#*crawls back in to continue hibernating

[serenanymph]

find the word tag

tagged by @space-writes over here, with the words gentle, subtle, ample, and substantial. gonna tag uhhh @halfbit, @faytelumos, @writingamongther0ses, @lyssa-ink and @reneesbooks with the words silence, section, shallow and shatter!

gentle

Iri drops the man back onto the ground, and Beatriz stares at the spike dissolving into the soil with a hiss, turning it black and gooey. There’s a layer of dust hovering above the ground, kicked up from all of the commotion, and she barely has the presence of mind to guide in a gentle breeze, clearing the area so they won’t launch into a coughing fit mid-battle. Any moment now, the Noxx will be coming, but all she can do is stare at the man. The man who had just used the same kind of magic Noxx possess.

subtle (surprisingly this came from the most recent paragraph, though written when I was half-asleep so it makes less sense than usual. does this count as a last line tag I have way too many of those in my drafts)

She plunks the sole chunk of lirstone they have left in the center. The light throws stretching, malformed shadows onto the surrounding walls, paints everyone’s faces in pale, washed-out grey that almost makes them look ghostly. The tunnel stretches before them, winding and dark and no different from every other tunnel they’d passed through. They’d been sticking to the larger ones, the ones that sloped upwards, in the hopes of finding another exit, but she can barely notice any change. She hopes it’s just because of how subtle the transition had been; not because they’ve been going in circles.

no ample, but I did find one instance of plenty

“He’s a kid,” Icarus says. “He’s the same age as us,” she retorts. “That’s plenty old enough to make a decision like this, especially when you’re half Beast. Hell, look at Crys – he’s had anti-Beast values drilled into him since he was a kid. Didn’t stop him from seeing you like an actual person and helping you,” Rhyme points out, though her expression is a little sour. “But the Witchhunter’s Mutt? You saw what went down just now. He hates your bloody guts.”

substantial

Around her, magic flares – Icarus – tugging at the wind, too panicked to actually do anything substantial save for generate a weak breeze, grip dulled by his scattered focus and the fact that he’s currently struggling not to start flipping head over heels.

taglist (lmk if you want to be +/-): @deer-in-headlights-stare, @allianaavelinjackson, @arctic-oceans, @space-writes, @reneesbooks

#writeblr #writeblr community #my posts #tag game #ser writes stuff #beast #wip: beast #find the word tag #char: icarus #char: rhyme #char: iri #char: beatriz #*crawls out of some dank musty cavern to answer one (1) find the word tag #*crawls back in to continue hibernating #anyway hi yes I'm alive I am just a) really bad at committing to things #b) still not writing #and c) hyperfixating on genshin impact (yes I have fallen prey to gacha mechanics I am unfortunately rather weak) #also I'm going on a pretty long trip so I might be stuck in this semi-hiatus state until like. next year #also guess who's in the first snippet :D (hint: starts with k) #no I will not be elaborating

[nerdytyrantphantom]

morning sex with joel | drabble (18+)

a sequel to cockwarming with joel. 18+ MINORS DNI

your body had memorized what time your alarm would sound. and so like clockwork, you’d awaken an hour early, the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains and illuminating the pixie dust that floated in the air. 

you’d wake up the same way you’d fallen asleep: on your side, with joel’s arms wrapped around you, the soft rise and fall of his chest undulating against your back, and his light sighs ghosting the crook of your neck. apart, neither of you slept, both tossing and turning throughout the night. but together, you two slept like rocks, encased in a blanket of safety and security knowing the other was there. if you had your way, you’d stay like this forever, fossilizing the moment in warm liquid amber. 

when you woke up, you genuinely tried your best not to wake joel. you’d only stroke the toned arm that held you, tracing the scars etched into his skin, counting each freckle that sprinkled the surface. but the longer that time passed, the more you found yourself stirring just a bit, involuntarily grinding your hips against him as your core grew wet with want.

right on cue, you’d feel joel rouse awake and exhale a deep yawn. with a lazy squeeze of your breast, like he was trying to make sure you were right where you left him, nothing had changed – and of course it hadn’t – joel would hum with content and nuzzle his face further into your neck. 

words weren’t needed. his hand would crawl up your chest towards the column of your neck, where his strong fingers would firmly grip. it wasn’t an aggressive or dominating move – rather a way for him to hold you in place as he guided his growing erection between your cheeks.

you’d smirk into the pillow as he gently bucked his hips, using your butt to warm himself up. your stomach somersaulted at the feeling of his cock hardening with each shallow thrust, the tip of him threatening to leak over your supple cheeks. “good morning, baby,” you’d purr, crossing your arms over his, refusing him from letting go of the hold he had on you. you’d arch your back into his touch, rolling your head back over his shoulder in surrender.

after his sleep, joel was full of energy. like a bear awakening from hibernation ready for its first meal, he would become full of carnal pangs, hungry and unsatiated – an appetite that needed to be fed. he’d testingly sink his teeth into your neck, softening his bite the second it became too sharp, and then tenderly lick the flesh that blossomed with a bruise, like he were delicately placing a band-aid. 

while his left hand remained wrapped around your shoulders, holding your neck in place, his right hand would slide between your thighs with lazy curiosity. his fingertips would glide up your lips, spooning up the wetness oozing from your core, before plunging his lubricated index finger into your heat. carefully, he’d massage your pussy, feeling your body buzz and clench around his digit. with a hum of satisfaction, his finger becoming soaked in your juices, he’d slip his middle finger in after it. 

for what felt like eternity most days, joel would do that. just hold your body flushed against him while he explored your insides, maintaining a leisurely pace finger-fucking you raw until droplets of perspiration collected on your forehead and pasted your hair to your face.

when you needed more, you’d tug his hand up to your lips, sucking his thumb into your mouth. “joel,” you’d whine, voice muffled by his finger. he’d continue to let you suck, pacifying your hushed pleas, while his fingers would teasingly move towards your clit. coated in your own juices, he’d wetten the small bundle of nerves with your own slick, drawing lazy circles over it until it was swelling like a flower in bloom. you’d cry out around his thumb, eyes prickling with tears at the pleasure. 

finally, he would speak. “come on, baby,” he’d encourage in a hushed whisper, nosing against your cheek. he’d kiss away the tears of ecstasy that streamed down your face. “tell me what you need, sweet girl.” 

eyes rolling into the back of your head, you’d release his thumb with a pop. “n-need you,” you’d whimper, mouth dry, as the blood rushed to your face. you got drunk off of joel – the sensation of his rough, calloused fingers toying with you like a plaything, the heat of his body radiating onto yours, the prodding of his cock still teasingly rubbing against your ass. “please, joel.”

he’d lower his hand from your lips and caress your jaw, delicately holding you like you were made of glass as he turned your face towards his. “shhh,” he’d coo, lips planting kisses all along your forehead, your cheeks, where your chin met your jaw. “‘gonna get you there, baby,” he’d promise, finally releasing his fingers from your clit and placing his hand on the inside of your thigh.

gently, he’d raise your leg before lining his cock with your entrance. at night, you were accustomed to him slowly working his way in, carefully easing himself inside with no rush or agenda. but now, when your pussy was dripping and begging to be filled, there was no need for patience. with one strong thrust, he’d push himself in until the thatch of hair above his cock pressed against your back.

you’d release a sharp cry followed by a sigh of relief. unable to restrain yourself, you’d shove back your hips, desperate for friction. “fuck,” you’d seethe, your hand reaching over your head to cling to joel’s hair. as your fingers threaded through his thick locks, you’d tug, a silent way of begging him for more.

joel knew what you needed and how to give it to you. he knew how to strike the perfect balance between gentle and rough, how hard he could push himself inside of you, and how to make you melt under a soft bouquet of kisses. and he knew when you were ready for him to guide you onto your stomach, making you parallel with the mattress, so that he could position himself as deep and close to you as possible.

flat on your stomach, you’d raise your hips for joel. what you two shared was a gift of reciprocity; you promised to give joel everything he wanted to take, and joel promised to deliver everything he had. with his arms caged around you, the comforting weight of his body pressed against your back, the wet squelch of joel stuffing you full was the only sound filling the air.

“fuck, baby,” joel would groan, his southern drawl and sleep-laced voice rocking further waves of arousal throughout your body. he’d lift himself up momentarily, watching the way his cock disappeared inside of you, while his palms would trace the contours of your back and shoulders. then he’d fall back down, burrowing his face back into your ear.

this was your favorite joel miller – the one who let you help him come undone and completely let go, living in the moment and allowing his body to be raptured in pleasure, unafraid to speak his mind. you’d listen to the unfiltered hymns spill from his mouth, savoring each word and phrase. “god,” he’d whimper, his body growing weak with pleasure. with his lips against your ear, his voice would travel throughout your body, straight to your heat, further clenching around him. 

as his own sweat dripped onto you, both of your faces framed in wet strands of hair that clung to your skin, he’d continue. “your pussy takes me so well,” he’d murmur, the speed of his words quickening as he neared his climax. “so warm and so wet.” he’d grunt as his hips pounded against you more sloppily, the wet smack of his thighs echoing in the sun-soaked room. “it’s all for me, isn’t it?” he’d ask – a rhetorical question – but one that drove him to the edge when you answered it. 

“yes, baby,” you’d plead, squeezing your pillow as joel hammered into you. the feeling of his body blanketing you was perfect, and despite the heat, you never wanted him to leave. “it’s all yours, joel,” you promised, grinding your hips up to meet his, close to your own orgasm. “always will be.”

a low groan fell from joel’s lips. he bucked his hips into you one, two, three times, before he was collapsing on top of you, your own shock of pleasure radiating throughout your body. as joel caught his breath, still buried against your ear, you closed your eyes and basked in the warmth of his cum filling you up and seeping from between your legs. you savored the moment for as long as it lasted, grateful to be joel miller’s escape.

“god, baby,” he’d pant, his sweat-soaked body still pressing against yours. “you’re so fucking perfect.” then he’d roll off of you, making you chest-to-chest, and pull you against him. with utmost tenderness, he’d swipe your hair out of your face, eyes taking in your tear-stricken ones, your rosy cheeks, swollen lips. 

his mouth would crack into a crooked smile as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ears. “you know that?” he’d ask, pecking the corner of your lips. resting his forehead against your own, he’d repeat it: “you’re perfect.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #drabble

[f10werfae]

Daddy’s Pudge

pairing: Construction!Chris x Wife!Pregnant!Reader

summary: With Chris sporting more of a dad bod, Y/n gives him a little pick me up to show how sexy her baby daddy really is. (EmotionallySoft!Chris) (Dilf!Chris)

Disclaimer: This story is fiction and should not be taken literally, the behaviour is simply imaginative and the content may be inappropriate

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Fahk sake” Chris groaned turning to the side, after stripping out of his work trousers, his large hands pulling at the extra pudge on his stomach. “What’s wrong big daddy?” Y/n smiled wrapping her arms around his body, kissing his shoulder, her swollen stomach very clearly in the way. Their first baby due in only a few months time, both of them in love as if it was still their first date.

At 28 and 36, the couple had their dream country home that Chris had built himself from the ground up, even a complimentary porch swing that Y/n said soothed her back pain.

“Baby ya need to stop cookin’ so good, gettin’ me all soft and pudgey over ‘ere” Chris groaned watching the extra skin jiggle in his hand, a small scowl growing on his face. “But I love you soft and pudgey, makes me feel all safe n’ warm” Y/n beamed affectionately petting his stomach, her face nuzzling in as best as possible into his back muscles. Her face watching his expression through the body length mirror by her makeup vanity, one he also built.

“If it makes you feel better i’m also soft n’ pudgey” Y/n said chuckling seeing his face still in a frown, turning him around to see her cupping her baby bump. “But that’s different sugar, you look sexy as shit and I look-“

“You look sexy and daddy as fuck okay? Like you’re a big bear gettin’ ready to hibernate with me and our little monster” Scolding with her newfound mother-like tone, she patted his chest at each word, “plus who else will eat my food?” She pouted batting her eyelashes up at him, knowing damn well that got him under her spell every time.

“Don’t ya think maybe I should work out a bit more though? Even my arms and legs are getting a bit big?” Chris said turning from side to side, his bearded face falling and his long brushed back hair made him look all that more, mature.

“lay down for me baby” Y/n whispered pushing him onto the edge of their bed, clad in only boxers, Chris wrapped his arms around his centre self consciously. It was safe to say that these past few months the couple had starting “nesting” Filling up with delicious food, tons of cuddles and tons of sex.

