#(I been meaning to post this one for a long while now.)

[fostertheory]

I agree with the general philosophy of being prepared. I will quibble with the fourth bullet, though.

The Clean Air Act would not get stripped of its power through deregulating the EPA (and I think what the OP means by that is the EPA would given different direction under a new administration, possibly classifying a bunch of people under Schedule F, firing them, and replacing them with loyalists). The Clean Air Act would get stripped of its power by amending it.

To do that, both chambers of Congress would have to pass the bill. Leave aside the fact that control of the House has not yet been determined and assume for this discussion that the R's control it next year (as of now, 03:00 UTC on 10 November 2024, the Associated Press has declared the Democratic candidate the winner in 202 races, the Republican candidate in 212 races, and 21 races too close to call. No official results have been posted anywhere). The R's will at best have 54 Senate seat (Arizona has not yet been called; the Democrat is leading). That's not a filibuster-proof majority. Conceivably, the R's could eliminate the filibuster. But it's unlikely they will do that, at least for the Clean Air Act.

Another possible angle is that Congress provides zero dollars for EPA. Again, filibuster. But note that the Clean Air Act mandates the Administrator of the EPA to use the best available technology. So if The Orange One directs the agency to just neglect their duties, the US Government could be sued for failing to follow the law.

I was listening to political analyses today, and one of the commentators supposed the Trump Administration will do a lot of that: ignore their responsibilities and dare people to sue them.

Another thing they could do is go through rule-making to reverse the current rule. That will take a while, and then advocacy groups would sue. I don't know on what exact grounds, but I imagine it would be along the lines of not conforming to what the Clean Air Act requires. This brings us to another inadvertent protection: SCOTUS famously overturned the Chevron Deference last term, in which the courts defer to the agency to have the expertise to know how to implement the law if the law is ambiguous on some point or another. The fact that that precedent is no longer there means that a Trump Administration that has directed the agency to issue a new rule that says, "You know what? Never mind about all that" cannot rely on the precedent of the Chevron Deference when they have to defend the new rule in court. (To quote Nelson from the Simpsons, "Ha-ha!")

Various agencies have been very busy indeed these last four years getting rules in place. Many of them were put into place long enough ago that they are no longer subject to the Congressional Review Act (a gift of the Contract on with America, part of the Republican Revolution of 1994, in which bomb-thrower Newt Gingrich became speaker [so many sweet summer children here who probably don't know this history]). The Congressional Review Act allows a joint resolution of Congress to overrule newly issued regulations if the president signs or a 2/3rds majority in both chambers overrules the president's veto.

TL;DR: There's not a quick path to negate the Clean Air Act. It will take a while to unwind, turning it into a contest of wills.

If by some miracle sweet potato Hitler doesn't win come the end of the week, this won't be necessary, but should he win here are some of the first things to be aware of or do.

If you know a trans person, no you don't. Respect them as best you can in private but you know nothing in public.

Be aware that TikTok will likely be banned, find new platforms to spread information. Fuck Twitter and what ever tiktok replacement he's working on.

Learn to Garden, even in winter so you can feed yourself should prices skyrocket

Get an air purifier. The Clean Air Act is likely to be stripped of its power with the EPA deregulated, air quality is going to suffer

Should you have kids, try to supplement history/social studies education. That's the first place they will attack, if you need help ask, history teacher will help

Try and do what you can to be aware of your health before January.

Help one another. That's the best way we can move forward and make change in the future.

[tlbodine]

So, Things Are Terrible and You Want to DO SOMETHING

The election is over and, ah...did not go well. While a lot of folks are doing a post mortem of the campaigns and trying to understand what happened with the vote and fighting over who shoulders the blame, we've gotta turn an eye toward the future and figure out, okay fam, where the fuck do we go from here.

I don't have all the answers on this, and I'm not an authority by any means, I'm just a horror author with a blog. But I've been thinking a lot about it and I wanted to share my thought process with others who might want to DO SOMETHING but feel they're spinning their wheels.

Buckle in. This will be a long one.

Step One: Understand the actual risks and stakes.

I think it is very easy to start panicking now about the worst possible case scenario -- jackbooted military busting into the door to disappear everyone who ever said something mean about Trump or bought a banned book or something -- and let fear turn into inaction.

I'm not saying things can't get that bad, and I'm not saying that it won't be absolutely terrifying right out the gate for some particularly at-risk groups -- but the distance between "now" and "V for Vendetta" is long and filled with a lot of intermediary steps. There will be so many opportunities to prevent the worst case scenario.

I say this because, if your mental image of "Bad Things Happening" is The Purge, it will be easy to wake up on inauguration day, look outside to see that the world is not on fire, think, hey, maybe things will be okay after all, and then completely disengage. Alternatively, you might feel so frozen with terror at the possibility of persecution that you do nothing. This is why people are saying: don't obey in advance.

It is essential for those of us with more privilege to use it to take care of those who are more vulnerable.

So. Who is most vulnerable? What does that vulnerability actually mean? What are the most likely risks of Trump's presidency? Here's a Guardian article that I think does a good job of summarizing some of the main issues. Go read that, then come back here.

Step Two: Take steps to protect yourself

You've gotta put your oxygen mask on first, right? So before you start getting involved in other causes, figure out what risks YOU are at, immediately, and do as much as you can to secure yourself. Some potential action steps depending on your circumstance may include:

Renewing your passport (helpful for leaving the country, but also for gender/name change purposes)

Getting vaccines / boosters

Securing birth control

Ensuring your necessary papers (birth certificates etc.) are where you have access to them.

Drawing up legal paperwork for spouses/partners (always a good idea, a helpful safety measure in case you lose marriage rights)

Bolstering your data privacy and online security. Here's a step-by-step guide I found that could help with that.

The specific steps you need to take here depend on what risks you, personally, face. You'll want to do some more research into this for your particular scenario.

No matter who you are, though, it's probably a good idea to start saving money and being a little more conservative with your spending and/or pay down debts to free up some cash. You don't know what kind of emergency may befall you, and having spare money for an emergency is never a bad idea.

There is a possibility that the cost of many things you rely on might go up, if Trump goes through with his tariffs plan. You will want to plan for that.

Food costs may also rise due to tariffs (we import a lot of food from Mexico and Latin America for example) as well as a loss of immigrant labor. There is also a possibility that food safety standards could fall due to overturning regulations. Now would be a good time to look into local food resources like farm share/CSA, community farms, etc., and to stock up on a few key staples like rice and beans.

Okay. Now that YOU are reasonably safe...what can you do to protect your community?

Step Three: Get Involved

Here is your mission: You need to stay engaged enough to know what's going on, without burning yourself out or exhausting yourself, and to take actual decisive actions instead of wasting your energy arguing on the internet.

Got that? Okay. Good. Here are some action steps:

Support independent journalism. Subscribe to local papers, donate to and watch public broadcast programming. I signed up for news from ProPublica, for example, as well as the news-roundup service What The Fuck Just Happened Today. The goal is to stay informed without falling down an endless rabbit hole of upsetting information.

Share news and resources with others in your circle. This can be a good use of social media. It's what I am doing right now!

If it is safe for you to do so, challenge and educate your friends/family members/neighbors/coworkers. Only if it is safe for you to do so. Do not put yourself at risk doing this. And do not waste your time arguing with people who are unlikely to change. But if you have well-meaning people in your life who you think could be won over, look for opportunities to do this - the right way. I've had some success with this, I will probably write a guide about it in the future. In the meantime, here's a good article that can help.

Join local grassroots activism groups. You'll have to do some work to decide what groups to join and which causes you want to support, because you cannot do everything. But there are tons of organizations taking direct action in all kinds of causes. Search "grassroots [cause] activists in [where you live]" to start finding things. Once you get involved in one group, you might meet people who can introduce you to other groups and causes. Yes, this means you will have to go outside and meet people. I'm sorry.

Join direct action groups. Same concept as above. You'll have to search in your area but once you know people it'll be easier to find more opportunities. Some of these groups may overlap. You might find direct action opportunities by engaging politically and vice versa. GO OUTSIDE AND TALK TO PEOPLE WHO ARE DOING THINGS TO HELP.

Get involved in local politics. Here are some quick tips. A lot of things are affected at the city level - stuff like book bans and bathroom bills are often battled first at local libraries and schools, and you can be part of those conversations! Sheriffs are elected and can have a big influence on local policing. Local elections affect how tax dollars are spent, how homeless populations are treated, and lots more. Don't snooze on local elections. Get involved and stay involved.

Look up your representatives. Get in the habit of calling, emailing, and writing letters. Figure out what legislature is being passed and then call your reps and harangue them about it - both to support bills you approve of and shoot down ones you don't. Sign petitions. Join email campaigns. Here's one you can go sign right now from the ACLU. See? Not that scary.

I think a lot of people figure that getting involved in politics doesn't matter or that it's all small potatoes but...man. The president is not god, no matter what he thinks. The sitting administration is not the sole power in the universe. There is an entire machine of government we can lean upon and act upon.

Finally, some general safety notes:

Some forms of direct action are not legal. Take steps to be safe if you choose to partake. Follow the lead of more seasoned activists for what forms of communication to use and so forth.

If you're not willing or able to put yourself at legal risk to act, you can help others by donating to bail funds and legal defense funds.

We've already seen this in some areas, and it will only get uglier - some bad actors are feeling emboldened by the change in regime and will misbehave. It's a good idea to learn some self-defense skills, in whatever way is comfortable to you, and brush up on some tenets of victimology that can help you stay safe. I'll write more about that in the future.

All right. That's all for now. It's by no means comprehensive...but should hopefully help you get started taking the next step. Stay safe out there.

[tofics]

You Owe Me - Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.

Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff

Word count: ~7.4k

Periods are not fun to begin with.

They're even less fun in a post-apocalyptic world, where sanitary products are hard to come by and more of a luxurious rarity than a given staple item in your average survivor's backpack.

You knew you were bound to begin your cycle eventually, and had you had more time, you'd probably have prepared yourself some way or the other. But, with the way things had gone in the past two weeks, you had not had any time to think about bodily functions beyond what your every day efforts demanded of you, and even that was hard to care for.

Ever since the night that you fled Boston's QZ, you hadn't had a proper night's rest, let alone a hearty meal to replenish your energy with. Your escape had been 'spontaneous' to say the least, a necessity brought upon by circumstances that you'd stumbled into rather than purposefully involved yourself in, and before you knew it, you were pointing your finger at Joel Miller, of all people in the world, hissing threats through gritted teeth about how he at least owed you this much if he was going to get you involved in his business without your consent and how you weren't gonna get hanged just because he'd dragged you into his bullshit.

Joel, of course, was not a man you could just point your finger at and demand things of, much less in a hissed tone, even less in the form of threats.

And yet, he'd smuggled you out of the city in a cloak-and-dagger-operation that same night, despite his hard glares and hushed warnings to keep your mouth shut. You'd been anything but prepared when he'd appeared at your side like a magician out of thin air. He'd laid his arm around your neck like a lover might on an evening stroll, but the gesture hadn't been kind, his arm too tight around your throat, pressing on your airway as he'd instructed you - commanded you - to follow him, like you'd have had any other choice with his arm wrapped around your neck like a boa constrictor, all the while a smile on his face that feigned nonchalance to possible onlookers. Nothing to see here, just two lovebirds on their way home after another long, hard day of work.

You'd shaken him off once the two of you were out of sight, ripped his arm off of your throat as you swiveled out of his headlock. "What the fuck, Joel," you'd hissed and he'd stared back at you with that same cold and hard look you knew him by. "Do you want out of the city or not?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his tone matching the iciness of his eyes. Your jaw tensed. The nerves of this guy. "The hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed like you were being dense. "Out. Flee the nest. Hit the damn road-" You cut him off with another pointed finger. "Don't be cute. I know what you mean. What I'm asking is, now?!" He eyed your finger like he was debating cutting it off if you jabbed it into his face one more time. His jaw ticked. "Yes, sweetheart, now." Your nostrils flared at the sarcastic tone of the nickname, but he gave you no time to interject. "Got tipped off. They're gonna do a raid tonight, hit everyone they know I'm involved with. Since you got all flustered about my - 'involvement' of yours-" "Oh, is that what you call that? Grabbing and kissing me out of the blue?" "-I figured I'd do you a solid by giving you a heads up," he talked over you, ignoring your comment entirely. You were seething. "Ever heard of a thing called 'consent', Joel?" He flicked his tongue, rolled his eyes. Clearly, he had no time to entertain your attitude. You didn't care. "It's when you ask someone if they wanna do something, and then only do it if they say yes. Now I know that concept might be a little hard to grasp for you-" You were slowly advancing on him, getting up all in his face, when his hand closed around your arm tightly. Your gaze fell down to his grip, your lower jaw pushing out slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was waiting for your next outburst. "Are you quite done? Cause we gotta go. Unless you'd like to stay and be questioned by FEDRA officers? I'm sure they'd be very interested in your lecture about consent." Joel's upper lip curled back in an ugly sarcastic smile.

