically and sinking lower in his seat (effectively encroaching into more of her territory with his own big foot), “Yeah, that’s why it felt like I had an anvil on my toes. Fucking enormous.” 

“Fuck you.”

“They’re heavy, too!” Harry continues, absent-mindedly picking at the discarded wad of paper she’d planted onto his plate, gesturing out with his hand for emphasis before he lobs the balled wrapper back at her, “How do you get around on those two-ton flippers?”

As the little ball hits her between her clavicles, Isla blanks, unable to even tail the piece with her eyes before it rolls off somewhere onto the ground. Meanwhile, Harry drags his fingertips over his lips. Behind the tinted lenses of his shades, his eyebrows quirk pointedly. The nature of the performance is to emulate her— a little taste of her own petulant medicine. He’s purposefully mimicking the same annoying mannerisms she’s been throwing into his direction, and the realization finally dawns on her when the foot that’d slid between her own starts tapping against her own bare toes. 

“Alright,” Isla deadpans and folds her legs back to tuck her feet under her chair, just out of reach, “I get it.”

As his girlfriend does so, Harry sits up, pursing his mouth in feigned contemplation before he plucks a crispy piece of calamari from the corner of the pile. He picks the breading off as he bobs his head in confusion, popping the chewy middle past his lips and flinging a piece of the breading at her almost absent-mindedly, just as he’d done with the straw wrapper. 

“What do you mean?” Harry chews. A crease works between his brows as he goes for another, doing the same thing once more. Only this time, he breaks the outer layer apart and flings the individual pieces at her between his words, “I have no idea— what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” 

“Alright,” Isla scowls. His self-satisfied simper makes her want to chuck her water at him. She dusts the crusts that’d landed into her lap off onto the ground, the edges of her mouth twisted down in annoyance. 

Unfortunately for her, the momentary distraction grants Harry just enough of a window to pluck up his own discarded straw wrapper, stealthily tear it into two, and toss the first balled half at her. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man pauses, tilting his head condescendingly. His ringlets are mussed from the saltwater, still somewhat speckled in sand, and one of the messy, flattened coils slips over his forehead as he tosses the second, “Is this annoying? Does this irritate you?”

“Yes,” Isla flails emphatically, shielding herself with her arms enough for Harry to pause the onslaught, his forearm visibly twitching as he stops himself (wrapper poised between his fingers, at the ready), and his semi-crescented lips twitching. Isla frowns, picking stray papers off her lap and shooting him a slitted glower, “Alright, I got it, I said.”

For a moment, Isla almost thinks he will relent. Unfortunately for her, her white flag of surrender means very little for a man who has perfected retribution to the same degree he has nonchalance. It’s sort of an infuriating talent. With his inky, chiseled forearm raised— still, for a brief, treasonous beat— he suddenly breaks and flicks the bunched wrapper at her, effectively smacking her square in the forehead with the crumpled wad. He leans over the table, ducking his chin and shaking his head from side to side (an exultantly shit-eating grin threatening to overtake his pink lips all the while).  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Stop— I’m going to kick you in the nuts.”

Harry wraps his ring-clad fingers over his cup, relishing in the slick coat of condensation that sticks to his skin and chills it with the heat of the summer sun against his shoulder. The edge of his straw gets slotted between his lips, and he takes a long sip. Despite the way his shades cover a large portion of his upper features, his dark eyebrows climb in playful warning to accompany the thinly-veiled advisory, “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Instead of volleying another half-hearted, begrudged quip, as he’d anticipated, Isla straightens out in her seat. She unfurls like something hatching, crossing her arms, and although her sunglasses obscure her gaze, and can practically feel the defiance clouding her irises (imagines the sharp, challenging curve her brow has no doubt carved into) when she bobs her head and quietly prods, “What will you do?”

And that, Harry assesses wryly (the subtle curl of her mouth like a cat baring its milk teeth), is the quiet pivot from pester to provoking. Because the way rebellion stacks on her shoulders may as well say “make me.” He observes her pensively, soaking in individual mannerisms like ingredients for a recipe of disaster: the defiant little nudge of her chin; the way she leans forward in her seat, just slightly, as if goading him with her body language; the soft way her chest swells and falls as his response pends. 

Harry can’t say the development ever comes as a surprise. Her mutinies always start as playfully soft things; harmless in a way that’s almost endearing and insinuates that all of the choreography is unintentional, like she’s doing him a favor by dampening the real theatrics. But they never stay there for long. It’s always a slow crawl towards escalation; a flippant remark here, a withheld kiss there, and then, suddenly, she’s looking him dead in the eye with that insolent little smirk that says she’s just waiting for him to do something about it. In a way, the entire experience is like a form of long, metaphorical edging— she pulls, he lets her, and eventually, he snaps. And what could possibly be more delicious than finally doing something about it?

Admittedly, Harry doesn’t expect her foot to graze his cock under the table. 