“Love your body daddy, all of it” Y/n whispered slowly unwrapping his arms away from himself, straddling his hips, she bent down and splayed wet butterfly kisses all over his stomach. Her fingers softly kneading the flesh as she continued to rain kisses all over his slightly tanned skin, “you okay hubby?” She asked looking up at him mid-kiss, surprised to see a few tears collecting in his eyes.

“U-uh yeah” Chris whispered biting onto his bottom lip, watching as Y/n crawled up his body, both their chests pressed against each other, her stomach against his. “Just thinkin’ bout how lucky I am to have ya n’ how much I love ya” Nuzzling his nose with hers, he breathed out a sigh of relief feeling her hands interlock with his, almost as if it was confirmation that she was really there with him.

“Then why you cryin’ for baby?” Y/n smiled brushing away his stray tears, that was another thing about her husband that she loved, he was very emotionally open and that made their relationship even stronger.

“It’s stupid, but the thought of losin’ ya n’ baby flashed across ma mind” He chuckled shaking his head, only for her to hold it to look at her, “m’staying right here honey, you saw not even my pa could keep me away from your sexy ass” Eagerly kissing his soft lips, his hands came up to settle on her rear, smirking into the kiss once he started pressing his fingers in gently.

“Nuh-uh, tonight is about you” Pushing his hands off her ass, Y/n shimmied back down his body, settling onto her knees on the floor; Chris giving her a pillow to kneel on.

“Love these thighs, love feelin’ them on me, under me and when I sit on them while having some passionate lovin’ with my husband” Y/n smirked kissing down each thigh, remembering how each time they would have crazy sexcapades, the slapping sound of his thighs against hers made it that even more sexy and lewd. Something about the fact that they were both so connected at that one moment.

“Baby you don’t havta-“

“Shush, n’ these arms, God forgive me but they’re heavenly. Havin’ them wrapped around me every single day, makin’ me feel all safe n’ protected and how they hold me down so well” Y/n smirked winking at him as she kissed each bicep, slightly trailing her tongue down one of them, all while Chris threw his head back breathing deeply.

Looking back at his wife, he leant down kissing her roughly, their kiss full of love and intimacy as her hand ventured down to deal with the growth in his boxers. “Can’t forget my other favourite thing about my loving husband” She laughed softly, taking Chris’ hardened cock out, her hands fisting it slowly and tightly.

“This okay baby?” She asked with one hand around his neck, kissing his cheeks and lips, feeling his lips quiver and struggle to kiss her back every time her finger ran over his slit. “Fuckin’ amazing sugar, you treat me so well” He sighed leaning his forehead against hers, his hips slowly rolling up into her hand, showing his strength with her still on his lap.

“Well gotta show some appreciate to my baby daddy, husband, boyfriend, soulmate, love of-“

“Okay okay sugar I get ya, I love ya too” He chuckled shutting her up by kissing her out of nowhere, causing her mind to go blank and her face to light up with a sleepy-like smile, gushing as if she was still a teenage girl.

Pumping his cock steadily Y/n felt his cock twitch in her hand, feeling his breaths start to get rapid and erratic, his hands venturing over her own body as well. “Gonna cum soon sweets” He whispered against the skin exposed by her low cut vest, sucking small hickies onto the curve of her breasts, his tongue licking strips up to her mouth and playing with her tongue.

“Mhm I know baby, I’ve got ya honey, cum for me” Y/n whispered kissing his ear softly, both his hands groping each of her swollen breasts, massaging the aching feeling that had recently built up the past few weeks.

“Gonna cum all over ya momma, gonna cum hard” Chris whimpered, his voice shaking and needy, his hands massaging her breasts in circular motions as she spat into her hand and returned it to his cock. Her wedding ring cold against his shaft as her hand quickened the pace, from base to tip every single stroke, her thumb rubbing over his slit just to tease his sensitive cock even more. His new nickname for her ever since they found they were expecting making a new appearance in the bedroom.

“Fuck fuckfuck oh baby love- love you so goddamn much” Chris mumbled incoherently, Y/n smiling proudly as white strings of cum shot out of her husband, covered both her hands and a bit of his thighs. “See, told you you’re sexy, and not even a lil bit of pudge will change that. Hell a lot of pudge wouldn’t even make me flinch. You’ll be an amazing daddy, n’ nothin will change that” Y/n whispered kissing his nose, her hands slowly pumping his soft cock as he hissed and moaned.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Chris breathed out, wiping her hand down with a random shirt on the bed, his eyes dazed and gleaming like they always would. He just loved her so darn much, and her him. “um you mighta mentioned it a few times?” Y/n joked pushing his hair back, cupping his face to kiss his lips again, taking his bottom lip between hers and sucking it softly.

Breaking away he looked at her, “Baby do ya want me to- ya know?”

“Ya kiddin’ me? I’m tired big boy, let’s sleep and we can discuss this in the morn, lil monster has me tuckered out” She laughed standing up and waddling to her side of the bed, almost as if nothing had happened, Chris following her in disbelief.

“Plus sometimes my man deserves some extra loving, no harm in it” She whispered now that they were facing each other under the soft sheets, their arms wrapped around each other, with his burlier arms wrapped around her proudly and protectively. His smile that bit more brighter, he was due to be a father, and he had an amazing woman by his side. What else could he need?

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @pandaxnienke @patzammit @thereisa8ella @mrspeacem1nusone @evanstanwhore @itsaylayay1213 @kimhtoo17 @chrisevansdaughter @vrittivsanghavi @dumb-fawkin-bitch @tojisbabymomma @bxdbxtxh15 @madebylilly @tinyelfperson @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @royalwriteroftheuniverse @fdl305 @mdpplgtz03 @mirikusashes @marvelgurl @cevansgurl @xoxokiaraaxoxo @caps-shield1918 @uwiuwi @stormcloudss @adoreyouusugar @imboredat2am @mansaaay @girl-of-multi-fandoms @meetmeatyourworst @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @nikkitc0703 @mischiefsemimanaged @oliviah-25 @s-void @aerangi @roofwitty779 @ravenhood2792 @feltonswifesworld87 @alina02 @bookfrog242 @alexxavicry @bluebellsn @lastwandastan @angelmather1 @diyabhanushali1 @violetsdreamworld @bval-1 @stuckysgirl27 @wintasssoldier @hatsparkle @daddymack01 @keiva1000 @acornacre @minaxcarter @thebaileybugle @seungcheol17daddy

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x pregnant!reader #chris evans one shot #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x wife!reader #construction!chris #chris evans smut #dad! chris evans #romance #chris evans rpf

[dellalyra]

𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣’𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙮

ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴇxᴛʀᴀ

A/N: hello it is i pixie emerged from hibernation to drop you this month late extra of our favourite family and then crawl back into my lair.

cw: the usual swearing, mentions of sexism, menstruation and female reproductive system, suggestive ending.

“No way! See I heard it had something to do with that little twerp from the Zen’in clan. Navel - or nacho or whatever the fuck his name is.”

“Ugh - why does that not even surprise me. He’s such a shithead, like you should have seen the look on his face when my mom interjected at a Jujutsu higher ups event she muscled her way into. Honestly it’s gotta be like - microscopic. Oh and it’s Navel now - never using Naoya again.”

Shoko and you had just been out on a girls day out, just the two of you - a visit to the arcade, lunch, some shopping and an exhibition on the human body. It had to be done, girl time was integral to maintaining a sense of sanity when the other 50% of the friend group was G.S squared.

The gossip had continued back to the dorms, where you both stood holding bags of snacks and the days haul while you put in the key code.

The door swung open and there stood Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto - both decked in pink party hats and shouting ‘surprise!’ (okay, gojo was shouting - geto was just saying).

“Jesus Christ!”

“What the fuck?!”

The camaraderie that came from the jumpscare resulted in Shoko and you both swearing and jumping in surprise at the sudden appearance.

Before either of you could react any further to it, long arms still a bit unaware of his strength, tug you both into a bonecrushing hug.

Shoko twists Satoru’s nipple through his shirt so he shrieks and lets you both you (you hide your disappointment).

You look at Geto, who winks with a devilish smirk and turn to the wall where the table is laid out with both you and Shoko’s favourites and a giant handmade poster on the wall with “Happy International Women’s Day” in large bubble writing.

Suddenly the confused silence was broken as a cheerful voice started singing, and was then accompanied by a louder Satoru.

“Happy InternationalWomen’sDay to you, Happy InternationalWomen’sDay to you! Happy InternationalWomen’sDay Shoko and Y/N, Happy InternationalWomen’sDay to you!” echoed with far too many syllables in the tune of ‘happy birthday’ across the room as Haibara emerged from the kitchen, with a strange red blob shaped cake in his hands followed by a very unhappy looking Nanami Kento.

The cake was placed on the table as you and Shoko looked at it in confusion - it was a red colour frosting on a cake shaped like a weird triangle with two squiggles coming from the sides joined to two cupcakes. For the life of you - and Shoko too if the look on her face was anything to go by - you had no idea what the cake was meant to be.

Suguru’s smirk was unnerving as he looked between you both.

“Shoko-senpai and Y/N-senpai! So strong, and powerful, and clever and pretty! Not that being pretty is important for being a woman - it’s just a bonus - not that it’s not great that you’re pretty, because it is, like it’s amazing! If I was into girls I’d definitely be into you both! But it’s not what makes you amazing!” Haibara says, clapping his hands.

“The strongest, most powerful, clever and cunning and most beautiful girls! We couldn’t do any of this without you. Well, I could -” Satoru starts.

“Satoru.” Geto warns.

“Okay, maybe I sometimes need backup and you girls are definitely the best choices after Suguru!” He finishes.

“That was barely complimentary.” Nanami scowls.

“We love and respect you both!” Satoru says.

“Some love you more than others…” Suguru smirks.

“Equally! Equally! We love you all equally and in a very friendly, respectful, and caring way!” Satoru says, kicking Suguru’s shin.

This whole time, you and Shoko had just been staring between them all.

“What the fuck…” Shoko whispers.

“Ditto…” You pipe in.

Satoru pops pink party poppers in both your faces and then Suguru uses the distraction to place a party hat on both your heads.

“Shoko - you save our asses, sometimes literally on an almost daily basis. Your no nonsense attitude and ability to care for us all and unflappable nature is a core reason we’re all here and we would be lost without you. You’re also underhandedly funny, and we’re very thankful to have you in our lives.” Suguru says, smooth and steady as always, and elbows a fidgeting Satoru.

“Y/N! You - are so awesome! You’re smart, and funny, and kind, and you make sure we’re all safe and strong and it’s so cool when you kick ass and I love exorcising with you - and your cursed technique is so cool and you work so hard and I don’t really respect many people but I definitely respect you! You’re also beautiful but that’s not important - not that you’re not like, importantly pretty! Because I think it’s very important that everyone knows you’re so pretty!” Came a gushing scramble of words from the usually overconfident Satoru - because complimenting the one person who has ever made him nervous was a bit of a shock to the system of the Honoured One.

For a moment, you and Shoko just stood in bewildered silence - still holding hands from when you walked in.

Before you look at each other, and simultaneously double over in hysterical laughter - clutching onto each other for support.

“This was so fucking strange, but I love it - we love it. Thank you boys, for this. It’s really appreciated.”

“That’s because we - appreciate you!” Gojo says, pointing between the four boys.

You hug all the boys, while Shoko inspects the cake on the table.

“Is this a Magikarp or something?” She asks, head tilted as she examines the red blob.

“It’s a uterus!” Haibara exclaims.

After trying to figure it out - the cupcakes where the ovaries should be and the triangle the uterus itself… it makes slightly more sense - but maybe International Women’s Day would be spent with an anatomy lesson from Shoko.

“Kid, listen - today we are going to be extra respectful of our girls, yeah?” Satoru says, opening the bag of pastries he had bought for breakfast the night before after Megumi talked him out of attempting to make pancakes. Megumi nodded, and placed the two bouquets of flowers on the two chairs his mom and sister usually sat in.

“They’re both very, very important to us. Sometimes, kid - the world is really shit for girls. A lot more than it is for us. Things that might be a bit difficult for us - not for me, but others - would be really hard for girls.”

“Periods.” Megumi grimaces, but nods solemnly.