And so you'd let him lead you through the city, begrudgingly at first and then bewildered when you realized you were heading in the opposite direction of your apartment. "What about my stuff?" He'd only shaken his head. "No time for that. We gotta go now. Got some backpacks waiting for us a couple blocks ahead."

He only realized you'd stopped walking when he was at least ten steps ahead. "You comin' or what?" You could tell by the tone in his voice that he was nearing the end of his patience, but as far as you were concerned, you were already at the end of yours. You didn't budge, just stared him down from where you stood, shooting icy daggers out of your eyes and your pursed lips quivering as insults swarmed in your head, all fighting to be let out at once. He looked back at you with dull disinterest in his eyes. "By all means, take your time. Ain't like we're on a clock here or somethin'."

"Oh, you son-of-a-bitch, you ignorant little cock-sucker, you absolute blithering idiot-" The stream of affronts sputtered out of you. Joel quickly closed the distance between the two of you and forcefully grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him once more. "Walk and talk, yeah?," he said over your flood of offences, the jabs seemingly rolling off of him like water droplets against plastic. You kept up your clamor all the way down the next block, until he dragged you into yet another side-alley to avoid a group of FEDRA soldiers marching past.

The two of you stood closer together than both you and him would have liked. If it hadn't been for the parade of soldiers walking past you, you might've scratched his eyes out, something you made sure to convey with your eyes as you stared him down in silence. His indifference only fueled your rage. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" You hissed at him when most of the parade had passed by. Joel wondered if he'd ever hear your normal tone-of-voice. "Come again?" He cocked his head. "The way I recall it, you asked me to get you out of the city, not the other way around. Now who's imposin' on who?"

He saw it coming before it was looming in his face again. That damn finger of yours, pointed right at his nose once more. His lips pursed, his hand twitched on the handle of the blade he kept concealed on his waist. Just one quick swipe. Your howls would likely attract the guards. Not worth it. Yet.

"We're only in this predicament because you couldn't keep your damn hands off of me!" You almost spat in his face, your voice all hoarse from trying to keep your shout down to a whisper. Your head looked like it was about to implode. Joel flicked his tongue again.

"You wanna discuss bygones again or you wanna get goin'? Time's not waitin' on us, sweetheart."

"Oufff." You growled in response, your finger so close to his face you'd take out an eye if he moved an inch in the wrong direction. "Get that thing out of my face," he finally snapped and smacked your hand down. "Now quit whinin'. You wanted out of the city, you're gettin' out of the city. Giddy up. Time's a' wastin'."

Without another look to check if you were following, he dipped out of the alleyway and marched down in the direction of his - your - first pit stop. You stood between the tight walls for another moment, breathing heavily. If FEDRA hadn't been breathing down your neck, you would've turned around on your heels and sent Joel off to whatever miserable adventure he was about to embark on, but alas, he'd made his miserable adventure yours against your will. You cursed under your breath, then hurried after him.

"All I'm saying is, what about my shit? You think I don't have any sentimentals at home? Necessities? Stuff I wanted to bring when I left?" You whispered to him as you kept up with his pace beside him. It could've been your imagination, but the people out on the street looked more hurried than usual. Something was definitely in the air. Joel's tip-off likely had been right. Something was brewing.

"You win some, you lose some," came his sullen reply, paired with a shrug. You had to stuff your comeback back down your throat as the two of you filed into the crowd of people heading home, hurried steps and hard, concerned faces all around you.

Escaping hadn't been easy. Every single guard had been on high-alert. It seemed that the tip-off must've come out - the number of guards had been tripled, and you and Joel had a hard time going by undetected, despite the added benefit of nighttime and the rain that had picked up, muffling your steps as you hurried from dark corner to dark corner.

The Firefly attack took him as much by surprise as it did you and the soldiers. The booming sound of an explosion just a few hundred feet ahead made you flinch and Joel instinctively pulled you down with him. Rubble rained down on the two of you, crashing into the muddied floor just inches besides you. You gasped and flinched away, losing your halt on all fours, but a strong arm caught you around the middle before you could slump to the ground. "Let's go," Joel urged in your ear and dragged you up to your feet in one swift motion.

Shouts erupted around you from all sides, then got droned out as FEDRA's sirens kicked up. You scrambled after Joel as he evaded spotlights that swiveled across the floor from all directions, keeping the two of you safely tucked away in the few shadows that remained. Smoke burned in your nose and lungs as you sprinted from safe haven to safe haven. Loud cracks cut through the uproar of your surroundings, accompanied by deep thudding sounds as more rubble fell to the floor. The fire from the explosion site was now spreading out, slowly licking at buildings in its path. Many of the decrepit structures quickly crumbled away under the heat, porous and unstable to begin with.

It was disorienting, frightening. For the first time in over a week, you were glad for Joel Miller. If it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have made it out of the chaos alive.

Granted, if it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but he kept his word and got you out.

You'd never meant to stay with him, but as things would have it, you weren't presented with much of a choice in that either. You made it out of the city just fine, save for a few jump scares along the road, but then ran into a hoard of infected that had been attracted by the ruckus of the explosion, just a few miles outside of the quarantine zone.

How you made it through that encounter alive, you didn't know, you just knew that Joel was a more-than-worthy asset in that debacle, as much as you hated to admit it. As if that hadn't been enough, you barely had one peaceful night before a group of raiders pulled through the section of outskirts where you and Joel had holed up for the night. It was an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' kind of turn of events that kept you and Joel running and fighting for your lives for almost two weeks straight, stumbling from one disaster into the next, until finally, finally, you seemed to leave your losing streak behind.

It had now been three whole days since the two of you had found yourselves in mortal danger last, and though it felt almost wrong to be hopeful for a peaceful stretch of days, you couldn't help but be just that.

Until, of course, you felt that familiar sharp pull in your abdomen.

Crap.

"You didn't happen to pack anything female-related when you packed this, did you?," you asked as you rifled through the contents of your backpack. Well, Joel's backpack really, since it was the one he'd bestowed upon you the night of your escape. Your own backpack was still back in Boston, probably picked apart by FEDRA by now, along with all of your other belongings.

"Like what?" Joel was poking at the fire he'd set out to build. The flames wouldn't quite take, a few feeble blue streaks dancing between the twigs he'd collected.

"Like, I don't know, a pad, maybe? Tampons, if I'm allowed to dream?" You had almost emptied out the entire backpack now, and even though the contents you were bringing to light were certainly useful, none of them were what you were looking for.

Joel looked up, a kind of perplexed look on his face. You took in his facial expression and sighed. "I'll take that as a no. Crap." You slumped down on your butt in defeat. "That's gonna be a problem."

Joel scratched behind his ear, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't on my radar when I was packing." It could've been the dim light of the barely lit fire playing a trick on your eyes, but you could've sworn that some color rose in his cheeks. You just sighed once more and shrugged. "Eh, can't blame ya. Not something I'd expect to be on the mind of a..." You looked at him, eyebrow raised. "...something year old man."

He snorted. Sparks flew up from the twigs as he kept poking around. "Fifty-six," he said after a little while. "If you must know."

"Huh."

"What." He eyed you over the now growing flames. It looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.

"Nothing." You raised your arms in defense. "Just... wouldn't have thought so. I just mean," you quickly added when you saw the expression on his face, "you've held up better than I would've thought. Jeez, relax. I'm not coming for your age."

"Right. Cause you ain't been jabbin' at me for just about anythin' else. S'cuse me if I'm just prepared."

"Cause you been jabbin' at me for just about anything else," you mocked under your breath. "And I got a right to. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be in this mess if-"

"-I hadn't dragged you into it." He interrupted you with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first trillion times. You ever gonna let it go?"

You scowled at him over the flames. "No." He quirked an eyebrow at you, and the exhausted apprehension on his face made you crack up. "Fine. Maybe. The jury's still out on that."

A day later, the sharp pull in your abdomen had grown into full-sized cramps, one of the four horsemen of your period riding in in full stride. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, but your period pains had always been on the worse side, sometimes leaving you crumpled into a ball on the floor. Your cramps could be debilitating, and a gnawing pit of worry formed in your stomach as the day went along.

Back in the QZ, you had your ways of coping: hot water bottles or hot potatoes wrapped in tinfoil tucked into a sweater so that their warmth radiated throughout your belly. There was even a bottle of emergency ibuprofen tucked away in a little secret corner of your bedroom. You longed for it now as the cramps begin to grow in intensity and longevity. You'd certainly planned to bring them along for your escape, but alas...

A groan escaped your lips as another cramp pulled on you from the inside. Your steps faltered and you leaned over for a moment with a hand pressed to your lower belly.

"Hey. You good?" Joel had been a few steps ahead of you, but he'd turned around at your groan. You'd been a trooper for the last two weeks, making him think more than once that getting you out hadn't been such a bad bet after all. You fought like hell, and when you weren't busy being mad at him, you followed orders quite well, especially when yours (or his) life depended on it.

Of course, he'd never say that out loud. You were still routinely giving him an earful about how he'd made you leave everything you owned behind, how you'd have had more time to properly prepare if he hadn't just dragged you into his mess, if he hadn't just kissed you that night-

You never missed a chance to remind him of all his wrongdoings, bickering on and on and on about the predicament you now found yourself in. As if he hadn't been the one to get you out. Sure, yeah, he did owe you as much after... having dragged you into his mess (his jaw clenched at the thought), but he'd paid his dues in full, as far as he was concerned. Hell, not only had he gotten you out in one piece, he'd even packed a whole get-away bag for you, survival essentials included. Had you thanked him for it? Certainly not. You hadn't complained about it either though, that was for sure, and Joel was certain that was about as much of a thanks as he was going to get from you.

You straightened, a somber and tight expression on your face as you nodded, but Joel could tell you were in more pain that you were letting on. Two weeks of fighting like crazy and just minutes of sleep to go on for days, and he hadn't heard a peep outta you. He had to give it to ya - you were tough, a fighter through and through. When you complained, it had nothing to do with where you slept, what you ate, who you fought. You just did it. He appreciated that quality in you. It made you a decent travel companion - if it wasn't for your bickering about everything else. That, he'd had decidedly enough of.

Today, though, you had been unusually quiet. You had yet to point an accusing finger at him, and though he could do without another finger pointed at his face for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but notice the change in your demeanor. Your pace was slower than the weeks before, even though you were now eating and sleeping better than you'd had in all previous fourteen days combined. Your movements seemed sluggish, almost lethargic, and you were hanging behind more often than not. This wasn't the first time you'd stopped either.

"We can rest for a moment, if you want." Joel gestured towards some trees on the side of the road. "Sit a moment in the shade. Catch our breath."

You looked like you were about to throw a snarky remark his way, but then you just nodded and trotted over to the patchy area of shade.

He sat down beside you with a groan, then stretched his aching legs out on the ground. Even if you thought he'd held up just fine, his legs certainly disagreed. If anything, they felt older than fifty-six. More like bordering on sixty.

Joel took a sip of his water, then nudged you with his elbow. You looked at him through hooded lids, exhaustion written all over your face. "Drink. Gotta stay hydrated."

Another wordless nod from you. No snarky comment. You got your own bottle out and gulped down a few sips.

"You sure you're good?" He eyed you carefully. There was a light sheen of sweat above your upper lip, some more pearls glistening on your forehead.

"I said as much, didn't I?"

Ah. There it was. Joel nodded. "There we go. Thought you were dyin' on me or somethin'."

You shot him a quizzical look.

"You haven't talked back to me all day. Was startin' to get worried," he shrugged with half a smile on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed at him. Joel Miller? Worried about you? Yeah, right. "What, you sweet on me or something, Miller?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Uh-huh. Glad to see you still got your wits about ya. C'mon." He got to his feet and dusted the dirt off his pants. "If you can jab, you can walk. Let's go."