Utilizing the distracted window of his deliberation (the moment he finally, finally lets himself outright steep in the tension that’s been hotly welling between them), the girl subtly discards her sandal, unceremoniously stretches her foot forward, and gently presses between his thighs with the ball of her bare foot. The brazen maneuver happens so smoothly and catches Harry so off guard that his tummy instinctively tenses beneath the tee he’d thrown over, and he shoots a stray glance between his split legs as his breath hitches in his throat. Unwittingly, he’d granted just enough room for her foot to slot, and her fuschia-lacquered toes peek up at him as she carefully points them and fattens his prick to a semi almost instantaneously. A white hot streak of pleasure blooms in his underbelly at the filthy attention, wadding taut like a bow, and a dark, little shudder nearly wracks his shoulders as she draws her foot up and boldly caresses his rigidly growing cock with her heel. His chest grows heavy as the air sticks like honey to the nooks of his lungs, and his nostrils flare and finality settles in the pit of his chest as if it’s a back-burnered omen. He covers the tremble to his inhale with a cough and swallows the brokenly gritty moan that’s itching on the back of his tongue. There’s little he can do to hide the way his jaw slightly falls at first, however. 

Anyways, it’s all very unfair, and throws him entirely off kilter. 

“Isla—“

“So I was thinking—“ 

When he blinks back up at his counterpart, she’s picked up another piece of squid between her fingers and is casually peeling off the outer layer, almost attentively. This time, though, she neatly sets it onto the little plate ahead of her before she stuffs the stripped squid past her lips. As his dick thickens up under her ministrations, she switches from a curling press to a dragging tread along the fat shape nestled to his thigh. A harsh crick chisels into his jaw, and Harry suffocates the pathetic sound that threatens his vocal cords when she sensually grazes his tip. 

“That thai place is kind of a drive from the flea market, right? So, maybe we should check the area tonight and see what’s—“ Isla leans forward on her elbows, then motions with one of her hands. Her fingertips are smudged with oil, and she rubs them together before she casually ducks her chin towards the appetizer between them and takes another one, “around there.”

She replicates the motion, picking at the breading before stuffing it in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. The act is so casual, were it not for the way her foot was prodding at his dick and scrambling the tracks to his train of thought, it would appear like an entirely normal exchange. The glasses, of course, safeguard the impish way he’s sure her eyes have narrowed, because despite the way she doesn’t smile with her mouth, he’s sure her cheeky amusement saturates her gaze and crinkles the corners. 

“What do you think?”

That rumbling ball of desire is still sitting in the trench of his tummy, and it permeates as an ache that crawls along the underside of his balls. Every fibril of his being concentrates on maintaining composure, and his tongue prods into the inside of his cheek before Harry leans forward his forearms to mirror her. Momentarily, his teeth lodge into his lower lip, rolling it back before letting it fall back into place. 

The dull nip of pain does little to ground him from the overwhelming sensation between his tensed thighs, but it hardens his exterior just enough for the quietly foreboding comment to land, “You are so cute when you think I won’t put you over my knee in a parking garage.”

The brief flinch to her foot, as her toes curl against him, causes a smug sense of achievement to spool apart in his chest, although the self-satisfaction doesn’t quite reach his lips. He keeps those leveled in a line, and without access to his forest-like gaze, his countenance is infuriatingly indifferent. The filthy insinuation gives Isla pause, and knocks her off her own game for a moment, sending a razor-like zapling of lightning clambering up her spine and punching her lungs still. With as much casualness as she can muster, Isla drums a naked divot into the condensation smearing her glass with the pad of her pointer, and curls her toes in finality. 

“Hm. Yeah.”

“I wonder how loudly—“ Harry murmurs, faux-thoughtfully, before he wraps his palm around her ankle. His fingers are still chilly, and the cold nip of pressure, combined with the subtle strength of his grip— not bruising, just firm enough to stake a quiet claim— causes her own breath to hitch, “You can beg into leather car seats.”

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[tanadrin]

just spitballing here. but. English and many European languages are kinda interesting in that in lots of languages, names are etymologically transparent. older Germanic names were usually just a common noun or two: wolfstone. elf-read. bright-helm. but names are kind of weird as lexical items, and are apt to be borrowed and retained even when they're not lexically transparent (which they don't need to be, since they index people and not things or concepts), and lots of languages even if they once preferred lexically transparent names have acquired a large stock of names whose "meaning" is just an etymological curiosity. european languages really kicked this into high gear by borrowing a ton of latin, greek, and biblical names, and then borrowing and re-borrowing names from each other. i'm sure similar processes have operated in other parts of the world for centuries.

in english specifically, we've also had this phenomenon for centuries now of surnames gradually turning into given names. a lot of times this is because married women passed their names to their children as middle names, and middle names could then be re-used as first names, and of course a lot of times it's just that surnames became etymologically opaque, and if "chandler" doesn't mean "one who makes candles" to you, why not use it as a first name?

on top of that, surnames are also apt to cross language boundaries; English doesn't have a consistent system of phonetic spelling; and even within English surnames can exist in many slight variations which reflect minute linguistic differences or just variable spelling habits in the medieval and early modern period. in regions with high immigration you also have the melange of other languages' names entering your language, and often (though not always) retaining their spelling according to a different scheme. Sean, for instance, which is orthographically opaque in English, but perfectly phonetic in Irish

oddly names are one of the only lexical items in English which do not have a fixed spelling now--English did eventually settle on a preferred spelling for its whole vocabulary (though not a consistent spelling), except for personal names. if you spell your name shaun or shawn or sean, people accept these as normal variants of a common name. if you spell "brought" as "brawt," "brot," or "brotte," people think you're an idiot.

all of which is to say that even before you get into the social and psychological dynamics of why parents might choose to do so, the phenomenon of bestowing on your child (or even yourself) a name with a deliberately unusual or creative spelling seems quite historically contingent. that's pretty interesting.