“Yeah. But other things too. Like sometimes girls get less money for the same jobs, and people try to tell them how to look or how to act - or, no joke, tell them what they can do with their own body! Even simple stuff, like sometimes it’s dangerous for girls to go certain places, or people might expect less from them just because they’re girls.”

“Even for Mama?” Megumi asks, confused because from his perspective, the woman who has raised him the past 2 years is the most powerful (second to Gojo, but don’t tell him that) and formidable person he knows, and the kindest and funniest.

"Sometimes especially for her. Y/N is really strong, yeah?" Gojo asks, taking out a jug of juice and placing it on the table, before scribbling on one of your cinnimaroll post it notes and sticking it on the jug.

"Yeah." Megumi nods.

"Do you think that's scary?" Gojo asks.

"I think it's cool." The boy shrugs.

"Some men don't. They think she doesn't deserve it, or she is too weak to hold such a power - did you know your mama had more disciplinary meetings at school than I did?" Gojo says as he switches the kettle on.

"Why? Yaga-san said you were a nightmare student." Megumi is shocked at the thought.

"I was. But what's the difference between me and your mom?" Gojo says, pulling down 4 mugs. One with two puppies, one with the Winx Club characters on it, another with ‘Daddy Cool’ in big obnoxious yellow writing and the last with the BTS logo in purple.

"She isn't annoying."

"Okay, rude."

"She's a girl."

"Yep. That's why. Your - your Uncle Suguru was special grade too - and he and I did some crazy shit - and we got slaps on the wrist mostly, but your mom was late with a mission report one time because she was sick and they gave her extra work for a month. Aunty Koko too."

"But why?"

"Because weak men fear powerful women."

"That's dumb."

"Super dumb."

“Something girls in my class get notes sent home even though they didn’t do anything really bad.” Megumi scowls.

“That’s why we gotta fight to make sure we’re not part of the problem, and stop boys who are.” Satoru says, placing the heated pastries on the table.

“Like fighting them?”

“Sometimes they’re not even worth the effort, kid. Just stick up for girls and never treat them as anything less than a boy - okay? There’s shit girls deal with that we will never go through or understand.”

“Oh, like the stuff you and mama talked about with the girls my age in the Zen’in clan?”

“Your cousins, yeah.”

“And why the higher ups are dicks to mama’s family?”

“Exactly! You’re so smart you have to have gotten it from me.” Gojo smiles, hands on hips in his frilly apron.

“That’s not even possible.”

“Yes it is, I made it possible.” Satoru’s just winding the 9 year old up at this point.

“You’re impossible.” Megumi growls.

“Your hair’s impossible!” Satoru blows a raspberry.

“A slow start to the day is impossible, apparently.” Came your voice from where you stood leaning against the archway to the kitchen, a sleepy smile on your face in your fluffy blue robe and bunny slippers. Tsumiki padded up behind you, much brighter and a definite morning person.

“Happy international women’s day, my amazing girlie pops!” Satoru claps and scoops you both into the air with ease, giggles resounding through the room.

Megumi just scrunches his nose, staring bewildered at where the man gets his energy.

“Thank you, ‘Toru. You’re very sweet to do this.” You kiss him with a smile and walk to sit down at the table.

“Not as sweet as that a-” Satoru starts, but is swiftly cut off my Megumi’s disgusted groan, unable for his guardians flirting just yet.

You sit down and sniff the bouquet on your chair, delighting in the assortment of your favourite flowers, as Tsumiki does the same beside you.

“Happy women’s day, mama and Tsumiki.” Megumi nods, quiet but clear.

“Thanks, ‘gumi!” Tsumiki smiles, ruffling her younger brother’s spiky black hair.

“Thanks, sweet boy.” You wink at him.

As you go to pour yourself some juice, you can’t stop the giggle at the stick note on the carton.

‘Respect Women Juice’

“Yo, mini-me, did you grab the Doriyaki on the way home?” A 44 year old Satoru asks his 17 year old son who’s entering the kitchen.

“Yeah, I got extra too because ‘Rai’s been crabby so I think she’s due shark week.” The boy says, snatching a mochi from the box before Satoru could.

“Your mom too…” Satoru’s head turns sharply.

“Oh shit.”

“It’s happened…”

“We can do this - dad.” His son says with a straight, serious face as they both examine the calender.

“We just gotta be the best husband, son and brother ever.” Satoru nods.

“Well… that won’t be hard.” Akio smirks, only 2 inches shorter than his dad and growing.

“Of course it won’t. We’re the strongest.” Satoru says, doing his ridiculously intricate secret handshake with his son.

A moment later, two sets of feet pad down the stairs.

43 year old you and your 14 year old daughter walk into the room, your arms snugly wrapped around your little girl’s shoulders.

You knew what to expect on March 8th every year by now, it had been 25 years of it.

“Happy international women’s day, my incredible wife and mind blowing daughter.” Satoru says with a smile and open arms spanning half the kitchen.

“25 years of this and it still gives me butterflies, thank you ‘Toru.” You say, pressing a kiss to your husbands jaw by dragging his collar down to meet you.

“Thanks dad, thanks ‘Kio!” Mirai claps and hugs them both.

“Thank you, mochi.” You say, also dragging your too-tall son’s collar down to press a kiss to his cheek.

As you all sit down to breakfast, and chatter aimlessly, Satoru pulls you to sit on his lap as always.

“Oh, ‘Rai, I’m gonna go into the mall to pick up my new Nikes too - do you want to come?” Akio says, and even though this is a regular occurrence - it warms your heart every time to see that your two babies aren’t only siblings, but also best friends - genuinely enjoying each other’s company and actively seeking each other out. Something tells you that will never change, either.

“Sounds good, do you still want to try that new boba place? The one with the cat logo?” Mirai says, googling the opening times and showing it to her brother.

“Bring me back a brown sugar milk tea?” You plead, the same look on your face as when 17 year old you got excited for boba dates with Satoru.

“Course, Mama. Papa, do you want one?” Mirai asks, her long snowy white hair bushy and wild from bed head inherited from you.

Satoru smiles, hand rubbing circles against your hip as Mirai types his order into her notes.

“Is Aunty Koko still coming over tonight?” Akio asks, looking up at you with eyes just like his father’s.

“She is, I think Uncle Cho too. I was thinking we’d order pizza.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yes, mom - you actually have mind reading technique I swear.” He pats your head as if you weren’t his mother.

The two kids wander to get dressed, leaving you still sipping coffee curled against your husbands broad chest.

Your phone dings with a notification from the family group chat, and Satoru nudges you to open it.

A selfie, clearly taken by Yuuji, face scarred and older but beaming expression unchanged - featuring a taller, sharper 31 year old Megumi with a toddler in each arm, looking out over the ocean at sunset.

“They seem bigger every time I see them.” Satoru laughs.

“The twins or Yuuji and Megs?” You giggle.

“Both. Still can’t believe ‘Gumi had the audacity to grow up so much. I specifically told him to stop.”

“Eh? Satoru - imagine how I feel! Both our sons are at least a foot taller than me! Try talking to a kid when you need a step stool to look them in the eye!” You poke his cheek.

“Nawh, poor baby. You’re as pocket sized as the day I met that pretty girl holding a ladybug waiting for introduction at Jujutsu Tech. Gonna carry you around in my pocket.” Your husband teases, squishing your frowning cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah - alright daddy long legs.”

“Seriously though - we should take another trip to Malaysia, get Cho to stay with the kids. We can ask the boys where they stayed, looks pretty as hell.”

“Let’s do it, pretty boy.” You kiss the corner of his lips.

“You know… the kids are gone all afternoon…” He says, large hands squeezing your waist.

“They are… and it just so happens I just bought something very, very pretty to try on.” You raise an eyebrow, biting your lip.

“Oh? A private fashion show?” He says, thumb on your lower lip.

“Just for my ‘Toru.”

“Invite really fuckin’ accepted, princess.”

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #dad!gojo

[dearmantis]

A lost embrace

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader

Summary: You're not sure how long you can continue living like this. How long you can pretend that everything is alright. Like you can't feel your soul rotting in your chest.

Warnings: infidelity (?), betrayal, some Darkling slander (he deserves it), a hint of gaslighting, toxic relationship, mentioned smut (it's only 4 words, I can't write smut I'm so sorry), a tiny hint of suicidal thoughts, wishing for someone's death

Word Count: 1.2k

Authors' Note: There was a different ending to this that made it a bit darker and made him more possessive (and also made him a bit more of a romantic in a fucked up way?), but I didn't think anyone would really care for that, so I left it out. Also I'm not a native English speaker and this isnt edited.

Masterlist

You love your husband. You love him more than the moon, the stars and the saints, but you do not trust him.

You can't. Not since the sun summoner appeared in the Little Palace and Aleksander pushed you away like a simple inconvenience to make space for her.

She's a young girl who doesn't know any better. Someone who sees a husband betray his wife for her and sees it as something good, a compliment from him towards her. From her perspective you're an obstacle standing between her and the man who has been so welcoming and wonderful to her. She doesn't understand that you're not her enemy, that she fell for a trap designed specifically for her.

You see through it though. You see through it all.

You can't stop seeing.

The first time you mention the game the Shadow Summoner is playing with Alina he comforts and reassures you, his voice soft and familiar like freshly washed wool. He takes you in his arms, pressing your body close to his as he lists every reason why he married you. You fall asleep with your head on his chest that night, listening to his calm and steady heartbeat while his fingers draw patterns on your back.

Just to wake up all alone the next morning, finding out through Ivan that he went out to ride horses with the sun summoner, your heart dropping to the heart of the world.

The second time you bring his behaviour up, he's harsh and clearly annoyed by the fact that you haven't forgotten, that you're not giving up on his repeated behaviour despite how sweet he can be sometimes.

"You don't trust me? After two centuries of marriage, you can't trust me? I hunted down the very amplifiers keeping you alive, and now you believe I'm trying to replace you? You're insane."

The third time he's even harsher, voice awfully calm and cold has he speaks down to you. He reminds you so much of his own mother in that moment that you have to wonder if it's just time making him bitter and cruel, or if this part of him has always been there, slumbering in his chest like a bear in hibernation.

"You're too old for this childish jealousy."

But you can be just as cruel when you want to be.

"And you're too old and too married to chase the skirt of a scared little girl in front of all of Ravka, but here we are."

He sleeps in the war room after that night, the shadows that fill the room at his silent anger crawling through the space under the door into the bedroom, but you pay them no mind.

Every night you hope the darkness he unconsciously summons in his sleep scares him to death when he wakes up and frees you from this torment. Maybe he will be so scared he accidentally kills you too.

When Alina finally runs away, horrified by the truth of who and what Aleksander truly is, you don't even bother to act like you don't think he deserves this, like you don't pray that the young sun summoner disappears from the face of the world and never returns, leaving him to live through eternity alone.

No, you just stare at your husband, expression blank like freshly fallen snow, the words resting on your tongue stinging like acid when you finally speak.

"Your true equal wouldn't have left after finding out who you are. Your equal would've stayed to help with your plans, or done their best to kill you before you find out that they know your biggest secret."

Your words are a reminder of what happened when you found out about his true identity. You had discovered one of his diaries one day, reading it while he was out, scouting the area around the Little Palace because of a few recent Drüskelle sightings, and when he returned to your quarters and saw the open notebook on his desk, he thought you had fled.

Then he heard your quiet sobs and slowly stepped over to your shared bedroom, opening the door to reveal your shaking body on the bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket and hugging a pillow to your chest.

You were whimpering and crying like a wounded animal, and when he asked what happened you stared at him for a few seconds before loudly wailing, hysterically blabbering something about leaving him all alone after your death and how lonely and scared he must've been for most of his life. It was a pathetic sight to behold. A sight that he claims proved to him that he wants to spend the rest of eternity with you, or at least as long as you will let him stay at your side.

You're starting to doubt that now, obviously.

But when he returns to the Little Palace, almost on deaths doorstep, his body covered in wounds the healers have trouble healing, he turns into the soft, familiar Aleksander again. Your husband.

He's quiet, sweet, kind, and polite. He thanks you for putting up with him, for being his wife even after everything he has done. For accepting him for who he is. For staying.

He wakes up screaming occasionally, tears running down his face while he anxiously looks around and slowly realises that he's no longer dreaming.

He begs you to let him sleep next to you in your shared bed again, his eyes wet and filled with worry as if he's scared of being alone in the darkness of the night, and you give in, wrapping your arms around him as he presses his ear against your chest, waiting for the sound of your heartbeat to lull him to sleep.