You knew you had a couple of hours, maybe less, until hell's gates would open and the floods would come raining down your legs. Literally.

At least your periods were dependable that way, always following the same pattern.

Evening was fast approaching, and so was a town in the distance, just down the hill that you and Joel had just reached the top of. He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding his view from the evening sun that hung low on the horizon.

"Best bet is to go around it," he assessed, one hand on his hip. "No way to tell what's waitin' down there. Easier if we don't find out."

"Yeah, umh, about that."

He turned to you, a golden glow around the outline of his head. He looked like an angel. You blinked, cleared your throat.

"I need to find some cloth. Preferably clean, but anything will do, really. I know there's a spare shirt in my backpack, but I really don't want to cut it up..."

Joel frowned at you, visibly not understanding what you were getting at.

"Pads, Joel. I need to make pads. I'm about to start bleeding like a slit throat. I'm talkin' Niagara Falls."

He blinked, scratched behind his ear. "...right. Yeah. Okay."

It irked him that he hadn't thought of anything for your period. Granted, he hadn't had to deal with the topic in a long time, no woman in his life sticking around long enough (he made sure of that) that the topic could even come up. Still, he was a man who prided himself on being prepared, and he felt anything but as he helped you rummage through open and broken drawers to look for anything that might be useful.

You were tensing up more frequently now, pausing in whatever you were doing with shut eyes and a tight expression on your face. He knew what that meant, even if it had been a long time. You were cramping, and by the looks of it, quite hard.

Joel was irritated to find that he felt sorry for you. Though, no, that wasn't what irritated him. He may have been gruff and closed off on the outside, but he was still human after all, capable of empathy. What irritated him was the need he felt to alleviate your pain. More than once, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke your face, or worse even, to pull you into his arms into a comforting hug. Once, when your back was turned to him, he even saw his arm lifting on its own accord, and he had to bring it back down with his other hand before it made contact with you.

What the hell are you thinkin', he scolded himself. This ain't no more than a cargo run. She's cargo. Quit daydreamin'.

He scolded himself and then moved on, once, twice, thrice, until he had to tell himself off for the fourth time and he was beginning to get seriously pissed with himself. What was it with you that he kept thinkin' about touchin' you?

You were oblivious to his ordeal, having your own problems to deal with. You'd found some cloth that looked (and smelled) clean enough to be used as makeshift pads. Your hands made quick work of the fabric as you tore the old shirt into strips, then braided them into wider pieces until they roughly matched the length of the strip of fabric that connected the front of your panties to the back. Once that was done, you wrapped the braided piece fully around the bottom of a fresh pair of underwear, tying off the excess fabric when you had done so. It wasn't pretty, it was knobby and bound to be uncomfortable, but it was better than just wrapping pieces around the middle and hoping for the best. This way, you had a couple of layers underneath you, and if you didn't shuffle too much, the makeshift pad would perhaps stay in place. You sighed, inspecting your finished work. Behind you, Joel whistled. He sauntered over to inspect your work.

"Don't look too bad. You think this'll do?"

You eyed your handful of makeshift pads, a sorrowful look on your face. "It'll have to. But knowing my flow, I'll go through these in just a day - two, if I'm lucky..." Another wave of cramps tightened in your lower belly. You winced and leaned forward, one arm across your abdomen. A warm hand appeared on your shoulder.

"Tell you what. This town don't seem too dangerous. How 'bout we try and find a place here for tonight? Hm? Sleep in a real bed for a change?"

Joel didn't need to ask twice. You seemed more than relieved that your journey today would go no further than a couple of houses down the street, which was where you found a suitable candidate to spend the night in.

It had probably been a beautiful townhouse once, back in the day, complete with a white picket fence and a front- and backyard to show for. Now, though, the garden was overgrown, the fence was hanging in pieces, paint littering off its remaining poles, and the house itself looked sad and empty, as if it was mourning the loss of its previous inhabitants.

Unlike the rest of the houses on the street though, this building seemed to have all its walls intact. That, and the fact that your steps were getting slower by the minute, was enough for Joel to declare this house as your designated sleeping spot for the night.

The two of you did a quick sweep of each room, making sure everything was safe and sound. It was strange how quickly a routine could settle between two people who'd been nothing but strangers just barely three weeks ago. It wasn't the first time this thought occurred to you either: yours and Joel's movements seemed to almost flow into one another as you cleared the house from bottom to top. It felt a little like you could anticipate his next move before he announced it, and vice versa. He'd even said as much to you after the first week of the two of you fighting for y'all's asses, talking about how maybe you weren't as much of a princess as he'd initially thought. You'd just rolled your eyes at the comment, but there had also been a feeling of pride settling in your chest that you'd been unable to ignore.

It came like you'd said it would. Not long after you had dropped yourself on one of the worn-out sofas in the living room, you felt a particularly harsh cramp cutting through your abdomen, before something warm trickled out of you. You groaned silently to yourself. So it had begun.

Joel watched you from the armchair next to the couch. He was using the last couple of hours of decent daylight to take stock of his backpack, checking it for tears and what not, taking inventory of his ammo and cleaning and sharpening his weapons. Besides the fact that it had to be done, it gave him something to do. Made him feel like he was doing something sensible, practical.

He didn't like to admit it to himself, but watching you writhe in pain on the couch beside him didn't sit right with him. Even though it had nothing to do with a lack of care on his side, he somehow, against all logic, felt responsible for how crappy you were feelin'. It didn't help either that kept tellin' himself off for it. Ain't none of yer business, he kept repeating in his head and re-focused on sharpening the blade in his hand, right before glancing back at you when you'd moan again in pain.

You were definitely going through it. Once the dam had broken, so to say, there was nothing you could do but lay on the couch and wallow in self-pity. By now, the cramps had settled into a steady churning pain that had settled in your abdomen like a straight line, going from one of your tubes to the other. Your lower back felt like something was trying to break through it from both sides, forming an immense pressure that spread up the rest of your back. As if that wasn't enough, your neck was tense, rock hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable in whatever position you brought yourself into. And then of course, there was the bleeding itself, and the occasional harsher cramp that pulled through your entire abdomen.

You were certainly going through it, and the last two weeks had been too demanding. When a cramp cursed through you, you didn't hold back your whimpers. You just didn't have it in you to care. Joel could think whatever he wanted - no uterus, no opinion, that was as far as your thinking went in regards to him as you laid on the couch and wallowed in pain.

You had to give it to him, though. He was being remarkably quiet about your whole ordeal. You'd expected some dry comments, something about pulling yourself together, woman, you're not dying, but so far, there had been none of that, not even a distasteful scoff at your moans. You did see him looking at you from time to time, and it must've been your hazy mind, but you could've sworn he looked almost sorry for you. Almost.

Hours passed, and your pain didn't let up, if anything, it only intensified. While darkness slowly settled over everything outside, you did anything but on the couch. You turned and tossed with every new wave of pain, trying with all your might to find at least one position that alleviated your pain, but nothing helped. You had just flipped yourself over on your stomach with a groan, burying your face in one of the cushions when Joel spoke up behind you.

"Alright, enough. C'mon."

There was a light tap on your leg, then a more determined nudge when you didn't move. "Hey, c'mon. Move."

You just groaned into your pillow. I ain't movin' nowhere, it meant, but then your legs were being picked up and slowly lowered, until your knees touched the ground. Begrudgingly, and with a very fed-up expression on your face, you lifted your head from the pillow to shoot icy daggers at Joel, who was now kneeling beside you.

"Don't gimme that look," he grumbled. "Just tryin' to help ya. C'mon." He motioned at the sofa cushion. "Put your head down, get comfortable. N' put your knees a bit more together, so I can fit behind you. There you go." He instructed you until you were kneeling in front of the couch how he wanted to, your head resting on your arms on the sofa cushion. Attagirl. He shimmied behind you with some difficulty, his old knees not cooperating with him as fast as they once did, but then he finally sat behind you in a position similar to yours.

"What'cha doin," he heard you murmur into the cushion and promptly shushed you. "Shh. You about to see. Now don't freak, but you about to feel my hands on you."

You had no idea what the hell he was getting up to, but you didn't have the strength to care. For all you cared, he could've taken you off the chessboard in this very moment, and you wouldn't have minded. Everything hurt too much. It was all you could focus on.

You felt Joel's large hands on your waist, then your shirt being lightly pulled up. "Hey! What-"

You did turn around at that, furrowed brows and all, only to be met with Joel's fed-up stare. "You trust me or not?"

It took a moment, but eventually you put your head back down, not without your lips drawing into a pout. Course, you trusted him by now. Even if you didn't like it very much.

Joel waited until your head was settled on the cushion again, then he brought up your top a bit, folding it over once so it'd stay up over your tailbone. It had been a while, since he'd done this - hell, a long, long while - but he couldn't sit by no more and watch you toss and turn in pain. He'd had about enough of that.

He laid his palms flat on your waist, letting you get acclimated to his touch first so you wouldn't turn around and bite his head off once more in a second. Then, when he felt like a good enough time had passed, he lightly lifted his thumbs and pressed them down on your lower back, your tailbone right in the middle of them. Carefully, he brought his thumbs upwards, drawing two straight lines into your skin while keeping his pressure firm.

Your response was almost immediate. Joel could see your tense shoulders going down just a smidge, your back relaxing as you let out an elongated 'oh' sound, accompanied by a deep sigh. "Attagirl," he murmured, one corner of his lips slightly quirking up. "Just relax into it. I got you." He kept repeating the motion, digging his thumbs into your lower back to bring you some relief. A picture of how he'd once done the same for Sarah's mother flit across his brain. He quickly shook his head, dismissing the memory as quickly as it had appeared.

It felt like heaven, how Joel was working his thumbs over your aching back. It did nothing to alleviate your pain in the front, but it still felt a million times better than tossing and turning on the worn out cushions of this dusty couch. Just like you hadn't held back with your moans of pain, you were now not holding back your moans of enjoyment. You'd never felt anything quite like it before. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

You heard Joel chuckle quietly behind you. "I know a thing or two, kiddo. Been around the block once or twice."

You just hummed in agreement, then let out a load moan once more as his fingers dug into a specifically delicate spot. "Fuck, Joel. Yeah. Right there."

Joel was just glad you had your head buried in the cushions of the sofa. Otherwise you would've seen what your moans were doing to him, and boy, were they doing a number on him. He'd been able to ignore your first few moans of pleasure, biting down hard on his tongue and closing his eyes to focus, but then his mind started projecting pictures onto his closed lids of you, below instead in front of him, making those same sweet sounds of pleasure while he touched you elsewhere -

His eyes flew open and he grunted, willing the pictures away with all his might. He tried staring at his hands instead, but that was a dumb idea, seeing as how he could see your delicate skin being worked underneath his thumbs then, his fingers drawing out another moan from your lips -

Next was the wall. He could've drilled holes into the flaky wallpaper, with how hard he was staring at it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and he could only hope, pray that you wouldn't turn around anytime soon to see how your moans were visibly affecting him, specifically in his crotch area.

"Fuck, oh my god, right there, Joel." Your voice was breathy and needy, and Joel's eye twitched. The hell had he gotten himself into with this?!

He prodded your back, trying to find the spot you'd just referred to. "Right here, sweetheart?"

He saw your head bob as you nodded, a satisfied hum vibrating through you. "Mhh, yeah. That's - oof - that's the spot."

He was digging himself his own grave, that much was for certain right now. He knew he should've stopped, should've went back to his armchair and returned to working on his gun, but he couldn't. It was like he was transfixed, glued in position like a fly to a trap. The whimpers falling from your mouth were too good to pass up, to sweet to resist. He hadn't had anything sweet in such a long time. And Joel was dying for a treat.

But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew it now and he knew it then, those few weeks ago when he'd grabbed you outside of your apartment and had kissed you out of the blue. You'd been shocked to say the least. The FEDRA guards had been on his heels and he'd needed to find a way to disperse of them quickly, and there you were, conveniently placed in his path like a lucky find, and his brain had snapped and he'd just gone for it. Pulled you into a kiss like you were his, hands flying up to your face to hold you in place. Your eyes had grown wide in shock and he'd briefly pulled his lips from yours to whisper to you. Work with me, please, I'll make it worth your while. His heart had drummed in his chest, a million silent prayers tumbling from his lips in the milli-second that it took you to subtly nod. A brief grin had flit over his lips before he'd crashed them back down on yours, kissing you like he'd been waiting to do so all day. And my god, had you worked with him. Your own hands had flown up to his head, one curling around the base of his neck and the other digging into his hair. He'd backed you up against the wall behind you, slowly walking you backwards until your back collided with the weathered bricks, and you had actually moaned into his mouth, much like you were doing now. It had sent his head reeling, and though Joel was not a man of faith, he'd briefly thanked whatever God he had seemingly pleased enough to allow him this sweet of a distraction.

The guards had trampled around the corner then, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to the sweet moans falling from your lips. They'd cleared their throat - ahem - and Joel had unwillingly detangled himself from you enough to cast a look at them over his shoulder. What? A man can't make out with his girl in the street? Their eyes had wandered from you to him, and he saw then what they were seeing: a man in his mid-fifties pressing a what, late twenties? Early thirties? woman to the wall, her face all flustered, hair disheveled from where Joel's hands had dug into it. He'd seen the envy plastered on their faces, heard the murmurs. Lucky bastard. A triumphant grin had played around his lips, even though he knew he was treading on thin fucking ice. That he was indeed, a lucky bastard.

His luck had only lasted so long, though. When the guards had disappeared, he all but saw lucky stars in his eyes when you invited him up to your apartment. Was he really going to get that lucky?

Heavens, no. He'd been brought down back to earth swiftly when you had stood in front of him, crossed arms and expectant look on your face. So? What was that? He shrugged nonchalantly. What was what?

You, though, as he quickly came to learn, were not to be underestimated. You made him tell you in detail why the guards had been after him, then practically foamed at the mouth when he reluctantly explained what he'd been up to that afternoon.

It hadn't even been that big of a deal, just a casual, run-of-the-mill drug run, but you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Casual? Run-of-the-mill? He'd had to shush you from how loud you were screeching. Didn't you know the damn walls had ears?

My god, you could talk. Bicker, was the more fitting term. Or nag, really. You went on and on about how he'd went and done it now, how he'd fucked up your life, all because he had to go and get you involved in something that you had absolutely no interest in -

That was the first time your finger had flown into his face, all accusing and threatening, like you could do him any harm with just the tip of your index finger. Boy, had he been tempted to smack it out of his face. But he didn't. As much as he hated to admit it - you had a point. By putting you on the map as his lover, he had likely put you in a lot more danger than you were even realizing at the moment.

He'd tried to put you out of his mind. Even after you had made him promise to get you out of the QZ as a 'reward' - You owe me, Joel Miller - he'd tried not to think about you, not until his next run out of the city at least, which is when he planned to make good on his promise. Until then, he wouldn't think about you. You'd just turn into another headache, another problem he'd have to deal with, and he had enough of those as it was. Not to mention that he was almost twice your senior. He didn't have many principles anymore, but he still had some. And hell if he didn't at least stick to those anymore.

He kept his resolve up for all but two hours, when he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed and unable to sleep. You kept drifting through his mind, bickering and foaming at the mouth and red in the face, telling him how he'd went and fucked up your life, but more than that how your lips had felt on his, how sweet your mouth had tasted, how delicious your moans had sounded in his ear -

Fuck it. Joel growled and shoved his hand into his boxers. He'd rub one out to you, just once. Surely that would get you off his mind.

Well, it did, sort of. Until he was in bed again the next night, and he found himself with his cock in his hand once more, thinking about your lips and how they'd felt on him, and how they'd feel wrapped around his cock instead of his own hand -

He groaned as his release painted over his stomach, white silken strands mixing with the soft curls on his belly as he silently cursed you, then himself. The hell had he gotten himself into?

So of course he'd had no choice but to come and get you when he got intel that he was the subject of the upcoming raid, that very night. He barely had time to prepare two backpacks with the bare necessities before he went out to find you.

How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter.

And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it.

No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics

A/N: Well, here we are. Like I said, the idea for this was born while needing comfort on my own period, and then this monstrosity flowed from my fingertips and eventually I realized that perhaps, 9.3k words were perhaps a bit too much for a oneshot, especially when said oneshot wasn't complete yet. Ahem. So! Here you have the first half of what is undoubtedly going to turn into a filthy, filthy second part. 🙃 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, lol.

No pressure taglist:

@peekyourinterest @vickie5446 @noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler

@frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981

@spotty-boo90 @iamsherlocked-1998 @axshadows @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

Caitlyn:

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you. She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong. She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it. She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

[loudclan-clangen]

So, here is the pitch:

AU where Siltsplash finds out they are pregnant around the same moon that Eklutna gives birth to the boys. (Rather than an AU where Owl doesn’t cheat because then we wouldn’t have Song, Dance, or Dash and that won’t do)

It makes the betrayal even worse because it’s even more pointless since they were going to give Owl an heir.

Anyway, meet Spindlekit

She will eventually go blind I imagine, but if Owlstar suggest she retire she tells him that he should retire for being old lmao.

Warrior name is open to suggestion

I love her and I’m so mad that she doesn’t exist now.

The fact that Song doesn’t have a little sister is a CRIME. This is what he was born to do.

Not only am I okay with it, I would love to see it!

You are so right, here's a flashback that was cut for time from Moon 28:

Erminepaw has had a crush on Songpaw since they were in the nursery together, he just never called attention to it. He honestly probably doesn't even register that it is a crush, he's doing that thing that kids do where they're like this is my best friend, of course I want to marry him that's how everyone feels about their best friend. Nothing out of the ordinary here! Just my best friend that I must be holding hands with at all times for best friend reasons!

Yes! This is Fox----, he has been causing problems since the literal day he was born. You've met both of his parents, but I would be a little bit surprised if you guessed them correctly. Parental drama is kinda part of his whole deal. He's one of the first 3rd generation cats born in Loudclan.

I have SO much advice, about the images, the recommended size is 1280 x 1920 pixels, that's always a little too short for my panels, so I try to aim for 1280 x 2000 - 3000. It still deteriorates them a little bit, but people can always click on them for better quality. Bigger text and variation in values also help for readability regardless of size. (value meaning how light or dark a color is. if you want something to stand out it's more important to change the value than it is to change the hue generally speaking.) As for grabbing attention, I would recommend making sure that the image you're trying to show is visible above the cut off for longer posts, posts with only text visible are a lot less likely to get interaction. That being said, the most important thing for the longevity of your blog is making sure that it's something you are doing for yourself. There's nothing wrong with liking when your posts get attention, but it's not likely to happen for a long while (I think moon 5 was the first time I got double digit likes which was three months after I started.) I appreciate all of the love that Loudclan gets now, but if I had started with that as the goal I never would have been able to reach the point of it happening. (I actually started posting Loudclan with the intention of proving to myself once and for all that posting art was not a viable endeavor for me, so... I'll consider that a successful failure!)

You CANNOT DO THIS to me anon- "the canadian city"- YOU MEAN JUNEAU? YOU MEAN THE CAPITAL OF ALASKA JUNEAU?!?! JUNEAU?!?! CANADIAN?!?! When I catch you anon- anon when I catch you-

Come here, anon. I just want to talk. I just want to have a word with you.

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[sgiandubh]

He was at Three Sheets yesterday night with Ashley. Check their respective stories

Dear Three Sheets Anon,

Your information is correct. What I meant by 'nothing to do with Ashley Hearn' in my post is a bit different, though. Ashley has been in London for a while already, obviously for sales & marketing purposes. She clearly posted about it and even suggested she will be in Scotland soon. But she is not the reason he is in London these days. She already successfully toured several bar outlets by herself, using her own business contacts, in New York and elsewhere: meeting her boss while in London is absolutely normal and nothing to write home about. But not the main reason he is in London right now, I think.

So it would seem they met at the Three Sheets Bar, yesterday.

S's IG story:

[Later edit]: Ashley's IG story - too bad I interrupted myself to get a delivery and then lost this thread:

S tagged both the bar and SS's IG accounts. This is a routine business meeting, especially considering the Three Sheets also deals in business consulting:

They have two outlets in London, one in Dalston and the other in Soho. Both have excellent reviews and well, the expected price range for cocktails in London (10-20 £ ):

Your ask also gives me the opportunity to come forward with several things I have been keeping in my drawers for a while, so thank you for that. Kind of.

Remember (LOOOL and then some more for that, always) my through the grapevine info that C joined S and the team at Milady's bar in New York, on October 17 2024, after the Versace Armani event she attended with Maria McManus? I also remember the Without Pix Anon:

Well, I don't have 'pix' , but I do have the next best thing (gracias a ti, siempre ❤️):

Ashley liked what C posted on October 25, 2024. One full week after the Milady's get together - why would she, if C wasn't there at all, like all the Righteous Pundits lie to you?

She also briefly followed her on IG, but not anymore (why? I will let you draw your own conclusions), along with several OL cast members (followed all of them at the same moment, after the event): Rankin, John Bell and Skeleton. Bell and Skeleton were at that get together, too (unsure about Rankin? it's Saturday, after all and I am not the Metropolitan Police, either - please correct me if I am wrong). She still follows them on IG. Clearly they met there?

The second thing I wanted to bring along is Maximum Wobbler Bullshit's recent nonsense:

This impostor and mythomaniac I have repeatedly debunked in the past still has very scant English, negligent writing skills at best and no damn idea about what marketing means. She was completely triggered by this particular post, on November 5, 2024 (while almost everyone was looking elsewhere, for obvious reasons):

Featured in the pic is Mia Kumari, a good friend of Ashley Hearn. Maximum Wobbler Bullshit conveniently forgets to explain who Mia Kumari is:

Based in London, UK and currently mixing at the Satan's Whiskers bar in Bethnal Green (after a short spell at The Savoy, hello?), she is a well-known, up-and-coming bartender with a consistent record of awards:

The press is raving about her:

[Full article, here: https://foodism.co.uk/features/long-reads/women-london-bar-scene/]

She is also a feminist bartender, with an internationally praised agenda:

[Mia was last week in Greece, as guest speaker at the very prestigious Athens' Bar Week. Too bad I left: I would have certainly bought a ticket and gladly listened to what she had to say - https://www.athensbarshow.gr/guest-speakers/mia-kumari]

Surely a trailblazer 'in London’s dynamic and globally revered bar industry', who also is 'an advocate for equality, diversity and inclusion' does not need Sassenach Spirits to promote herself. She is doing a smashing job at it, like the pro she clearly is: on trend, progressive, sought after and more than noticed. I fail to see where the fuck the alleged cronyism is, because that would simply mean Mia Kumari is a social zero, a nobody in the UK's spirits industry, taking advantage of her friendship with Ashley Hearn in order to get more attention for her sole benefit. That is a lie and that is simply wrong: if anything, it is Sassenach Spirits that needed to prominently feature someone like Mia Kumari, in order to align itself to the values she is so actively promoting (all values C is sensitive to, hmmm). We are miles away, here, from the Cutty Sark wannabe (in)famous Labour Day boat party in Marina del Rey, featuring the BBC/Blue Bikini Chick, back in September 2023 (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/727347023165145088/its-all-fake-anyway), when all the fandom trolls were on fire. So, Sassenach Spirits needed to do exactly something along these lines, in order to promote and boost the seasonal Xmas sales of their tartan scarves, SS's most expensive merch, targeting a younger, more sophisticated urban crowd.

Clever brands constantly redefine themselves, looking for the right trends and the right crowds to promote their products to. This is a clear sign that finally adults are in the room, now, at SS's Marketing and Sales respective departments. So damn glad to see this welcome shift!

[boeing-787]

apologies for the tiny screenshot, but on the thread from the hairstyle's creator, username Madqueenmomo:

Hello, I’m the original creator and artist and i just wanted to say thank you for fighting to fix the hair or at lest have SE do better for the other hairstyles that won. I understood that the hair would not be an exact 1 to 1 to my design but , since i saw how to treated previous designs that won including my mch gun, i had assumed that would at lest find a way to make it somewhat recognizable. The thing that really bothers me is the fact that I made this hair for my friends and for people who needed this representation. All three of the hairs i submitted were made with them in mind while i specifically also toned it down enough that they could be used with non poc characters. Especially since curly hair is something that anyone of any skin color and ethnicity could have. (Which is why i even added the examples of non dark skinned characters using it) When the hair won, i had so many heartfelt and emotional thank you messages from so many people around the world because their hair was finally going to be in game. So many people who were just happy to finally be themselves. Now i’m just here so angry and disappointed for them because not only does it look nothing like it while being of strange odd quality, it just also feels like they didn't even try and now all those players lost something they needed. I would love to be wrong. I would love to learn that someone tried really hard, and even fought to have more curly hair in the game. Cause atlest then it wouldn't be such a letdown or betrayal. I want to end with, i know the dev team is probably overworked and overwhelmed. And i do not mean them any hate or bad words. I just wish they can take their time and get things right next time. Sorry for the long post. And thank you.