Everything is like it was before Alina for a few weeks. You're glued together at the hips, spending every hour you can at each others sides. He kisses you, finishes inside of you, holds you while you sleep and helps you wash your hair, and you kiss every single one of his scars, your soft lips carefully touching the ink black lines covering his body, paying extra attention and love to those in his face.

It's the bare minimum, but after months of not receiving any of his affections you relish in his love the way the trees enjoy the first warm and bright day of spring after a brutal winter.

But despite all of that love there's a dark corner in your heart where a piece of your withering soul waits for the other shoe to drop, and when it finally does you can feel how the rest of your heart fills with rot and decay.

That kefta – that stupid, horrible piece of wasted fabric and stitching – is the reason. The reason for the tiny bit of darkness now sitting between your ribs.

You're already laying in bed, fluffing up the pillows and getting in position to cuddle with your husband, when Aleksander steps in, the golden treads on the clothing item shimmering in the light of the candle on your bedside table.

Jaw clenching slightly, you watch as he undresses, carefully hanging the kefta up in his wardrobe as if it is his most prized possession.

You don't know if it's an accident, or perhaps a sign from the universe, but he hangs it right in front of the kefta he married you in, covering the beautiful ink black fabric and it's intricate and complicated decorative stitching almost entirely from view. There's acid rising in your throat at the sight of it and it's many implications.

When he turns back to you, now in his pajamas, he seems to finally realise that something is wrong, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at you. "Are you alright, milaya?"

You nod stiffly, laying down and pulling the blanket up to your chin. He doesn't question your behaviour further. He probably doesn't care, to be completely honest.

The Darkling joins you a few seconds later, bending over you to blow out your candle before dropping a single, short kiss onto your forehead.

That night he sleeps with his back turned to you for the first time since he returned from his near death encounter in the fold.

You don't mind it much, unable to sleep anyways as you stare at the back of his head and remember all the times he has rejected the idea of adding some of your grisha colour to his kefta.

"But I have black on my kefta. Why would it be so bad if you wore some of my colour as well?"

"That's different. The black protects you. It shows people not to touch you. If I wear your colour people are going to accuse me of favouring your grisha order over the others. I just want you to be save. I can do that by showing that you're mine."

You never want to see the colour black again.

Part 2: There's no love like our love

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader

[mirclealignr]

autumn leaves | laurie laurence.

laurie had never understood your partiality for the autumn months, with their bitter weather, prolonged nights and early sunsets, which left your candles burning longer than was typical, and suddenly you found yourself in town buying wax candles several more times a month than earlier in the year. it was extortionate and very inconvenient, and he found it easy to lay blame on the inhospitable season you adored so much.

oh, but how you tried to persuade him, to convince him of the opposite. 'just look at the trees' you'd tell him, and while he could not deny their beauty in autumn, changing slowly from green to orange, red and brown, he could not forget that he was admiring a beautiful death rather than a beautiful life.

"come for a walk with me, laurie? i think some fresh air will do us good," you suggested, having been cooped up inside all day, laurie focussing on his studies more intently than usual.

he barely looked up at the sound of your voice, and simply hummed in response as he continued to scribble mindlessly. sighing softly, you slung your outside coat on and pulled your wooly hat down over your ears to protect them from the chill. even as you tied your laces, laurie had not noticed any movement in the room or your change of appearance, too engrossed in his studies.

"laurie?" you called softly, but he gave no reply, "laurie!" you said more urgently this time.

"what?" he asked without looking up.

huffing, you stole the quill from between his fingers and discarded it on the desk, taking his hands in yours to force him to look your way without so much as a single distraction.

"you need a break, put your shoes on," you ordered.

"but-"

"i will not hear your ifs nor buts," you shook your head.

laurie hesitated for a moment before sighing softly, keeping his head down as he walked toward the hall where his shoes and coat were waiting to be worn. his legs were stiff from sitting so long in the same position, hardly thinking of his own well-being. today, that task had befallen you, though he hadn't intended for you to acquire such a burden.

"i do not understand your love for autumn," laurie reiterated as the cool air pierced his skin through his woolen garments.

"i know," you laughed, skipping ahead to crunch a pile of fallen leaves beneath your boots.

"do not leave me behind!" called laurie, fighting to catch up with you, only to have you run away again when he got close, "where are you going?"

you didn't reply, for you knew that with or without a response, laurie would follow you anywhere. running through the vast empty field, the expanse of green becoming a blur the faster you pushed yourself, you kept your eyes fixed to the towering oak tree. it was dwindling as summer and autumn shared their last embrace, laying out its life surrounding its home.

you stopped abruptly and laurie, who was racing behind you, thought something was amiss. he called out to you, only to have his voice washed away in the wind and distance. you crawled onto the floor, laying on your back beneath the almost leafless tree which was greeting its hibernation fondly, spreading your arms and legs out amongst the fallen drops of red, orange and brown.

laurie was utterly out of breath when he finally reached you, panting and grasping for breath that would not burn his throat. "what are you doing?" he asked weakly.

"making a leaf angel," you giggled, movie your arms and legs up and down and from side to side as you would in the snow.

laurie scoffed, laughing at himself for being so concerned for a brief moment in time. he dropped to the floor in exhaustion, no doubt exacerbated by his panic, and found himself mimicking your movements. you turned to him for a fleeting moment—he was smiling—before hauling yourself up from the ground.

"how does it look?" laurie asked, sitting up and climbing to his feet.

"perfect," you whispered, looking at the two little angels you had created in the colours, speckles of green poking through the thin layer of leaves where you and laurie had been lying.

"looks like they're holding hands," laurie obersved.

you hummed, "yes, it does," you looked down to your gloved hands, reaching out for laurie's rather daringly.

he foolishly tried to hide the blush that blossomed over his cheeks, leaving the two of you smiling and clutching each other's fingers tighter in quiet reassurance.

"come on, it looks as if it will rain," he nodded towards the darkening skies.

you pouted slightly, but you knew he was right, and you let him turn you away and begin to stroll back to the house.

"we'll come again tomorrow," he promised, kissing your temple softly.

library account; @mirclesjournal

#laurie laurence x reader #laurie laurence #theodore laurence #theodore laurence x reader #little women fanfiction #little women imagine

[rowdyhughesy]

You’re my home - B.Brisson

“And I tried callin' you a thousand times, You tried tellin' me a thousand lies. There's no need to apologise, It's not your fault again this time. Promise you won't say goodbye right now. Hold on when you have your doubts, tell me the things that I don't know. I'll tell you about tomorrow”

- tell me about tomorrow, jxdn

A/N: I have no memory of Briss saying anything about where he lived when he went to Michigan, bc I know he didn’t live with Bordy, Beniers and Truss? So let’s just imagine he has his own apartment also can’t decide if I hate this or not.

You knew Brendan had had a hard time, he was doubting himself. Thoughts about how maybe he didn’t fit in the NHL. That he wasn’t good enough. That he would never be good enough and he would be a bust. You knew he would sign at the end of sophomore year but that didn’t stop you from loving him. Sure you weren’t a couple but he was your person. Your best friend.

After trying for the past two hours to get in contact with said hockey player you figured he either had turned his phone off or it was hidden somewhere and he was hibernating under at least ten blankets on his bed. It wasn’t the first time this happened. The last time he didn’t answer your calls or text he was holed up in his room and when you got there he tried lying his way out of talking. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, however he had no problem showing his emotions. Always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He was a emotional person by nature he just didn’t see the point in talking about them. Usually you were the only one he ever opened up about those things to. So when he shut you out last time it stung because he may be your person but what if you aren’t his? The thought scared you. The worry about the end of the year simmering in the back of your mind, what if he doesn’t need you when he signs and moves to Vegas?

Most of the time you could push those thoughts away but now that he yet again isn’t answering his phone they crawl their way back.

You had texted Bordy after you knew their practice was over to see if Brendan had shown up or if he had heard anything but nothing. The blonde just told you that Brendan wasn’t at practice, something about how he was sick or had a test coming up. You knew both explanations were lies. Having 90% of your classes with Brendan you surely would have known if there was a test coming up and when you saw him yesterday he was the same as always. Energetic and talkative, which he isn’t when he is sick.

Huffing in frustration you grab the nearest jacket and slipping on the pair of custom crocs Brendan had given you for Christmas last year. Deciding to walk since he doesn’t live far away you try calling him one last time. It goes to voicemail, again. “Damn it Briss answer your phone.” Running a frustrated hand through your hair you continue walking, placing your phone back in the pocket of your sweatpants.

The walk is over quickly and you practically run up the stairs of his apartment building to the third floor. Thank god Briss have you a key at the beginning of the year. Slowing down your running/power walking you reach his door. You can’t hear the usual music, video game or TV playing from inside so you have two options. He possibly isn’t home or he’s as you suspect hiding in his bedroom.

Using your key you unlock the door, none of the lights are turned on and nothing seems out of the ordinary. Except for the faint cries you can hear from his bedroom. Shedding your jackets and shoes you quietly walk down the hall toward his room. The sound of Brendan’s sniffling getting louder the closer you get.

“Bren?” Peeking your head in from behind the door you’re greeted by the sight of your best friend. He’s curled up on the bed, the hood of his sweatshirt covering his face and he’s cradling a pillow to his chest. The sight making your heart crack. At the sound of your voice Brendan lifts his head up from the bed. His eyes are bloodshot, tear tracks are on his flushed cheeks. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that you’ve caught him crying, he only lifts one of his arms from the pillow. A silent request that he wants cuddles.

Climbing on the bed beside him you tug the taller boy into your chest, by reflex pulling his hood down so that you can run your fingers through his hair. The two of you lay there for a while in silence, Brendan’s still crying but you know he has to let it out before you try to get him to talk.

“I’m just scared. What if I disappoint everyone? What if I one day just wake up and I suck at Hockey. Everything I worked for, everything dad worked for just gone to waste.” Brendan has scooted up on the bed so he now has his face pressed against your neck. “You will never be a disappointment Brendan. You’re fucking Brendan Brisson. One of the most talented hockey players I know, sure hockey has been your whole life but you are so much more than some hockey player. You’re funny, you get peoples attention without even trying, you care so much about everyone around you. You’re my favourite human on this entire planet.”

Brendan hugs you tighter, his breath hot on your skin. “You’re my favourite too.” Silence settles over the room again after that. You figure he doesn’t want to talk about why he was crying so you let it go. That is until he opens his mouth again. “I don’t want to say goodbye at the end of the season. I wanna pack you up with me to vegas.” His words makes your breath hitch and you stay quiet for a couple of seconds. Trying to figure out if you heard him wrong or not. “Say goodbye? Brendan I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be here and I’ll travel to vegas as often as possible.”

Untangling himself from you Brendan sits up on the bed making you do the same. His gaze is intense and you know he’s serious, more then he usually is. “No you don’t get it. I don’t want to say goodbye because I can’t breath without you. Like everything just makes sense when you’re with me and I can’t loose that. I can’t loose you. I love you, I just wanna be with you all the time and you’re my home. God I sound so mushy.” Brendan rubs his face in his hands, posture slouching in defeat at not being able to word his feelings out loud. “Brendan Brisson, I love you too. So fucking much.” Taking a leap of faith you lean in, cautiously pressing your lips to his.

Brendan leans into the kiss, one hand finding it’s way to your cheek and the other to your waist pulling you closer so that you’re almost straddling his lap. Pulling away you’re both flushed and trying to catch your breath. Brendan’s hair is sticking up in all directions from where you tugged on the brown strands. Eyes blown and lips parted. “We don’t have to worry about those things right now. I just want to enjoy the time we have left so tell me. What are you doing tomorrow?”

#hockey blurb #umich hockey #brendan brisson #brendan brisson imagine #nhl imagine

[friendball-irl]

Death: Endings, Change, Transformations

Judgement: Judgement, Inner Calling, Rebirth

[CONNECTION FOUND

It's a live feed.

...

It's dark.

The only thing telling that Gray and Andromeda are travelling through the cave is their footsteps.

The darkness lasts for a few minutes before a light makes itself known around a now-revealed corner.

Gray hesitates for a moment before steeling himself, walking into an open cavern, with a waterfall from a hole in the ceiling being the only structure in the room.

And perched upon a stone spike jutting out from the pool formed by the waterfall is the creature.

The Shadow Pokemon.

It's... not a Pokemon you've seen before, yet it looks eerily similar to a Togekiss. It has a round shape, birdlike features with a flat face, etc, but this is not the same Pokemon.