As other people have noted: other hairstyle design winners in previous patch notes are worded differently from this one. It's generally written something along the lines of "A winning entry from xyz design contest has been added"

This one is different & has been writted as "A designed inspired by...." is especially deliberate.

If you are wanting to post on the forum thread, you'll need to make sure you have logged onto xiv in the last 14 days, even if you've already made an account. Otherwise it doesn't let you log in as I've found today, and I'm still waiting for the forum to catch up that I've logged into comment on the thread.

hello! i am here asking you to please consider supporting this forum thread regarding the new to-be-added 7.1 hairstyle, which is most likely from a specific winning entry of the 2023 hairstyle contest where the winner's entry CLEARLY intended for this to be a textured/non-white style that squeenix botched pretty badly. pictures in the first post compare the submitted, winning entry to the in-game screenshots provided in the 7.1 preliminary patch notes, and other posters have pointed out how past hairstyles have proven the intended texturing for this winning entry are completely within squeenix's ability.

[accio-victuuri]

XZ Album 《我们 WE》 early cpns.

you know we just need a few things to see and it’s a whole bunch of cpns we can produce after 😂😂😂 that’s the magic of being a turtle. lol. we may be interpreting this whole thing wrong but that’s usual when it comes to speculations we make and i think that’s the joy of it.

i’ll start of with this one that made me want to scream and cry:

i mean… shut up…. noooooo… wdym 😭😭😭

why you gotta pull the wei wuxian imagery like that. i’m very very weak for this. the writing mimics that of a red ribbon. of all things. tho the WM here as how fans interpret it and how i think xz intended it to is WM: WǒMen (我们) as in We/Us or WM: We and Me (我和“我们”) (Wǒ hé “Wǒmen”). not to mention that the color scheme of this red is 911005. his bday. everything is intentional.

but still. red ribbon. come on. who can blame us for clowning like this when he makes it so easy. it’s not a secret that the untamed and the role of wwx is important to him career wise and well *ehem* personally *ehem* because of a certain someone. if you don’t wanna look that far then just go with the W as in WANG. lol. and if it’s WM, M flipped is still W. so that’s how transfixed he is with the letter W. i wonder why. 👀

now we move on to the snippets of what the song means & how it’s making us think of wyb’s previous single everything is lovely ( which has a separate cpn too between them )

QQ music said this line connected to the album/song:

“About me, about you, about TA (him/her), or the relationship between people in this big city.”

this is pretty similar to the message of everything is lovely — it’s about appreciating everyone and looking at life and your surroundings as interconnected. they both have that sense in them. what we do and say, it has an effect and we are all related even if it’s a big city we live in. plus the use of TA which does not specify the gender. we love that! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

we get more of an expanded idea too via xzs post of the activity for the release. it mentioned a description. you can substitute the we to us if that reads better to you:

“Some people say that WE are close friends, cats and dogs waiting for us to come home every night are concrete in life.

Some people say that WE make friends with all kinds of emotions... are virtualization hidden inside the heart.

These characters of “ME”, and emotions form different "WE".

We are placed in a prism named "life", where light breaks it down into multi-faceted spaces. We travel through different spaces as lights flow and capture our own colors.

Starting from "Me", feel the intersection related to "Me", and then return to understand "self". What is the "we" behind "Me"?

A trace of emotion, a thing, a friend... The bits and pieces around "Me" all make up "We".

i think if you are someone who have been watching them for a while and the messaging they are sending out then you will see the common theme/connection here. the cats and dogs waiting for us to come home every night. that reminds me of the cpn that they have a cat and dog at home, at some point. and it’s what they want too. the interconnection of you/other people and appreciating everything around you, that’s the vibe i’m getting right now. of course we will know more one we have the song/s and the full lyrics and possibly some backstory from xz.

a coincidence too that the “me and we” is giving the same energy as “ u and i” which is in wyb’s weibo bio. which i know is something UNIQ related but there you go.

what’s more chilling i guess is the “we” was emphasized and used as a caption between them by hui-ge ( cpn about this fansite here which is a primer of sorts but there are other instances aside from what’s there ) which was i have a we / i have us. i mean. come on. too bad they haven’t posted in so long especially because fans were looking too much into them ( cpn about this photo/ post here )

the use of “we” which they have mistakenly said back in 2019 when talking about themselves:

other minor similarities:

* the concept of multiple xz and wyb through something prism/mirror like.

* both xz and ybo using similar captions which is not new but most importantly, starting an activity for fans to participate in. which i’m not sure but possibly other artists do too. but whatever, let’s add that 😂

* and the PINK! because pink is the color of love! what are the chances they will use the same color?

lastly, one of the release dates is 11/19. and as cpfs we have a whole story about that and it’s nice that we get to continue that timeline. cpfs think it’s a confirmation of the importance of this date too ^^

-END.

i surely missed some things on here and that’s fine. if something important comes up i will make a separate post! i’m so excited for this month! xz really blessed us 🥹🥹🥹😅

[garciaasfluffypen]

take care of me (like i take care of you) pt. 2

pairing: jemily x adhd!reader word count: 2.3k warnings: reader’s kinda bratty in this one! reader is confused as to why being bratty is making them feel tingly but they like it so they keep doing it, softdom!jj begins to make an appearance, color system usage, the origin of jj refusing to be called mommy (she has a moment™️)

a/n: hi besties!! i wrote this on my phone because i can’t find my laptop charger so please excuse any sort of typos you find! thats also why the beginning of this post currently isn’t formatted like the other ones but soon as i can charge my laptop i’ll be fixing it. there will be a part three to this! i had to find a good place to end or else this would have been a beast to read lol.

ps. when i wrote this i was 100% imagining white tank top!jj and emily in the burgundy lululemon looking sweatshirt from the episode where they’re building the crib for kristy and matt ;)

you couldn’t contain your excitement as you basically tripped over your feet to run up to jj’s audi, jumping up and down in your seat as you waited for your girlfriends to join you. it was five minutes past nine and everyone was ready so naturally you ran to the car. you had been ready for two hours, but that was only because you had gotten up so early. you had everything you could possibly need in your little cross shoulder body bag and had to stop yourself from biting your fingernails to the quip in pure excitement as you waited. emily came out first, slipping you your preferred chewy necklace that was easy to hide under your shirt. as soon as the chewy end of it entered your mouth, emily’s hands reached around you and wrapped the black string around your neck. without realizing it you naturally leaned into her touch, pulling her hand toward your cheek as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt while you stared at the door leading inside the kitchen. jj came out a few minutes later, her to-go cup of coffee tucked neatly away in the crook of her arm as she started to pull up the directions to the zoo.

jj slid into the drivers seat with ease, smiling at you as she saw the way you were sitting. she grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before placing your phone in it, chuckling lightly at the layer of blush that ended up on your cheeks as you sheepishly took it from her. your block blast game was still up on the screen as you left it on the bathroom counter when you started doing your makeup. jj started the car and reversed out the driveway, leaving you to become reimmersed in your game. before you knew it you could just start see the sign for the zoo on the water tower peeking over the houses in the distance, meaning you were just about ten minutes away.

“lovey, besides seeing the giraffes, is there anything you want to do today?”

“um… i haven’t seen the elephants in a long time.” you paused, thinking. “and also the lions, i want to see the lions too.”

“do you think we could fit in a visit to the lemurs?” jj shot a glance to you. “i quite like lemurs.”

you nodded. “we can definitely see the lemurs.”

you made a mental note to yourself that jj liked lemurs, adding it to the little box that you had in your brain with facts about your girlfriends. it was mainly filled with silly little facts that most people wouldn’t normally pay attention to, like the fact emily writes in print script or that jj only eats salt and vinegar chips when she’s high. sure, there were the obvious facts that almost everyone on the team knew, but there were ones that were just your facts. and you wanted to keep them that way.

despite being a fully grown adult, you knew deep down that things like this were needed to help heal your inner child. you didn’t have the best childhood, but you were doing your best to fix it now. you bounced anxiously on the balls of your feet as you waited for the train to take you to the back of the zoo, the wind blowing your hair all around your face as you waited. jj silently pulled you toward her and helped you pull your hair back, putting it in a single braid for you.

by the time you got to the giraffe exhibit you could barely contain your excitement, your hands balling into fits and promptly unballing themselves as you tried to combat the need to stim. your arms stiffened as you tried to hold back your energy, shaking a bit as you focused on staying still as you could. that didn’t last long, seeing as there wasn’t many people around you at the moment and your girlfriends were positioned behind you. you let your hands start flapping, doing your best to keep them close to your sides as possible. a small squeak of noise came out of your mouth as you watched the zoo keepers slowly bring out the stars of the event. the crowd around you started to grow as the people made their way up from the front of the zoo, most of them not paying you any attention and instead looking for the little baby that the zoo was celebrating.

slowly but surely the calf made it's way out of the enclosure, still a little unsteady on it's feet. you watched in awe as it made it's way around the exhibit, noting how small it was compared to it's parents. jj wrapped her arms around you from behind, intertwining her fingers with your hands and placing a kiss on your shoulder. you could tell she was standing on her tip toes to reach your shoulder and made sure to flatten your feet, considering you tended to stay on your tip toes when you got too excited about things.

“how tall do you think he is?”

“i’d guesstimate around 6 feet.” you rocked up and back down to flat feet as you spoke. “giraffes give birth standing up so they fall roughly six feet to the ground but get up on their feet within the hour.”

“you know more about giraffes than i thought.”

“i had a hyperfixation on wild animals and the care of them before i ended up in the academy. i was wanting to double major in zoology and communications before i started to look into paths to go down with a communications degree.” you turned to face jj and emily. “i was going to be an advocate for animal rights but then i started reading about the fbi and decided that would probably be a better path to go down.”

before you could continue your thoughts, the chime that sounded before the giraffe feedings sounded, signaling for everyone who had a ticket to line up. you were closer to the end, whch was fine because it meant you could watch the giraffes for longer. emily and jj made sure to take pictures of you the whole time, smiling and laughing along with you as the giraffe’s tongue tickled your hand while it ate the leaves you held out. by the time you got out of the exhibit, your stomach started to rumble and you pouted towards your girlfriends as you walked past one of the many cafés scattered around the zoo. without a word, emily pulled the three of you inside, telling you to order whatever you wanted. you ended up going for the chicken tenders and fries, knowing that the meal was something you most likely would have gotten when you came as a child. it was hard to remember if you ever came, but you presumed it was what you got because it felt right.

by the time the three of you made it to the halfway point, you started to realize your whole body was beginning to hurt. you weren’t sure if it was from physically stopping yourself from stimming in the bigger crowds, or if it was from all the walking you had done. either way, you found yourself starting to slow down a bit and start to feel like you needed a ten hour nap. it was only when you got toward the lemur exhibit when your body really started to hurt, and you unintentionally started to let it slip into your mind that you were hurting and needed to go home.

jj was the first to notice that you were starting to feel off, clocking the heaviness of your walking and the fact you had started to get a little whiney. there had been approximately three times in the five years she had known you that she had ever seen you this way. and all of those times happened when you were over exerting yourself. most of the times it was because you were stubborn, but this time it didn’t seem that way. within ten minutes you were complaining about how much your feet hurt and how you felt like you were going to die if you didn’t get to sit down within the next five minutes. emily and jj fell a few steps behind you, whispering to each other about how to go about the situation.

“do you think she’s subconsciously wanting us to.. i dunno, take control? lacey mentioned something about that at the support group on saturday.”

jj chewed at the end of her necklace. “it's possible. i’m willing to try it if you are, but the second they push back or show any signs of not going along with it i’m stopping.”

“are you going to take the lead on this?”

“if you don’t mind. we know how easily they’ll react to you, i’m curious what would happen if you didn’t say anything but i did.”

“then do it. i trust you.”

jj squeezed emily’s hand before making her way back over to where you sat on the bench, watching the zebra walk by and graze on the grass in front of you. you definitely looked worse for wear, considering the braid your hair had been in all day was beginning to come undone and you most definitely got sunburned on your shoulders at some point. jj knew you weren’t feeling well, and that you were hiding it in order to appease her and emily. it was something she had noticed multiple times throughout their time with you so far. even if you didn’t feel like doing something, you typically would put on a happy face and go through with it anyway. it hadn’t happened much, but she had started to catch it more and more.