Its features are pointed, with three irregularly-sized purple spikes protruding from its black feathers. Instead of wide, fluffy wings, this Pokemon's wings are thin and sharp. And most notably, its red eyes lack the energy and excitement of its counterpart, instead looking hollow and exhausted.

It tilts it's head at Gray, and a young child's voice is heard.

"We're of the same mind, human."

Gray startles, taking a step back. "I'm... I'm sorry, what?"

The creature blinks and yawns, before the voice speaks again.

"I said that we are alike. We share the same thoughts."

Gray stills for a moment, before taking a tentative step closer. "What do you mean?"

"You are tired. Tired of caring. Of loving. Of living your life the same way I once did. My kind... we thrive where there is peace. Yet in my childhood and far into my adulthood, I never was able to find a place that I felt was truly serene. It was hell, feeling the pain of others everywhere I went."

"So you closed your heart," Gray whispers, awed.

The Shadow's impassive expression shifts into a small, tired, yet genuine smile. "In a way. My biology... it did not allow the Shadow to truly control me. It left my mind in tact. But my heart? Oh, it's so calm. I haven't felt the fear or pain of another creature in years. Maybe even a decade, now. It's... freeing. The inability to feel those things. I cannot feel much of my positive emotions than slight amusement or curiosity, but I feel like it has been a worthy sacrifice."

Gray stands transfixed as the Shadow rambled on, as if it was telling a story to a young child.

"And yet, even with my heart closed, I still managed to sense you once you got close. A kindred spirit. That is why I caught the attention of your friend there."

Gray looks to Andi for a moment before returning his gaze to the Shadow. "You lead us to you?"

"Of course," the Shadow responds with a yawn. "Apologies... the Shadow... it makes me last without positive emotions, but I lack energy as a result. A perpetual state of near-hibernation, in a way."

"Regardless, I decided I wished to meet you. And seeing you in person, I have made up my mind. I would like to assist you, human. It has been an age since I have had company, or since I have left this mountain. I wish not to cause harm to this world or its people, but simply travel once more. I am no longer built for sustained flight, after all."

The Shadow falls silent, gazing into Gray's eyes with a quiet curiosity. Gray himself stares back into its eyes, his expression unreadable.

"...I have no reason to trust you."

The Shadow stills, before slightly deflating. "...no. You do not. And I do not blame you for being distrustful. I am certainly not the most approachable in my current state. And even with my new outlook, I am unable to force you to accept my offer. Nature runs deeper than what can be entirely changed, I suppose."

"I... I apologize. I will leave you. This-"

Before the Shadow can continue, Andi crawls closer to it, her eyes losing their cloudiness for a moment, before returning to their current state. She stares back at Gray before letting out a small whistling cry.

The Shadow stays still, confused, as Gray returns Andi's gaze before closing his eyes for a moment.

When he opens them back up, he gains a tired smile and steps forward to the edge of the pool, hands clasped behind his back.

"She trusts you. I... you understand what I feel. Like there's no other option. And... you're kind, still even while like this. You offered this to me with the only stipulation being companionship. I'm happy to accept those terms."

The Shadow perks up at his words. "Truly? I did not expect you to accept, in truth. You... you must be desperate... but I can understand. We are two of a kind, after all."

Gray chuckles a bit before speaking again. "So... how does this work? Do I need to do anything?"

The Shadow, in response, opens its wings and flutters onto Gray's shoulder. "No. I simply use a move on you, and we will be bonded in Shadow. This is to ensure the Shadow does not take your mind from you. It would be a great shame to lose such a fantastic prospective partner."

Gray grins at its words before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and touching his forehead to its. "...I'm ready. And my name is Gray. It's nice to meet you."

The Shadow likewise leans into him, closing its eyes as well, a small smile on it's face. "Gray..."

T̢̫̊̌ͅo̧̫̲̟̠͊ͩ̊͌g͉̰͆͡e̷̻͕͓̝ͮ̑̀t̤̩̦̒ͨ̏̌͝o̾̓͋͏̙͈͉̟r̪̲̗̘͈ͬͬ̏̆͘p͓̼̬̤̬̱̐͘o̖̯̜̓̋̍͗̀r̰̤̳̺̳ͨ͟ ̛̘̖̄ͬ̚ṳ͉͙͎̻̘͖ͯ͐͞ŝ̛̭̫͖̥͙̪̻ͧ̔̇ͅẻ̼͍͕͆̄͡d̦̭̿͌̍̚͟ ̴̻͔̮̖̰̼̠ͥ̏̆S͊͊͏̭͍ḣ̸̫̘̩̻̞͐̔ạ͇̹̌̇̌ͬ̕d̸̟͚͕̜̗̎ͭͫo̪̼̫̟̙̥͉͍͆ͯ͝w̨̬͔͔ͣ̇̄̈ ̢̦̯̻͖̭̈́̐̿B̨̩̻̭̫͑̓ͤͤl̸͈̖̙͓ͮ̿ͅe̡͓̩͉̫͖͇̬ͯ̃̉͌s̳̮͓̎̓̾͜s̢̹͉̦͉̞͎͈̃̅ͅi̴̳̲̪͍͖͇̒̉̚ǹ̰͖̒͒͂͡g̬͚͔͋ͦ͡!̻̮́͊ͦ̕

"I believe this is the start of something wonderful."

Andi's triumphant roar is the last thing that can be heard before the video cuts.

CONNECTION TERMINATED]

#pokemon irl #in character #graystuff #tarot arc

[havendance]

to fail, to fall, to fly away

AO3

Fandom: Batman

Featured Characters/Relationships: Helena Bertinelli & Sasha Bordeaux

Wordcount: 936

Summary:

“One day,” Helena said, “you’re either going to fail him or else you’re going to have to live with the fact you didn’t. I made my choice.” Helena Bertinelli is on her way out of Gotham when she encounters a familiar face.

The trick or treating earlier a) reminded me that this fic existed and b) got the juices flowing for it. Anyway, welcome to the latest installment of niche fics from Havendance! This is a coda of sorts to Detective Comics #763 except in an au where Helena killed the joker. Enjoy!

Fic:

Helena wasn’t stupid: she knew when it was time to get the hell out of dodge. She had plans for this: her building was shut down into hibernation, the ghosts that inhabited it still shuffling about to deter intruders, but on a fraction of the power. Things she needed were arranged to be sent on; things she didn’t were locked down. She left the lamborghini tucked away in its hidden garage. Scicily was nice this time of year, and transporting the car there would be more trouble than it was worth. Maybe later, but not now. Not when she needed to fly away.

It was evening by the time she finished. Helena left her apartment with the clothes on her back and little else. She had the absolute necessities—her costume was tucked away in a hidden pocket of her bag, money and fake ids along with it. Everything else she’d take care of as it came.

As she walked down Gotham’s dark streets, she could tell she was being watched. Someone was following her.

Helena stopped in front of the mouth of an alley. “You can come out,” she said. “I know you’re there.”

A figure dropped down. It wasn’t Batman who stepped out of the shadows. Neither was it a man without a face, or Robin (she knew it wouldn’t be Robin, not after what she’d done). Instead, it was a woman dressed in black and purple—the newest member of Batman’s vigilante set.

“Ambush Bug,” Helena said, voice deceptively light. She’d never caught the woman’s name. Now wasn’t the time to ask it.

“Huntress,” was the cool reply. So they weren’t on friendly terms this time. That was fine. Helena expected that.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” she asked.

No reply.

“I’m leaving. You can tell him that I’m getting out of his city.”

“I will,” the woman said. She didn’t move.

Helena waited. The woman didn’t say anything else. “What do you want?” Helena demanded. Always the silent treatment. It drove her crazy when Batman did it too. “Say something if you’re going to, or just leave me alone.”

She was about to turn and leave when the woman spoke: “Batman said the Joker was in police custody when you killed him.”

“So?”

“It’s not the way we do things.”

“We?” Helena scoffed. “Like I’m one of you. He’s made it perfectly clear that I’m not.”

“It was over. You didn’t need to.”

“It wasn’t. It wasn’t over until I ended it,” Helena spat out. “You haven’t been doing this long, have you?”

The woman said nothing. She had a good poker face.

“Do this long enough and you’ll see,” she continued. “It’s never over. It never ends. You put them away and they come crawling out of the woodwork later to cause problems again. I’ve spent long enough playing it his way, so I ended it mine.”

“You killed him.” She was judging her, Helena could tell. She was just the same as all the rest.

“I did what needed to be done.”

The woman was still watching, still weighing Helena up. “I can see it, what Batman told me about you.”

“And that would be?”

“That you’re dangerous, reckless. You don’t understand.”

“Oh I understand plenty,” Helena said. “I understand that there needs to be justice. I understand that there needs to be a price.”

“That you deal out.”

“We all deal it out. You wear a mask. You’re a part of this.”

She reached up, as if only just remembering it was there. “My reasons are different,” she said. 

“Then what are they?” Helena asked. “Why do you put on your costume and tag along with the bat?”

“To protect,” was the answer, spoken without hesitation.

“And what if, to protect someone, you needed to kill someone else?”

“That should always be the last resort.”

A different answer than what Helena had been expecting, but an interesting one. “Then you acknowledge it’s an option.”

Silence, which was as close to a yes as she was going to get.

“One day,” Helena said, “you’re either going to fail him or else you’re going to have to live with the fact you didn’t. I made my choice.” She turned.

“Wait!” The woman said before she could walk away. “You expect me to believe that’s why you did it? You killed an unarmed man in police custody because there wasn’t another choice?”

“No,” Helena said, staring out into Gotham’s streets, still empty. The danger was over, but people were slow to come out again. She knew that hadn’t been why. It hadn’t been that at all. It had been three bullets in her gut making a final stand and a week of running around as the world went to hell. It had been finding Robin’s uniform on a skeleton and knowing she had been too late. “But that’s what I am. I’m leaving. If you know who you are, you should too. We’re not like him.”

“We’re nothing alike.” Her voice was cold, angry. “I’m in Gotham to do a job and I’m going to do it.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Helena started walking away. “None of us escape in the end.”

She didn’t look back. Down the street to where she could catch a cab and off to the airport from there.

Goodbye Gotham. Goodbye and good riddance to it all. She didn’t know if the woman was still following her and she really didn’t care. Let other people deal with Batman. She’d stopped caring what he thought. She was leaving it all behind. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t come back.

#helena bertinelli #sasha bordeaux #my fic #havendance writes #the cooler gotham antihero #carthago delenda est #dc #bats + birds + affiliated

[zcrayas]

The manor was never cold. The volcano, and the open lava pools radiated heat from below - keeping it always perfect for the serpents.

Rya's missions always ended before the nightfall - the manor welcomed her back to it's never ceasing warmth of the volcano, fireplaces and her mothers assuring embrace.

How foolish, deciding to continue little more. Instead of finding a shack or starting a fire. Now, the only thing greeting her was the cool evening breeze chasing the sunset.

No matter how fast she tried, she couldn't catch the fleeing Sun, soon beyond the vast horizon.

How cold were the light of the stars and the Erdtree.

The auburn scales fading, the inhuman figure swiftly shrinking in form of a human, as many times before, she had taken. Her movements slowed down and stiffen, as the disguise was incapable to hold the warmth. Until each step became an effort, her thoughts drifted. How tired she had grown.

Light. Just little bit ahead. She might have as well crawled. Towards the glimmer of hope to not lose it to hibernation.

" Could I... could you share the flame of your fire..." || @yellowfingcr ❤' d!

#yellowfingcr #♕*.ic #♕*.threads #♕*.v. set on the journey #|| me totally including her snake traits #|| hope this works!

[goddesstrolls]

Memory, Arctus?

Arctus curled up against his lusii's side, trying to soak up some of the bear's scant warmth.

The beast was still, barely breathing; Hibernating through the bitter winter. Arctus had been able to when he was younger, but now he couldn't sleep like he could before.

His stomach growled again, and he sighed. He crawled out of the den and began to walk.

He checked his traps, to no avail; They were untouched.

Arctus carried on, searching for animal prints in the snow, but he saw nothing; Not so much as a rabbit. He eyed a fat dove perched on a branch above his head, with no way to catch it.

He meandered his way to the nearby town and looked around the streets. He was suddenly aware how unfamiliar this territory was; How everyone seemed to know how to navigate and survive in it, except for him.

He made his way to the most familiar spot he knew; The library. The warmth was welcome, and he hovered by the door, fidgeting with his hands. The librarian looked up at him as he entered, and then continued to throw small glances at him, as though debating asking if he needed something.

Arctus finally walked over to the counter, and the librarian turned her full attention to him.

"Um," Arctus began. "I had a question. Do trolls here in town go hunting for their food?"

"Sometimes," replied the librarian, adjusting her glasses. "But most trolls buy their food from grocery stores. There aren't as many animals near towns and cities."

"Oh." Arctus said. That was disheartening news. He needed money to buy things, and he didn't know where to get that. "Where do trolls get money from?"

"They get it from the Empire," the librarian said. "Has your lusus brought you to a bank?"

Arctus shook his head. "He said that- He said that we don't have money."

The librarian pursed her lips for several moments. "I'll tell you what," she said, after thinking. "You know how you check out books from the library, and bring them back after a while?"

Arctus nodded.

"Let's do something similar," the librarian continued. "You can check out some food tonight, and then later you can bring some food back. Whenever you have extra." She smiled at him. "How's that sound?"

"That sounds good," Arctus tilted his head. "I didn't know you could check out food at the library."

The librarian made to stand, lifting up the barier to let Arctus behind the counter.

"It's a..." She hesitated. "Secret option."

#arctus izaril #arctus writing #arctus ic #bastdrabbles

[ari4nee]

chapter three! i just finished writing chapter 5 and i feel like this might turn into a long fic idkk

Curse Me

Chapter 3:

The basement was a mess. Blankets and pillows had been sprawled over the ground to accommodate Yuji and Megumi sleeping on the floor. Nobara had taken one of the two couches in the basement and you had taken the other. Usually by this time, the group would have begun some sort of poor execution of breakfast. However, was easy to sleep in on the days you all crashed there because of the lack of light and warmth from the heater. That was, of course, given Yuji hadn't already woken everyone up with his sleep talking. Or more commonly, his lack of personal space when sleeping.

"Yuji would you shut the fuck up", Nobara groaned as she glanced at her phone to check the time. "I've been up for hours, he sleeps like a dog", Megumi added, massaging his eyes as he shuffled his body away from Yuji once again. "I'm tired of basically having to cuddle with him or get hit with stray limbs every time we stay over."Nobara chuckled at Megumi's complaint and ordered him to watch out as she tossed her phone at the pink haired boy. To no one's surprise, Yuji let out a noise that couldn't even be considered a response and continued sleeping.

With an irritated look, Nobara glanced at Megumi and begun lazily pulling herself off the sofa. It was clear that no one wanted to get up from their comfortable positions. Yuji was rarely ever the first to wake up so Megumi and Nobara had gotten comfortable with cooking themselves food as opposed to starving under the sheets. But on nights where you all went drinking, it was usually customary to meet with the rest of the group at a restaurant the day after. While that did sound nice, all you wanted to crawl into your own bed and hibernate.

You had found yourself up later than the rest of the group thinking about the weird interaction with Sukuna only hours prior. You were lucky if you had gained maybe four? Five? hours of sleep. And the stiffness of Yuji's basement sofa was no help in rocking you to sleep while your thoughts raced.

Despite your lack of rest, Nobara had already seemed to have shaken off whatever tiredness she felt. With a stretch of her arms she returned to her regular volume, "What a bum! He wakes us up and then gets to sleep longer than us!". Megumi retrieved her phone from Yuji's side and shuffled with his apparent bed head, "you coming?"

"I'm not feeling brunch today, you two should go ahead. I might chill for a bit longer then head back home", you explained while the two gave you disappointed looks. However, both Megumi and Nobara were hungry enough that leaving you two behind wasn't so bad. Nobara smiled, "suit yourself, we'll see you later." Megumi lifted his hand in the air to signal saying goodbye and they headed upstairs and out the door.

It didn't take long for sleep to consume you once again when silence fell throughout the house. The occasional mumble from Yuji faded into the back of your mind as you slipped off into your dreams. Except that didn't last long, or at least it felt that way. The sound of the upstairs door slamming shut jolted you awake and onto a sitting position on the couch. You scanned the room to see that Yuji had disappeared and the clock on your phone now read 3pm.

"Yuji?" you called as you stood up from the couch. It was weird of him not to answer. Deciding to shrug it off, you begun tidying all of the messy pillows and blankets folding them neatly onto the side of the couch. Might as well clean up and then head out.

The footsteps on the top floor approached the basement stairs and begun their decent to where you cleaned. You caught a glimpse of white socks and grey sweats that looked close enough to Yuji's. "Hey I didn't mean to crash for so long. I'll head out now, thank you again." Once again no response from the boy approaching you. "Did I piss you off is that why you're not talking to me?" As you turned around with a pillow raised in your hand to playfully throw it, you noticed it wasn't Yuji standing in front of you with a disgruntled look.

"Why are you still here?" His tone was disgusted as if he was genuinely surprised to find you roaming his domain. Sukuna ran his hand through his hair and plopped onto the couch opposite of where you stood. He stared at his phone not caring enough to look at you while you spoke. "I'm leaving", you stated as you put the pillow down. "Good. By the way tell my idiot brother I don't want his stupid friends at my house all the time".

You were still unsure of how to act around him given your recent encounters but his attitude was getting on your nerves. Sukuna had never been one to speak to you much and when he did, it wasn't ever anything especially kind. That being said, he had managed to follow the rule of 'if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all'. Maybe it was his silence that let you crush on him for so long.

You wanted to tell him that this was Yuji's house too and believe it or not, he didn't have to be a dick all the time. But the scoff that left his mouth encouraged you to say nothing and take your leave. What an asshole. As you gathered your belongings and walked to the stairs, you couldn't help but wonder why he was being like this. He had flirted with you last night! He had joined you in the basement just now! Why was he being so hot and cold?

Before you could overthink more, the front door had slammed shut but this time followed by Yuji's voice. "Heyyyy I got food if anyone's hungry!! I'm putting on a movie!!" Thanking God for sending Yuji home at just the right moment, you beelined it up the stairs. Once met by Yuji's friendly face, you sighed and gave your friend a side hug to accommodate the food he carried. "You look angry?" Yuji frowned, placing a large bag on the counter. "Your brother's just always in a mood, I don't know how you deal with him."

The truth was that Yuji's patience was the saving grace for his relationship with Sukuna. He could take more than most when it came to the verbal assaults but that was probably because they had been close before their mothers passing. Yuji yearned for that dynamic with his brother again and often let a lot go in hopes that it would come.

"You guys need to get along", he joked but at this pace, that would never happen. You stared at the basement entrance where Sukuna lurked below, sure that he was hearing this whole conversation. Was it a good idea to tell Yuji about the weird encounter with his brother? You did want to tell someone and see what they thought of the whole situation. But maybe doing that with Yuji would just start a fight between the brothers?

Of course Yuji would be upset with Sukuna's advances and probably yell at him, just to fall victim to more insults. You settled on not telling anyone for now. After all, that wasn't how you expected to be asked into his bedroom and it was kind of embarrassing. Plus no one had caught on to your crush this long, calling attention to it would only make it more difficult.

Yuji pulled you out of thought as he begun opening the containers of food. The smell hit your nose and your stomach let out a harsh grumble. Yuji laughed and motioned for you to sit down beside him at the island counter. "You can leave if you don't wanna watch the movie but eat first." Your mouth salivated and it didn't take much for him to convince you to stay.

After a few moments of satisfying your hunger Yuji broke the silence. "Soooo I saw you with Satoru last night", he said teasingly. Referencing when Satoru had his arm around you on the couch in an all too familiar manner. "He's just touchy and annoying but did you see how he looked when he heard Geto was there?". Yuji placed a hand on his face and shook his head. "Yeah honestly don't think he's ever getting over that. Be careful, yeah?". You cocked your head to the side as if to encourage him to explain the comment further.

"He likes you. I don't know about it being like thattttt but he's definitely taken an interest." You coughed a bit trying to understand Yuji's words. Satoru had always been a playful flirt, it didn't matter who you were. That was just his personality and about the extent of the relationships he's had since Suguru broke up with him. How could Yuji think he had any sort of interest in you outside of that? "Yeah I don't think one drunk dance was enough to cause that man to fall in love", you retorted. Yuji shrugged his shoulders in response, "mark my words. Satoru likes you."

I'm the midst of this conversation, Sukuna had now made his way into the kitchen. Without saying a word, he pulled out a chair at the dining room table and returned to scrolling on his phone. Yuji gave him a funny look and quietly proceeded with his theory despite the sudden intrusion, "watch this weekend when we go out for Yuta's birthday, he'll say something to you."

"Please don't make me go to that. I barely even know him", you pleaded. Yuta was someone who you had yet to get to know well enough to be comfortable around. He seemed kind and soft spoken but small talk always left you drained no matter how wholesome. Between Yuta and Satoru, next week seemed like it would be awkward for you and entertainment for everyone else.

Yuji was hellbent on keeping you busy before school got too chaotic. This was one of the best times for your group to spend time together because when it came down to it, studying with each other was a huge no no if you actually wanted to pass. He shook his head and sighed. “Too bad. We already told him you'd be there". He was giddy that your response was one of defeat. You had claimed that you’d only go because you loved him, Nobara, and Megumi so much.

Yuji stood up from his seat with a silly grin and proceeded to walk towards the bathroom. “I'm showering. Take some extra food if you decide to go. Don't kill each other.” Glancing at Sukuna who still sat silently at the dining room table, you wondered why he hadn’t left for his room or grabbed food. He wore grey sweats and a black compression shirt that hugged his muscles ever so nicely. He had certainly grown into a good looking person over the years.

You wondered what he studied at university, completely unable to picture him caring enough to study one specific thing. But despite his rebellious antics, Yuji had mentioned once that he got good grades and cared more about school than you’d expect. It had something to do with his perfectionist mindset. When he cared about something, he always had to do it better than anyone else.

Sukuna looked up from his phone, locking eyes with you as you got caught staring at him. With a smirk, he leaned back into the chair and pushed his hair out of his face. “Are you going to keep gawking at me without saying anything? Or would you like something?” Your face turned a soft pink as heat dispersed through your cheeks. The way he moved was calm and you couldn’t help but notice the flex in his arms as he raised his hand.

“Are you going to keep being an asshole or will you actually be able to have a conversation?”, you replied. Thinking about Yuji’s words earlier, you decided that you’d try to be friendly for his sake. Plus it had been so long since you genuinely spoke with him. Maybe it was time to try and befriend him, especially if he was being more talkative. Sukuna positioned his eyes back to his phone and kept scrolling, “depends on how I feel.”

The responses he gave to your questions were short and concise, never anything more than a lazy ‘yeah’ or an disagreeable ‘hm’. You learned that he was going to Jujutsu University as well, he wouldn’t tell you his major, and that he was extremely uninterested in small talk with you. Then again, anything outside of being cold and domineering wasn’t his forte. “You ask too many questions”, he stated blatantly. Some part of you wondered if he was trying to get rid of you but his indifferent attitude hinted otherwise. You raised your eyebrows, “maybe your answers just aren’t interesting enough.”

Sukuna had glanced over at you with irritation painted on his face, “get out of my house then.” You felt your stomach turn at his sudden change in demeanour, bracing yourself for another snarky comment. He stood up from his chair and approached you slowly. Sukuna was always tall in comparison to others but his height was now even further accentuated by your seated position. You wanted to stand up and throw an insult before he had a chance but the meanness never came.

He stood close enough for you to catch hints of cinnamon and spice lingering on his body. He must have just showered. The boy placed a hand on your chin and rubbed his thumb along your cheek. His hands were soft and his touch was gentle along your skin. From where you sat, the only way to see his face was to stare up at him. His eyes were stern, not giving you any indication that he had been relishing in how satisfying it was to peer down at you. The innocent look on your face as your cheeks blushed pink was perfect.

Sukuna let an evil smile tug at the sides of his lips. “Yeah, I’m so uninteresting that you haven’t left my house yet. Instead your sitting in my kitchen staring at me like you’ve never seen a boy before.” With that, he gave you two light pats on the cheek and stepped away before Yuji had exited the bathroom. “Feel free to come watch. I’ve decided I don’t mind it”, he whispered low enough for only you and him to hear. Everything he said lately took you by surprise. Somehow, it was shocking to hear him so vulgar; not that you expected him to be any different. Sukuna stretched his tall body out to ease his muscles and slinked away to work out in the garage.