“y/n, it’s time to go.”

“what? no!” you gasped. “we haven’t even been to the polar bears yet!”

“i know, and i know you want to finish it but i’m calling it.” jj stepped closer to you, her voice dropping. “you’re tired and need to go home and rest. i’m giving you til the count of five, and if you don’t get up and come with us to the car we won’t go to dolphin beach this weekend.”

“you wouldn’t!”

“five.”

“jayje- this isn’t fair! em-my, do something!” you whined, staring at the brunette.

“two.” jj raised an eyebrow as you refused to budge. “fine, we stay, but no beach then.”

“i’d listen to her if i were you.” emily replied. “while we haven’t truly gotten into that dynamic with you just yet, i will say that i’d be careful how much you go against her, lovey.” emily gave you a pointed look before clasping her hands together. “that being said, we use the color system. red means hard stop, yellow means i’m uncomfortable and green means go.” emily paused. “color?”

“green.”

“good. if anything changes, tell jj. i’m going to go to the ladies room, i’ll meet you up by the gates.”

emily placed a kiss on jj’s cheek and simply patted you on the shoulder before walking towards the front of the zoo, leaving you alone with the blonde. the logical part of your brain knew she was right. you were tired, your body was aching and you couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without having to sit down. but on the other hand, you were having fun poking the bear. reluctantly you got up, huffing and making a big deal of going home. you didn’t understand much about the way it was making you feel, but you knew it sent a tingle through your body seeing jj getting all worked up. it was amusing to you how red she got from you simply being a brat. and frankly, you liked it.

“you’re being unfair!”

“this attitude stops now, y/n. we’re going home.”

you bit your tongue cheekily, a glint forming in your eyes as you waited to see jj’s reaction. “mommy, you’re being mean to me.”

jj whipped her head to you, balling her hand into a fist at the side of her body. “what did you just call me?”

“… mommy?”

jj stopped walking suddenly, causing you to bump into her. “red.” she swallowed. “i’d like to talk about that later, when we’re home. not right now.”

“i’m sorry.” you looked at the ground, mortified. “it won’t happen again.”

a wave of guilt overtook your body as you two quietly walked to the front of the zoo, emily sensed some tension the second she saw you two, but knew that if she said anything you would probably start to spiral. by the time you got back to the car, all you could do was slip into the backseat and hope that jj wasn’t do mad at you that she was going to end everything. emily, albeit confused, took the front seat, trying to get an accurate read on jj. something happened while she was in the bathroom, but she couldn’t place a finger on what exactly that something was. by the time jj pulled into the driveway, the tension in the car had gotten so thick you couldn’t hold your tears back, letting them fall slowly down your cheeks as you forced yourself not to sob.

“go to our room. i’m going to compose my thoughts, give us a minute to calm down, then i’ll come talk to you.”

“o-okay.”

jj waited until you got out of the car to look at emily. “i called red.”

“what happened?”

“she called me mommy. i didn’t like it. i felt… gross. it was almost… too feminine?” jj looked at emily. “i probably sound crazy but-“

“you’re allowed to not like the way it makes you feel, jay.”

“i just don’t understand why it made my skin crawl.”

“may i.. is that why you don’t like being called beautiful or pretty?”

jj’s head snapped up. “huh?”

“the feminine terms. you don’t like them.”

“not necessarily, no.”

emily nodded. “we don’t have to unravel this now, but we need to put a pin in this. the three of us need to talk about that together so we’re all on the same page.”

“you’re right. can you go check on them? i just need… i need to think about how i’m going to articulate everything.”

“of course.” emily squeezed jj’s hand. “come up when you’re ready.”

“i will. promise.”

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

[trippygalaxy]

Sky isn't First's reincarnation, Warriors is.

Heads up, this is just a headcanon! I am using LOZ canon in parts to help fortify my thinking but again, this isnt to prove a point!

Also tagging people below! I was going to reblog my og post but this came out too long and would just be better as its own post!

I believe that Sky isn't the reincarnation of Hyila's chosen hero, but instead the hero's incarnation. While both the fandom (loz and lu) and the canon use the two words interchangeably, they truly do have two different meanings, even if they are considered 'small.'

So does this mean I believe Warriors to be the hero's direct reincarnation? In a way, yes I do. I believe that there are some threads in canon that can stablize this idea, but most are based on personal preference and headcanons.

If you wanna know more, ill be going more into it under the cut!

Firstly, the difference between reincarnation and an incarnation!

Reincarnation, defined as “a person or animal in whom a particular soul is believed to have been reborn”

an example of this would be Sky, Sun and Demise. We see many of these reincarnations, but most notably and factual would be Demise’s reincarnation to Ganondorf. They share the same soul, at least the one from OOT does.

Incarnations, Defined as “a person who embodies in the flesh a deity, spirit, or abstract quality.”

Now, there arent any solidly proven instances in LOZ but most can assume that Nayru, Din and Farore from the OOS and OOA games/mangas are incarnations of the deities they are named after. But a more well rounded example would be to look at mythos in the real world, specifically Greek mythos with their gods Gaia, Thanatos, Nyx, and more.

Sky, or SS Link, has been believed to be the reincarnation of the First hero (“First”), is it even easier to prove him to be a incarnation. Sky, in the canon of Skyward Sword (“SS”) is not proven to be the direct reincarnation of the chosen hero- he is said to be the chosen hero, and plays such roll in the story of SS but there is nothing that says he is the direct reincarnation of First. Perhaps there is evidence that states otherwise, that is likely in the vast canon of Legend of Zelda, but it feels (and is stated) that the cycle of ‘reincarnation’ starts with SS link and his Zelda.

An incarnation feels like the better fit for the character of Sky. He is, and would be, the incarnation of the Chosen Hero, a heroic spirit known for his courage and loyalty to the divine. Hyila in the uncanon manga stated that she would meet First again, but again we do not get any notion that this refers to any reincarnation like the goddess takes.

Now for Warriors, or Hw Link, there are obviously the visual similarities that connect Warriors with First as both are the only one seen to wear scarves, as well as the one shoulder pauldrons. But it should also be noted the similarities in the stories both partake in. The main concept is very similar to the rest of the courageous heroes, but these two seem to be the only was who have fought in war of sorts, both battling against a dark army as the only hero able to fall the mighty leader.

Now, most of the rest of these thoughts would be based on the frames of headcanons rather than facts, as the idea behind this thought was of the poetic similarities between the two characters rather than facts within the LOZ or LU canon

Warriors and First being the 'leaders' of a war, neither being ready for such responsibilities yet being forced to none the less because they are the only ones able to hold such responsibilities

Both feeling unworthy of holding such power for being 'unpure' (First; being imprisoned for 4 years, Wars; encounters with Cia and/or having Dark Link being created)

Being experienced, infield fighters compared to dungeon crawlers, both of which are used to working with others in planning/fighting

First has been characterize within the fandom (and canon) as a recluse, naturally from his trauma of imprisonment yet even then he still has this authoritative status and energy to him. And while Warriors is seen as anything BUT a recluse in the fandom, it is still canon within the canon that he was infact a mute. So, its interesting to note how similar the two's nature would of been if certain characteristics in canon werent there (ie, HW link getting overconfident and prideful, which First shows little to no traits of in his appearances)

Back to characterization, both tend to be depicted as chivalrous men, either because of their roles as important 'military' figures or their natural personalities.

These are really just my beginning thoughts on this! Im....I like this idea a lot- as you can tell!

@xxbuttercup @doodlesbf @plateapus @sleepy-spam-reblog-things @fictionnotfantasy @lostlinkmx @shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck @cannibalgremlin

[worshipme]

"yeah, it's real cute. unfortunately, i didn't have my phone on me so i didn't get to snap a photo. i'm sorry." he apologizes for not being able to capture the moment with a kiss to the top of her head. he knows how rare it sounds right now, but tyler hopes its something that'll become a common sight in their future. they'll have many opportunities then to snap as many photos as they'd like.

he starts the first episode and sets the remote down by his side so that he could grab a few doritos for himself. "oh you'd definitely be able to pull off the outfits. maybe we can move that up to another contender for next halloween's costumes." he suggests. tyler knows that there's a lot of things in his life that he isn't sure of, but the one certainty was that he was going to do whatever he can to make next year's halloween where him and yaz are together a plausible reality.

"they definitely count. i mean, anything that's japanese animation is anime. and even if they weren't animes?" he pauses to give her frame a little squeeze of reassurance. "i'd still give you brownie points." while the episode plays, tyler cozies up next to yaz. it's almost as if he's trying to press himself completely up against her so that every single part of him was touching some part of hers. he was needy in that regard.

"wait, i almost forgot..." tyler's suddenly piping up. he grabs the remote, pauses the episode, and holds it up to his mouth. "yaz, it's been a long while since we've seen you and your partner out on the court together. what do you have to say about his performance now?" he holds the 'microphone' up to her lips now with a wide smile on his face. of course, this was something that he had done a long time ago when they first got involved with each other. the 'post-sex interview' as he had dubbed it. it was what got him to really see her smile and laugh for the first time. which... now that he thinks about it... was probably the true start of when he started being interested in yaz for more than just the physicality of their relationship.

who: tyler && yaz ! [ @itsyazmin ]

where: nyc

there were times when tyler’s felt like the entire world was against him and today certainly felt like one of those days. he had woken up later than he normally would on a sunday because he had trouble sleeping the night before. that caused him to miss out on breakfast just so that he could make it to mass on time (there was nothing he hated more than arriving late to mass and having everyone take a peek at who had entered in late because the door was squeaky and loud). but the most terrifying fact of all: he was going to tell yaz today.

he stands in front of his mirror and adjusts the sleeves of his button-up before smoothing the fabric out. he knows the odds weren’t looking good for him. she was going on casual dates with others and had even called their friendship cordial. whatever he was going to say today would ruin that, but he’d rather see his feelings through than letting them fade into oblivion with the ‘what if’ lurking in the air. tyler runs his hands through his hair before going between taking his glasses off, putting them back on, taking them off again… before he finally settles on keeping them on. there wasn’t time for him to fuss about getting his contacts in, and frankly, he thinks the glasses are the selling point of his “sunday’s best” fit.

“okay socksock, remember what i said for later today.” he tells his cat who has been sitting at his feet patiently. “best behavior… i really like this girl. i don’t wanna ruin it if god blesses me today and answers my prayer.” he fixes his collar one last time, pats down the pockets of his slacks to make sure he’s got everything else he needs, and then lets out a sigh. tyler crouches down and scratches right under socksock’s chin. “wish me luck.” he whispers to her, leaving her with a peck on top of her head before he’s standing back up straight. tyler heads for the front door and makes sure to grab his leather jacket hanging up on the coat rack.. in case yaz gets cold.

then, tyler’s standing outside of yaz’s door and feels a chill even though he’s currently wearing the jacket. what if today was the last time they’d hang out like this because his feelings would ruin it? he gulps. but what if today was the start of something new? that thought is enough for him to ring the doorbell and wait patiently for her. whichever it was, that wouldn’t stop tyler from having fun today. they were going to get food, then have their furbabies meet… then he’d tell her. yeah… that’s the plan.

[hiyashortking]

Lucifer's Jealousy

Disclaimers and credit: read this post before reading any of my content, please.

Premise: Lucifer has a tough time with jealousy, but you’re tired of waiting for him to settle down on his own. It’s time to talk!

On the first day, you told yourself Lucifer is entitled to his feelings. You’d known the devil to struggle with jealousy based on his unnecessary conflict with Alastor. Even on the second day of pouting, furrowed brows, and mumbling to himself, you had patience. But on the ninth day, you wondered how you ended up in hell when you had the patience of a saint.

“Lucifer, honey,” you begin, settling down next to him on one of the couches in the lobby of the hotel, where he sat with his arms crossed, fuming. His eyes turned fully red a few days ago. His horns came out sometime last night while you slept.

You could see how physical touch helped to settle him. Some of the tension in his face and body seemed to dissipate when you snuggled up against him. You sometimes tried to make yourself seem smaller than him, even though you weren’t, because when you did this he switched from bumbling dork to nurturing daddy. You hoped that’s what would happen but you hadn’t seen the reasonable daddy from him in days.

And why was the King of Hell so upset? At first you worried your casual flirtiness would offend him, but you’d been yourself since y’all started fucking and though you’d seen some challenge in his glare, it didn’t seem like jealousy to this extent. You saw each other every day. You took turns doting on each other. Him with his money, power, charm, and experience. You mostly with your words.

You: Sweetheart, what can I do? How can I help you get through whatever is troubling you?

Lucifer, sighing: I’ll be fine. Thank you for checking in with me.

You: But wouldn’t it be nice if we figured this out together? I hate seeing you like this for so long. I want to see you smile again.

Lucifer softened a bit more. Were you finally getting through to him, or was he only just becoming exhausted by his feelings?

You: Can you please at least tell me what happened?

Lucifer sighed again. With every sigh, you could feel him loosening up against your body.

Lucifer: I’m sorry I’ve been so unfair to you this week.

You didn’t add that this was his behavior last week as well.

Lucifer: I don’t know what it is about her, but I just can’t stand it when–

You, against your better judgment, since interrupting him when he’d only just started to open up was not your best idea: Her? Her who?

Lucifer: Huh? Charlie, of course.

You: Charlie?!

Lucifer: Yes, I don’t understand how Lilith-

You: LILITH?!

Lucifer: Yes, and the bus boy-

You: ALASTOR?!?!

Lucifer: Wha- yes, honey. Are you feeling well?

For nine fucking days you thought his pouting was about you! You thought he was so madly, obsessively in love with you that something strange and minor, something you didn’t even notice yourself, drove him into a jealous rage. Once the shock and, what, disappointment? had their turns in your head, you started laughing.

Lucifer: What- what is happening right now?

You, holding your stomach as you laughed: This whole time, I thought you were jealous over ME.

For as many millennia as he’d been alive, Lucifer’s ability to process hadn’t evolved at all. He sat dumbfounded as you laughed at yourself and how foolish and self-centered your thinking had been.

You felt him put his head on your shoulder and an arm around your back. You heard him sigh again, though did it sound a little happier? You wiped the tears from your eyes and looked at him resting against you. His horns were gone. His eyes were closed.

Lucifer: “You make me feel so safe that even when I think I would normally get jealous, I just trust you and feel happy for you instead.”

You: “Wha-”

Lucifer: “When you flirt with people, I just somehow believe that you’ll still be with me a moment later, and you have been so far. I mean- I get my hiccups here and there, and I think sometimes I even like getting possessive over you, but it’s been mostly sexual. With you, I don’t stay up at night wondering if you’ll kick me out or leave me, I just … sleep.”

You: “Lucifer …”

Lucifer: “Just one more comment and I’ll shut up. Seeing you laugh made me feel so much better. I want to make you laugh as often as I can.”

This sweet, tender little man was going to destroy you.

But also, NINE DAYS JEALOUS OVER CHARLIE AND LILITH, AND CHARLIE AND ALASTOR?

Now it was your turn to act like a baby for days.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 10

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: This is a long chapter

First - Prev - Next

Ch.10

“Do you remember how you came to Gravity Falls in the first place?”

“I was just passing by.”

“Yes, but this town is isolated, and you have no means of transportation.”

“Trainhopping, I was hiding on a train for two days I think, maybe three? Decided to jump off here.”

“Do you know why you decided to do that here, and not anywhere else?”

“...”

“Stan?”

“It’s funny, specs - a couple months back, I’d already been with my pal Rick for a while, right? Just one heist, escapade, or criminal venture after another, for seven months straight. And it was great while it lasted, but then he asked me if I wanted to stay with him in another dim- someplace far away. And I wanted to, ya know? There’s always been this itch in the back of my mind that I wanted to go around the world on some grand adventure, and he was offering that to me on a silver platter. But I told him no.”

“And why was that, Stan?”

“...It’s stupid.”

“I wouldn’t call any of your reasoning stupid, I’m not here to judge you.”

“...I always wanted to go on an adventure- but something was missing. It’s like- I dunno if it’s intuition or some spiritual mumbo jumbo, it’s like I’m looking for something. But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“Do you have an idea what it could be?”

“A part of… me? I’m missing something. Not just my memories- but something else. I think I might have made a promise, I just… don’t remember what it was, or who I promised to. I guess I’ve been drifting around trying to find it.”

“And you felt it was in Gravity Falls?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. There’s something weird here… I just wanted to check this place out, is all.”

“I see. What did you say your relationship with this Rick was like?”

“You don’t need to be jealous, F. We were just friends. Okay, maybe we were kind of an item for a week at most, but that guy isn’t just self-destructive; he’s like a train that wrecks onto a freeway, he can never just destroy himself, he has to wreck the people around him too and create an absolute shit show. Even I have a limit with that shit.”

“You really need to stop putting yourself down like that, Stan. You only ever seem to say negative things about yourself, it ain’t good for you.”

“There isn’t anything good to say, stretch.”

“Don’t sell yourself one egg short of a basket, now. Y’know, your-. Uh, Stanford was telling me that you’re quite clever. He used a trick to get you down here in the first place, but he also said that he wouldn’t be able to trick you again.”

“I should have seen his fake-out coming… I’ll give it to him, it was a good one. But I’m not going to underestimate him, because crazy like his should never be underestimated. What’s he up to anyways? He went to that room that’s always locked.”

“That’s his private study. I believe he goes there when he wants to be alone.”

“...Didn’t he live by himself? Why did he already have that?”

“Can’t say, maybe it’s a quiet and calm space for him.”

(...)

“HE HAS RISEN BABY GIRL.”

“Bill, please stop calling me that. It’s unprofessional.”

“Come on Sixer, at least let the Goo Goo Dolls soundtrack play.”

“The what?”

“Ooop! My bad, it’s not 1998 or 2024 yet. How can I help you today, Fordsy? You haven’t called me in a few weeks.”

“There’s a mindscape I need to access.”

“Oh boy, it’s not usually you who wants to poke around other humans' brains, always prattling on about ethics and consent. What’s the occasion?”

“...You know everything I know when we’re in the mindscape, you already know the answer.”

“Yes, but I still want you to say it out loud. Clearly and concisely, so your dialogue can be read on screen.”

“... I need to get into the mind of my brother, Stanley. He has amnesia, and our leading theory is that it’s due to psychological trauma. But he has been through so much trauma we’re having trouble isolating the definitive event that would have started this.”

“And why wouldn’t he just share that with his beloved twin brother?”

“He does not remember me.”

“Oooh, then he is just like you! Isn't it just precious when twins are twinning?”

“I never forgot about him.”

“Oh Sixer… You might as well have.”

“Just take me to his mind, Cipher… Please.”

“Anything for you, baby boy!”

SNAP

(...)

“So your memories are only clear to a certain point?”

“Yeah. Rick found me wandering around the woods in a ‘catatonic state’, and snapped me out of it. Everything before that… I can remember being on the street, I can remember all the stuff I did, maybe out to a decade? But there’s a lot of holes, lotsa different names I used. And before the streets? Nothing.”

“And when did Rick find you in the woods?”

“What month is it?”

“June.”

“Last May - so about 13 months?”

(...)

“Okay Fordsy he hasn’t made a deal with me so we can’t go too deep, or his mental defenses are just gonna shove us out.”

“Bill, I already know that, why are you explaining it to me?”

“You know; doesn’t mean they know. Unless this is a re-read. In which case; welcome back. Glad you loved or hated it the first time.”

“You are… Beyond comprehension, Bill Cipher.”

“That’s what you love about me though.”

“You have my begrudging, professional respect.”

“From your aspec ass, that’s practically love.”

“Aspe-”

“Oooh! Lookie here, a memory door opened up. He must be opening up to someone right now. Let's barge in haphazardly.”

(...)

“Okay Stan, this might be difficult. But if you ever feel distressed, let me know and we can try grounding techniques okay?’

“You got it, F.”

“Now close your eyes, think back to when you and Rick parted ways.”

(...)

“Sanchez?! How does Stan know-.”

“You know this hilarious crossover character? I already know the answer, but for no particular reason I need you to tell me out loud how you know him.”

“His wife Diane was part one of my PhD programs. She was always so bright and pleasant, but her husband was a nightmare when she brought him around. He was always saying that school wasn’t for smart people, and rubbed his inventions and intelligence in our face.”

“And how is she these days?”

“She passed away from a garage fire a few years ago, her and her little girl. I almost sent him a condolences, but he was such an unpleasant asshole I could not make myself do so.”

“Come on Stan- think about it! You, me, Bird Person, Squanchy-  sci-fi adventures, drugs, bitches. Whattaya say? Let’s ditch this dimension, there isn’t anything for us here anymore.”

“Dimension-?”

“Shh, Fordsy, just let it play out.”

“I… I can’t Rick.”

“Why not?”

“There’s… something here.”

“Did you remember something?”

“I don’t remember who, but I think I’m looking for someone.”

“Stanny-Boy, we’ve been through this before. No one knows you, everywhere we’ve been, ‘cept for the fake names. You should just cut your losses.”

“Wherever we go, we go together.”

“What was that-?”

“Just the distorted voice of his subconscious. It’s probably not important.”

“I’m sorry. But there’s a piece of me missing, and I think it’s still here in this dimension somewhere.”

“You know your credits don’t have monetary value here.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t leave you a space cruiser. You’ll have to walk or steal a car.”

“Either is fine. I’ve done it before.”

“Stan… Are you sure?”

“Here. Take all my credits, you’ll get more out of it than me.”

“You want your dusters back?”

“Trade me.”

“Wait, you don’t want your transdimensional watch anymore?”

“If the pigs catch me, I don’t need them asking too many questions.”

“You know that doesn’t just give you dimensional coordinates and time zones, right? There’s a pulse wave in it that can shatter force fields.”

“Pft, what are the chances I’d ever need that?”

“Ooof, he really fumbled the bag there.”

“My muse, please.”

*Rick takes the watch and gives Stan a pair of brass knuckles*

“Thanks Rick… Hey, it was nice while it lasted.”

“Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I hope you find that bastard, Prime. Give him the hell he deserves.”

“...Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll miss you too, pal.”

(...)

“Alright, how are you feeling Stan?”

“So far so good.”

“Okay, now let’s go further back. You said your first clear memory is when you met him, let’s go back to that.”

“I was in the back of his shi- iiitty car, I felt like I’d just smoked an entire carton of cigarettes, but in a bad way..”

(...)

“It just- stopped?”

“He’s remembering something else. Just look for another door.”

“Here we go.”

“Wha- where…?”

“Oh hey you’re awake.”

“-’re, you?”

“You’re one tough son of a bitch, y’know? Most of the people I tase end up dead, but you just passed out.”

“You… tased me? Are you a cop?”

“Hell no. I tased you because you attacked me in the woods. Damn near ripped my head off.”

“The woods..?”

“You were wandering around in a catatonic state, can’t tell you how long.”

“A what state?”

“This isn’t going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”

“It’s…? I... Malone. Wait. It’s- Stan.”

“Stan Malone huh? My name’s Rick Sanchez.”

(...)

“Stan keep your eyes closed. I want you to try to remember what happened before this.”

“Alright…”

“What’s something you can remember? Something you saw, felt, heard?”

“My chest felt really tight…”

(...)

“What is this?”

“Ahh. A pit memory. This is something his brain wants to forget, but can’t permanently delete.”

“So it is a repressed memory?”

“Yes. He’s trying to think about it… but unconsciously, he really doesn’t want to.”

“What happens if we jump in?”

“Sixer, where's your sense of adventure? If it gets too dangerous I’ll just pull us out.”

“Do you swear?”

“Just gimme the word.”

“Which word?”

“Let’s go with ‘defenestrate’ this time.”

‘W̷̷H̷̷Y̷ ̷I̷̷S̷̷N̷'̷T̷ ̷I̷̷T̷ ̷W̷̷O̷̷R̷̷K̷̷I̷̷N̷̷G̷?! ̷W̷̷H̷̷Y̷-?’

S̷̷C̷̷R̷̷E̷̷E̷̷C̷̷H̷

‘̷C̷̷a̷̷n̷’̷t̷-’  

‘̷t̷̷r̷̷a̷̷p̷̷p̷̷e̷̷d̷’  

‘̷c̷̷a̷̷n̷’̷t̷ ̷b̷̷r̷̷e̷̷a̷̷t̷̷h̷̷e̷-’

*brief flash of a pile of burnt paper ash in Stan’s hands, which are shaking*

“We can’t stay here Fordsy, he’s closing up again.”