The evening had come fast and it was time to make your way home. Class would start early tomorrow and you needed to make sure your sleep schedule wasn’t too messed up this early on in the year. After thanking Yuji for the food and hospitality, you left his house in a hurry. You had decided that it was better to avoid his place at all costs in fear of his older brother causing havoc on your life.

#big brother sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader

[blazerina]

Tethered (Rob x Selena) Romance Club - Arcanum

I’ve never wanted to stay before. I’ve always wanted to leave. Be on the run. Go. Move. Never get stuck in one place, with the same person or people, for too long. None of that steady and stable stuff has ever served me well.

If I’m the one who’s moving forward – making all the decisions – constantly bouncing from place to place – then I’m never the one left behind. I’ve suffered through that feeling once and I promised myself I’d never go back there. I’d do everything in my power to ensure that I was never left again.

People think you cannot control your own destiny, but I disagree. There is plenty I can control. Sure, some things still have not gone completely according to plan, but I am able to manage and handle quite a bit on my own. I’ve done just fine thus far.

There’s still something inside of me that wants to be rooted. Grounded. Connected to something.

Anything.

Someone.

Anyone.

No matter how far down I try to stuff those feelings, they always come back up.

Especially when they are least expected and most unwanted.

I can feel them bubbling in the base of my gut. Crawling and creeping across the insides of my abdomen as they wake up from a deep slumber.

Hibernation.

They lay dormant and silenced due to the precise and calculating methods I’ve learned for keeping any emotion at bay.

From my belly they rise farther and farther up my spine – tingling and leaving fragments of hard, bitter, frozen bone along my back. It leaves me feeling bruised.

Brittle.

Able to snap and break into what feels like a million pieces at any moment.

Just like me, the feelings are on the move – never staying in one place for too long.

From along my back, they move to my shoulders and the base of my neck, bringing heat and tension. The muscles that wrap across my collarbone and the top of my chest ache with a dull throb.

Pulsing.

Reaching.

Stretching.

Crying out through the taught pain asking someone, anyone, something, anything, to care about what I’m going through.

What I’ve survived.

What I’ve yet to overcome.

Once the emotions of desiring stability, community, companionship reach my throat, I gulp hard again trying to control them and push them back down. My throat constricts as if I will swallow my tongue whole. Immediately my mouth becomes dry and the familiar, salty taste of my own saliva consumes me.

My brain tries to decide if what’s on my tongue is bile, tears, or blood. I think it’s a combination of all three. My body turns against me as the emotions continue to rise within. My head spins and I sweat even though I’m cold. I start to see stars as the corners of my vision fade and the very stability I myself create disappears as my legs give way and I fall to the earth I so desperately want to be bound to.

Tethered.

Connected.

Stable.

Grounded. Rooted. Committed.

Calm.

Peaceful.

Understood. Known.

Yet also…

Anchored.

Chained.

Frozen.

Unable to move.

Tied.

Captured.

Fearful.

Trapped.

And when I wake up for the millionth time after letting myself get to this point…my immediate thought is to move. To sit up. To get my bearings and run. Get as far away from anyone, anything, something, someone, who is causing me to feel this way.

Who is bringing up these foreign emotions in me? I know I’m not doing it to myself. I cannot be. I am too poised. Too controlled. Too restrained.

But something, someone, is holding me down. Holding me back. Keeping me from moving. I hear a voice but have no idea what it’s saying. I cannot comprehend the words. I only hear hums and rhythms of inflection that I assume are instructions for me that I’m choosing to ignore.

If I close my eyes and ears and hands real tight, I can shut it all out.

“You know the penalty if you fail.”

“You know the penalty if you fail.”

“You know the penalty if you fail.”

I repeat the mantra over and over again; as I always do. Reminding myself of all that could be lost if I don’t succeed.

This time it’s different. There’s an impenetrable wall in front of me. With my fists clenched, eyes shut, trying my best to block out the world around me, what’s in front of me simply will not move. The humming of the voice grows louder, deeper, the rhythms more consistent.

When I open my eyes, they are met with an icy blue stare. Intense. Focused. Strong.  I look away but they remain steady.

I look down at my feet and bite my lip, still angry at the world and all that is within and around me. When I look back up – his eyes are still watching me.

His hands are on my biceps forcefully holding me in place. Keeping me glued to my position as he demands for me to look at him. I can’t bear to hold his gaze for more than a millisecond.

I shut my eyes again trying to trick my brain into thinking of a way out. I have to run. I cannot stand still. Time is being wasted as I frantically come up with a plan for escape.

But the dull, deep, desperate rhythm of his voice lulls me out of my dark thoughts.  

“Se. Lee. Na.” The syllables of my name are chanted over and over again.

The voice is calm.

The voice is clear.

The voice is warm and inviting.

“Selena.”

Not Lilith.

“Selena.”

He’s here.

“Selena.”

It’s Rob.

My panicked search for a way out is met with his composed and kind invitation.

“Calm down. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice exudes confidence, trust, and care.

Could it be that in this moment, seeing his face and hearing his words, help me become no longer afraid to stay?

Is it possible that I no longer want to run?

My heart is still beating quickly, and I slowly resist the urge to bang on his chest and fight against him.

Perhaps I don’t have to stay in one place for too long, but I don’t have to leave all on my own, either.

It’s hard to be searching for something when you aren’t quite sure what you’re looking for. I knew something inside me was missing but I never really knew what exactly it was.

But now I know what I’ve been missing and simultaneously I’ve found what I’ve been searching for…

Him.

I still want to run. I still want to keep moving. I don’t want anyone or anything to ever hold me back.

I don’t know if he will be with me forever or when he will leave me – but I have him for now.

Now is all I have. Now is all we have.

And that has to be enough.

#rc arcanum #rob steltz #romance club arcanum #rob x selena #rob x lilith #blazerina babbles

[samchristian23]

Analytical Application 4

Mirror Stage

The Mirror Stage is a critical part of Jaques Lacan’s piece “The Mirror Stage As Formative Of The Function Of The I As Revealed In Psychoanalytic Experience”. The phrase “mirror stage” refers to a critical part of a child’s development, when “The child, at an age when he is for a time, however short, outdone by the chimpanzee in instrumental intelligence, can nevertheless already recognize as such his own image in a mirror.” (Lacan, 75). This phase of a child’s development introduces the child to the concepts of  “other” and “I”, allowing the child to differentiate themself from other beings.

In the episode “Squeeze” from season one of The X-Files, our main characters, Dana and Fox, are asked to investigate a possible string of killings in the Baltimore area. These killings, as we come to learn, are being committed by a genetically mutated human named Tooms. There is a mystery as to how Tooms is able to kill these people in the ways he does, but there is no mystery as to how he kills. He crawls through air vents and windows, really any small space, and using his genetic mutation, is able to squeeze his body through these spaces (22:00). But how does this relate to the mirror stage? Think back to when I told you that the mirror stage introduces a child to the concepts of the “other” and the “I”. In Lacan’s words, “by these two aspects of its appearance, symbolizes the mental permanence of the I, at the same time as it prefigures its alienating destination…”(Lacan, 76). Tooms acts as a visual representation of this phenomenon. On the one hand: human. On the other: something ungodly monstrous. This is what the child experiences in the mirror stage. When a child sees themself in the mirror, they are at once shown just that, themself. They see themself for what they are. But they also see another being. A separate thing, perhaps an uncanny existence of “the other”. Tooms represents this dichotomy.

Uncanny

The Uncanny is a concept presented by Sigmund Freud in his essay, entitled “The Uncanny”. The uncanny will occur with a sense of intellectual uncertainty, repressed childhood memories and desires, and primitive beliefs held in our minds. However, it should be noted that, In Freud’s words “The most remarkable coincidences of desire and fulfilment, the most mysterious recurrence of similar experiences in a particular place or on a particular date, the most deceptive sights and suspicious noises—none of these things will take him in or raise that kind of fear which can be described as ‘a fear of something uncanny’.” (Freud, 402) The uncanny requires specific parameters, and something that is merely creepy is not uncanny.

The obvious link between “The Uncanny” and “Squeeze” comes in the form of, again, Tooms. Tooms, in his ability to shift and contort his body, represents the concept of a doppelgänger, or a double, very well. Freud speaks about “the connections the ‘ double’ has with reflections in mirrors, with shadows, guardian spirits, with the belief in the soul and the fear of death…” (Freud, 387). Doubles show us a dark glimpse at ourselves, similar to how the mirror offers a child a dark glimpse at themself. Tooms is a double for all humans. His human figure shows us his familiarity. And yet, his bile, contorting body, and yellow eyes all present him as an uncanny representation of us. The interrogation scene (15:16) is a great representation of this. Tooms in the interrogation room is cold, unfeeling, and blank, while his counterparts in the other room show their emotion clearly. And this unnatural feeling only grows as the episode continues. Similarly, Tooms represents a return of the repressed. Tooms is someone who, due to his genetic mutation, is able to hibernate for 30 years, and then reveal himself, eat five livers, and go back to hibernation. Each one of his reappearances is documented well in the episode, and is a wonderful representation of the uncanny. Tooms method of survival is quite invasive, both to the household and the person. Preying on long-held beliefs of security in the home, this episode presents its audience with a clear view of the uncanny.

Heimlich

In Freud’s “The Uncanny”, he writes about a phenomenon called the uncanny. To do so, he brings in several outside terms and theories, two of which being heimlich and unheimlich. Heimlich, “meaning ‘familiar’ ; ‘native’, ‘belonging to the home’…” (Freud, 370). Essential and we are tempted to conclude that what is ‘ uncanny ’ is frightening precisely because it is not known and familiar. The existence of heimlich allows the uncanny to exist, for in order for something to be uncanny, there must be something familiar about it. 

In order to recognize what is heimlich about “Squeeze”, and how it relates to the uncanny, let’s take a look at the opening scene of the episode (00.00). It begins with a man walking out of a hotel, with typical 1990s procedural synth music playing in the background. He walks down the street, and up to this point, if someone asked you what show this episode is from, you would have no idea. This scene is so familiar in its execution to this point. But at about 35 seconds in, the music changes, and we start to see shots of a street drain intercut with the images of the man walking down the street. Immediately, something feels off. And then, one minute in, we see eyes. These eyes are an unnatural yellow, but feel strangely human. These eyes can be seen as heimlich in themselves, at least their humanity. This, then, gives us context for how to see the uncanny in this scene. For the uncanny to exist, there must be both the heimlich and the unheimlich. In this opening scene, we see the heimlich in the first 35 seconds. When the music changes and the sewer is shown more prominently, the scene doesn’t immediately switch to being uncanny. It then becomes just creepy. In Freud’s words, “Something has to be added to what is novel and unfamiliar to make it uncanny.” (Freud 370) This added thing are the eyes. The eyes make this scene uncanny. Their human appearance and inhuman color and proportions, their heimlich and unheimlich, give the scene the uncanny nature that the episode goes on to be defined by.

Unheimlich

The unheimlich, as laid out in “The Uncanny”, is the counterpart to the heimlich. The German word unheimlich: is obviously the opposite of heimlich, heimisch, meaning ‘familiar’ ; ‘native’, ‘belonging to the home’…” (Freud, 370). Meaning that the unheimlich is unfamiliar and strange. Anything that is uncanny must possess both heimlich and unheimlich traits, as was laid out in the previous section.

The second part of the opening of “Squeeze” (01:04) displays the unheimlich far more prominently than the first part. The unheimlich elements of the uncanny are a crucial part of the uncanny, for without the unheimlich, there would only be normal, familiar things. But, as Freud says, “what is novel can easily become frightening and uncanny…” (Freud, 370). Let’s take a look at the unheimlich elements that make this scene frightening. When we enter the scene, we are met with a handheld camera, tracking the man on his journey to his office. This signifies to the audience that something is watching him, or that he is being followed. However, the next shot is a steady shot of an elevator door, the door opens, and reveals the cord that runs the elevator, not the inside of the elevator car. This is where the unheimlich rears its head. By showing us an empty elevator shaft, and not the inside of an elevator car, our expectations are subverted, and what was once heimlich has become unheimlich. The scene continues. As the man gets up to go grab some coffee, and in his office, we see one of the screws on his air conditioning vent start to come undone. The unheimlich appears here once more. The screw being taken off is unfamiliar to us, as that is usually accompanied by a human presence. In this case, however, there is no human presence to remove the screw. Whatever we’re waiting for possesses abilities that we can’t truly understand until we see the creature at work. And therein lives the unheimlich.

Imaginary

The imaginary is a concept critical to Lacan and his theory of the mirror stage. The imaginary is a theory that has great influence on the mirror stage, and the formation of a human’s ego. It speaks to the relationship between how we view ourselves, how we want to be seen, and how others see us.  We can use the character Fox from The X-Files to see the concept of the imaginary in play. After the interrogation scene, Fox reveals that he put in questions about Tooms’ age in order to goad him into telling a lie. Fox, looking at the lie detector’s charts, sees that the levels spiked on these questions, indicating that Tooms did lie. And yet, nobody in the room believes that these questions are of any merit to the case. While it’s later revealed that Fox was right, as is usually the case, we can see here a very critical part to the development of Fox’s character. Seeing as this is only the third episode of the entire series, Fox is still developing what I will be calling his narrative ego. In this scene, I believe that the imaginary is in full swing. We can see how he perceives himself: a man who considers every possibility and trusts his instincts. We can see how he wants to be perceived by others: he wants them to believe him, and believe in him. His actions would not have been taken without notice had he felt that the others in the room would have given his ideas a fair shot. And finally, and perhaps most obviously, we can see how the others in the room perceive him: a conspiracy theorist lunatic whackjob. With all these elements at play, Fox, as a character, is starting to recognize himself, through his narrative ego. He is in the mirror stage, and as the show progresses, will grow into a fuller being. But the groundwork must be laid, as it is in our lives.

Works Cited

Freud, Sigmund. “The ‘Uncanny.’” Essay. In Collected Papers, IV. London, United Kingdom: Hogarth Press, 1948.

Lacan, Jacques. “The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function.” Essay. In Écrits: The First Complete Edition in English, 1st ed. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, 2006.

“Squeeze.” Episode. The X-FIles 1, no. 3. New York, New York: Fox, 1993.

#psychoanalysis #subjectivity #@theuncannyprofessoro

[adragonsoulants]

Hi, been a while since I did an update. Been dealing with some mental shit and then I got covid on top of it. Thankfully over covid now.

For the most part all the colonies are doing fine. Gotta make sure I feed the Campos a little extra now so they can get some good reserves going into hibernation! The C. Subbarbatus colony is doing well and I am in love with their colorations, not used to having ants this small too but they're very cute!

All the colonies I'm founding this year have been moved back to my room as the night time temps were getting too cold to keep them where they were. All but the P. Imparis and C. Subbarbatus are in a box near my snake's heat source to keep them a little warmer.

Sadly the T. Immigranis queen passed recently, she was doing pretty well but prior to the move ate all her brood and was behaving real stressed, looked like she had been doing better but I guess not.

Nothing much on the other girls, still too soon on the Lasius and Formica's are very easy to stress out, tbh I might just move her to the closest with the others even tho it's not as warm it will be more calm of an environment.

The remaining two P. Imparis queens had the brood growing mold return... I also discovered one of the queens appears to have a stiff leg with mold growing on the joint of it, so she may be the reason for it's continuous return... It was recommended I separate them in hopes of having one make it and give extra ventilation to the moldy one to try and clear out the mold or at least hinder it.

I definitely didn't realize how easy Camponotus was to care for compared to other species, or that I've just been having some really bad luck with it this year.

But I still look back in awe of having randomly found the C. Subbarbatus queen earlier this year, an ant species I have never seen before and have yet to see in the wild. As well as having 0 issues with founding her colony.

So I guess I'll take that at least. ^^

Also fed a super worm to my C. Penn and they gladly feasted on it, read in a few places that they didn't like super worms but they didn't even hesitate.

As far as isopods go they're all doing alright, dairy cows are getting pretty munchy and I need to top off their leaves fairly frequently. Had a flour mite issue arise from trying to raise meal worms myself, they made it into two of my iso containers that didn't have mesh ventilation and just holes punched into the lids. Cleaned up best I could, I don't think they really made it down in the container itself. Did have to freeze the mealworms though, no saving that.

My pink foot millipedes alas have had an ongoing mite problem for a little bit now, I believe the mites are harmless to the millipedes but they are definitely annoyed by their presence and hate when the mites are crawling on them. I've seen a few in my Smokey Oaks but I've been keeping it a little drier to try and cut back on them and stop them from exploding like they did in the other tank.

Long winded post, thanks for reading this far ^^

#ads_ants #ads_isopods #ads_millipedes #c. subbarbatus #c.pennsylvanicus #formica #Tetramorium #prenolepis imparis #antkeeping #ant #camponotus #long post

[streakfreeshine]

Please ignore plot holes and spelling mistakes 🤣

James stops in his tracks as he reads a sign taped to the door of the elevator that takes him up to his and his partner's apartment on the 7th, and top, floor.

"Fuuuck," he groans and heads for the staircase. He trudges the few meters to the door to the stairwell. He yanks it open in frustration. He wants to be inside his apartment already. He wants to crawl into bed and hibernate during spring and summer. There was no pollen in bed. His asthma had been getting worse in the past few months. Allergies this year seemed to be worse than ever.

James climbs the stairs as quickly as he dared. He has to stop at each floor to catch his breath. It takes him 10 minutes to do what would take 3, under normal circumstances. His breath hitches in his chest as he climbs the last 3 steps of the climb. He wheezes as he flings the stairwell door open.

The coughing fit begins the second the door clicked closed behind him. He struggles to breathe as he coughs violently, walking as fast as he could to the apartment door. He has to stop at the door, coughing so deeply it makes him gag. He puts a hand to his mouth as he coughs and gags, scrambling for his keys.

Thomas, his husband, wrenches the door open as James sinks to one knee so as to prevent himself from falling forward into the opposing wall of the small entryway. He doesn't feel like adding a concussion to the coughimg fit.

James looks up sheepishly at the man in the doorway before he gags again on a deep cough. Thomas has only a second to jump out of the way before vomit sprays through James' fingers and onto his own pants and the plastic mat at the door.

Scrambling to his feet, anxiety rising in his chest to join his coughing and gagging. He wraps his elbow over his mouth, his hand dripping with sick. He rushes past his husband and into the bathroom, dropping to both knees as he gags again before vomiting hard into the toilet.

Thomas quickly grabs the inhaler on their bedside table, dashes to the bathroom and drops next to his husband. He brings the small device to James' lips.

"Breathe, babe. Please breathe," he says softly, yet desperately. James gags once as he takes the inhaler in his other hand, clean but shaky. He brings it back to his lips and presses the top of the canister and breathes as deep as he can. He coughs once and takes another hit of the inhaler.

Thomas runs a hand through James' curly blond hair.

"That's it, babe. You're doing great," Thomas coos. "Breathe as deep as you can."

Several minutes later, James' lungs have stopped trying to escape from his chest via his throat, but his breathing is still fast and shallow. He's panicking. He leans forward and vomits again. The inhaler clatters to the floor. He pays no attention to the hand covered in puke as he is sick again. His breathing still has not slowed.

Thomas puts a gentle hand on his back. He knows that James is terrified of vomiting, whether it's him or someone else. He comforts the man as best he can. He turns his head to look away, nausea swelling inside him. He had not been feeling well, either. He wasnt ready to admit that to James.

James leans back when he feels like he is no longer in danger of puking anymore. Tears of exertion and anxiety stream down his face. He feels his husband behind him and turns to bury his face into his chest. He feels like a child as he continues to hyperventilate. His shoulders jerk slightly as he silently sobs into the man's shirt.

Thomas wraps his arms around his panicking lover, cooing softly. He panics a little himself when James suddenly stops sobbing and his body goes limp. He gently pushes James away from his chest and looks at him. James had passed out. His head hangs forward, his breathing finally even.

Thomas is a tiny bit relieved. He carefully picks up the unconscious man, bridal style. James' head lolls to the side as Thomas carries him to their bed. He gingerly places him on his own side of the bed, pulls James' dirtied pants off, and tosses them into the laundry hamper across the room. He pulls back the covers on James' side, then moves him to the now uncovered side. He covers James, but leaves his arms free, and kisses his forehead.

Thomas goes back to the bathroom to clean. He flushes the toilet and picks the inhaler up. He lingered over the toilet, unsure if he was in immediate danger of vomiting. He breathes deeply and swallows back the nausea. He grabs a moist towelette from the top of the toilet tank and brings it back to the bedroom and wipes James' mouth and hand clean. He sets the inhaler on James' bedside table.

He walks into the en suite and washes his own hands. He splashes water onto his face and runs his wet fingers through his long, disheveled black hair. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Now that the adrenaline from the events wears off, he notices that circles had formed under his eyes. His skin was as pale as the sheets he just put James onto. He bit his lip, feeling guilty that he was also unwell. He quickly shook the guilt loose and spoke quietly to himself;

"You can't show James how poorly you feel, Thomas. He hates puke. He'll feel scared and you don't want that. You probably don't even feel as bad as he does... you'll be fine in the morning. You never actually get sick anyway".

Thomas sighs and turns to light off before leaving the bathroom. He crawls into bed beside James and cuddles against him.

James awakes a few hours later, disoriented as he looks around the now dark room. He sits up and sees Thomas next to him. He notices how pale he is, even in the dark bedroom, and how his hair stuck against his sweaty face. He was a little startled by the heat eminating from him as he brushed the hair from his face. He kisses his forehead and lays back down.

James finds himself unable to fall back asleep. He begins counting as high as he can before falling asleep. He reaches 1,241 before he feels Thomas stir beside him. He flips over to look at him. Their eyes meet for a second before Thomas is vomiting onto the sheets and James' chest.

'Oh god, oh god, oh god', James thinks before ripping the covers off the both of them. He nearly falls off the bed as the grabs the trash can that was conveniently placed at the bedside. He haphazardly tosses it next to his husband and flees the bedroom. He sprints to the hallway bathroom and slams the door closed behind him. He carefully peels his vomit-soaked shirt off and tosses it into the sink. He turns the shower on, as hot as he knows he can handle and gets in. He immediately sits down and pulls his knees to his chest. He paid no mind to the water hitting him in the face.

Thomas, disoriented, pulls himself into a sitting position and vomits on the sheets again. He feels around for James, but he only finds the trashcan. He quickly pulled it to his chest and is promptly sick again. Thomas feels like he's been hanging over the trashcan for hours, while only minutes have past. "Fuck. This sucks," he mutters to himself. He becomes acutely aware that the comforter is soaked with his own vomit. It also dawns on him why the trashcan had been placed where James sleeps. He panics when he puts all the pieces together. James is in the other bathroom, having a second panic attack. The guilt nearly overwhelms him.

Thomas pulls the trashcan to his chest again, gagging emptily. He breathes heavily and spits out strings of saliva, which still cling to his lips.

Thomas is almost sure he's done being sick for the time being. He carefully pulls the comforter and sheets off the bed, balls them up, and tosses them into the en suite bathroom. He then pulls off his shirt and leaves it in the shower. He'll deal with it later. He ventures to the other bathroom and peeks his head inside.

"Love, are you doing okay?" He asks as he slips inside. He finds James in the shower, knees still tight against his chest, but not completely freaking out. The shower was still on, but James didn't seem to care. He glances up at Thomas and then buries his face in between his knees in shame.

"I'm doing fine. I'm incredibly sorry I couldn't be there to comfort you. I...I panicked and ran away... I'm so sorry!" he exclaims, guilt heavy is his voice.

"Oh babe, don't worry about that. Are you feeling sick, too? Should I call Dante?" Thomas asks softly.

"No, no, just... just startled and guilty," he replies. Thomas is relieved that there isn't two people sick in the house.

"I'll start the laundry as soon as I can. Okay babe?" James said and turned the shower off. He pushed his wet hair out of his face and gave Thomas a kissy face. "You go lay on the couch, okay? I'll bring a clean blanket and the trashcan".

Thomas obeyed the order and laid on the couch. He curled up with a throw pillow under his head and wrapped his arms around his aching abdomen. He thinks about how uncomfortable James will be as he does the laundry and cleans the bedroom. Before he has time to fret, James meets Thomas in the living room and places the trashcan beside him. He isn't surprised that it hadn't been cleaned. He felt too sick to argue about it. Next, James covers him with a thick blanket and securely tucks him in and kisses his forehead.

"Please, please stay here on the couch". He pleads. "I'm going to do the laundry and clean".

Thomas nodded before sleep quickly took him.