“Just one more second-!”

“Might as well, it’s [--- ---- ------ - ---].”

“[--- ---] going to die here. Stan[--- -------- -----], if you don’t [---- - ---- ---- --] in the next minute you will die.”

“That voice-?”

“We’re leaving now, Sixer! DEFENESTRATE!”

SNAP

(...)

“Stan? Stan calm down-! It’s okay! Remember where you are.”

“C-Can’t breathe-”

“Yes you can, just breathe with me. In- out. In- out. Just like that. There we go.”

“I’m sorry Fiddleford, I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t. ”

To be continued…

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Castlevania Characters Comforting GN! Reader After They Receive Bad/Scary News

A/N: Yes, this super-fast little headcanon piece was inspired by the US Election results. I did a lot of crying and mourning the day after and now I am ready to fight. I can’t offer you all a lot on this blog besides escapism and comfort, so I opted for the latter for this little post. They’re short (with some shorter than others) but I wanted to bang ones out for as many characters as quickly as possible.  

Note: Politics are not mentioned in the headcanons below. GN! Reader’s upsetting/scary news is not directly mentioned, rather the focus is on how their partner would comfort them.  

Word Count: 3.6k  

Trevor:  

Comfort, for most of his life, has been a stranger to Trevor. But that doesn’t mean he is incapable of providing it for his partner. It’s quite the opposite really.  

Trevor will make sure you’re warm and cozy, wrapping you in his cloak or blankets, and sitting beside you.  

Trevor won’t promise that everything will be okay, because, let’s face it, he knows better. Life isn’t always okay, it’s hard and unpredictable. As a result, Trevor feels empty sweet words aren't as comforting as they are infuriating or patronizing.  

Instead, Trevor simply holds you and tells you that he will always be by your side- in every battle, through every hardship, and every sunrise- he will always be there for you.  

Yes, Trevor’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s smart and wise when he wants to be. As hard and dangerous as life may be for you, you can trust he’s always observant, and on the lookout for anything else that may wish to do you harm.  

If anyone wants to get to you, they’re gonna have to go through him first.  

Sypha:  

Sypha is naturally empathetic and nurturing, so comforting her loved ones after they receive bad news comes easily to her. She’s such a comforting presence herself that even if you were hesitant to explain your feelings, just spending time near Sypha reassures you in a way.  

She makes sure you’re warm, especially your feet since hers are freezing all of the time.  

Once you're settled comfortably, she pulls you into her chest and allows you to rest your head on her shoulder.  

If you need to cry, that’s okay. She rubs a heated hand up and down your back as you let it all out. Her Speaker Magic ensures her hands are at the best temperature for soft, loving warm touches.  

Alucard:  

Alucard is no stranger to grief. He’s been given many reasons to mourn throughout his life, even if he’s had to temporarily compartmentalize those feelings to perform his more important duties. 

But because Alucard has never had the opportunity to feel first and act later, he takes it upon himself to perform any obligations you may otherwise have while he lets you sit in your despair.  

And should the level of pain prevent you from doing the things you need to do to take care of yourself, Alucard has no problem aiding you with those duties as well. He’ll cook you a nutritious meal, draw you a nice warm bath, and whisper you stories until you fall asleep.  

He finds that your vulnerability prompts him to further open himself to you- your worry reminds him it’s okay to have his own. The two of you cry and commiserate, holding each other through the tears and sadness as well as the feelings of betrayal and anger.  

Things may be difficult and dark ahead but as long as you can hold on to each other, Alucard swears all will be alright.  

Greta: 

Greta has endured a lot as the leader of her people. Even so, grief and anguish aren’t really her thing.  

Still, she knows when other people have reached their emotional limit, and she’s quite good at getting them to open up to her in ways they may not have expected.  

As her partner, know that she’s very observant and in tune with your emotions. Before you can even tell her that you’ve received bad news, she knows that already, just by the look on your face.  

She’ll take you somewhere private, away from the other villagers’ prying eyes, where you can express freely how it is you feel.  

Like Trevor, she won’t promise that all will end well, but she swears that no matter the storm, you don’t have to weather it alone—she’s not going anywhere.  

Dracula:  

Dracula is a loyal and obsessive lover, which makes him almost supernatural at detecting your moods/emotions. 

He can read your face the way scholars read a book- he knows what it is you're thinking, and just how it is you’re thinking of it.  

If you’re shaken up or upset, or incredibly angry at some news you’ve just received, Dracula will not only do everything in his power to console you but to amend whatever issue it is that has you so worked up.  

If someone has wronged you, he will kill them, it’s as simple as that. (Unless, of course, you beg him not to, in which case, he cannot help but do as you ask.)  

If you’re worried about your coming physical safety, fear not. He simply takes it upon himself to accompany you everywhere you go. (He’s learned this lesson the hard way, and he’s not about to lose another love in this manner.)   

If all else fails, Dracula will encourage you to do what you must to feel better: to release these feelings any way you know how. If you need to scream or cry or hurt a human or two, he does not judge you for it. You are his beloved human, and he is nothing but in awe of your emotional spectrum. Even though he despises the ignorance of humanity, Dracula cannot ignore the beauty that exists in feeling alive.  

Lisa: 

Lisa is a doctor, and she’s very used to delivering bad or unsavory news to her patients. Of course, it’s much more difficult for her to do so when she’s handling you, but she still puts on a brave and wise face for your sake.  

If it's a problem she can help you with, you can rest assured she will use every bit of knowledge, every tool at her disposal to make you feel better. And if it is a problem of society, not medicine, or science, she still tries her hardest to cheer you up.  

She reminds you of all the scientific advancements humanity has made thus far. Sure, many times things have been forgotten, or left to the wayside, but knowledge is forever. And just because the majority of people refuse to accept or believe in something, does not mean that science is dead.  

She will help you archive and preserve your experience as she believes leaving knowledge behind for future generations, even emotional and personal knowledge is a must.  

And on the nights when it all feels hopeless, she will brush your hair and sing you lullabies, like the ones she sang to Adrian all those years ago.  

Hector:  

Hector is a very emotional person. It’s his sensitivity that led him to discover his forgemaster abilities, and partly due to that, he sees his sensitivity as a strength.  

He cares for all wounded animals, and don’t think for a second that he won’t drop absolutely everything else to care for you, his partner! 

He will call over all your favorite reanimated pets and orchestrate a giant cuddle pile, especially in the coming days if he has to return to work/can’t hold you 24/7. He ensures you’re never lonely or frightened by creating a night creature guard who he orders to protect you with its life.  

Hector is very interested in your thoughts and opinions about your grief. He wants to know exactly what it is that hurts you, and how it’s materialized within the world, so he can record it in his teachings/books for later scholars to come to understand.  

Hector truly loves just having you near, holding you close, be it in bed, or seated outside enjoying a beautiful sunny day. He loves picnicking with you, showing you all the little amazing things the world has created, from the single blades of grass, to all the little bugs and creatures that call it home, and to the gorgeous blue sky, and the many different species of birds that travel through it.  

He knows humans can be cruel. He knows the world can be ugly, but he also knows it can be beautiful, and more than anything, he wishes to share that with you, because, well, he thinks you’re one of the most beautiful things in it.  

Isaac:  

Isaac has a naturally soothing presence. Just him being there for you makes you feel less unsteady.  

Once he calms you down enough so that you can speak without sobbing, he'll ask for as much information as he can. He’s not trying to rib or interrogate you, it’s just that he wishes to be as equally aware of the subject as you are.  

Being a very wise man, Isaac will offer advice on the situation, when applicable. And when it isn’t, he simply assures you that within his palace, so long as you are surrounded by his night creatures and those of a like mind, no harm will come to you.  

He encourages you to sit and meditate with him. The two of you sit close to the ground, breathing in and out. It doesn’t undo what has happened, but it helps make you feel more in control of your future. All that Isaac asks, in imagining the possibilities of such a wonderful future, you include him in it.  

Godbrand:  

Let’s be honest, Godbrand is pretty darn observant, but only half of the time. So, after you receive bad news, he’s either made aware at about the same time you are, or he’s 100% in the dark until you tell him to his face what has happened.  

If he doesn’t pick up on your soured mood, he’ll be a big grumpy baby about it. He complains when you don’t laugh at his jokes, or compliment his prowess after he tells the group a story of one of his recent spoils. He keeps picking at your expression until you’ll eventually have enough, and feel petty enough to spite him.  

It’s only after a week of you reeking of garlic that he relents and asks what the hell’s wrong.  

You throw a bulb of garlic at his head.  

In the event he has picked up on your mood, he assumes he’s done or said something to (ahem, once again) offend you. He’ll bring you jewelry or flowers or clothes or some of that mushy shit in an attempt to apologize. And when you tell him that this time, he’s in fact done nothing wrong, he bursts out laughing. The ridiculousness of the situation causes you to laugh too and before you know it the two of you are enjoying a night of merriment and drink, teasingly but lovingly, laughing at the other’s antics.  

 Raman and Sharma:  

Whatever this news is, you can bet their response will be similar.  

They’ll lavish you with fine gifts- gold, jewelry, and silks- but don’t expect too much emotional support.  

They adore you, but they also believe you to be this precious ornament, the rarest gem in their crown. You may have feelings, and be a multidimensional human, but they simply cannot see you that way.  

For them, humans are stupid, weak, imbeciles that are par in comparison to them. But you, you are not stupid, nor weak, nor an imbecile, and while they certainly don’t believe you rival them per se, they do believe you’re worthy of their attention.  

They tell you to forget about other people. You have them now. And if they’re being honest, what better news could a person like you possibly receive than that?  

Cho:  

Cho has never been one to care for weakness, be it physical or emotional. However, she has been known to make an exception on occasion for you.  

These feelings of grief, or anger- whatever they may be, she tolerates you exhibiting them so long as you do not ask her to physically comfort you.  

If you wish to be cuddled, she has other human servants in her court who could provide such service for you.  

While she claims to be unmoved by your situation, however, she does make a note of finding out if someone or something in particular has caused you this distress. When you ask her about it later, she feigns ignorance as to why that person or that thing has suddenly disappeared.  

Dragoslav:  

Dragoslav is a very practical, no-nonsense kind of man. He was that way even before he was turned into a vampire.  

He understands that humans and vampires have feelings because of course they do. But he does not see the reason for giving in to such things all the damn time.  

Where he comes from, people are usually very hardy, they do not complain about having to weather life’s many difficulties.  

However, as he is a vampire aristocrat, he’s become accustomed to a certain degree of luxury. This privilege has made him soft, in a way. His simple approach to believing merely being a vampire is enough to allow him to feel no threat nor shame when you confess your feelings of grief or anger to him.  

He lets you indulge in your feelings for a short period, perhaps even daring to sit with you as you talk through them, before telling you to brush your shoulders off and become strong once more.  

Zufall: 

Zufall (second only to Dracula) is closest to what you’d assume a stereotypical European vampire is like. 

In his immortality, Zufall prefers to be alone and chooses rather to surround himself with books and trinkets as opposed to a court full of servants.  

However, he does take an interest in humans as temporary companions. You are warm and interesting, and so eager to satisfy him, how could he resist the temptation to have a handful of you in rotation at any given time?  

You are one of his favorites, and while he will not ever regard you as an equal, he does truly wish for you to be content with his company. If you’ve received bad news, and are looking downcast, he will enquire about it, asking to know if there is perhaps something about your room or your enrichments that he can alter.  

If you are more on the hysterical side, Zufall will even begrudgingly allow you to hold him, as he runs his clawed fingers gently up and down your back. He hushes you before telling you parts of a fable he can recall from back when he was still a human boy. His deep voice and strong accent help lull you to sleep.  

Carmilla:  

Upon finding out you’re upset because you’ve received bad news, she’s filled with both annoyance and rage. Who dares to upset you? Don’t they know better than to trifle with her precious human? She will make them pay, whoever did this, whatever caused this. She will slice it to death with her claws if need be.  

If your news isn’t caused by the actions of one other person, but let’s say a mood or an opinion of society, she rolls her eyes, before pulling you close to tell you that you have nothing to worry about.  

Society is what’s kept her powerless and secondary all these years, she has no respect for its select worship and demonization of certain people and powers that be.  

She makes sure you’re pampered: the finest linens and silks, the best meals, and the best wine Styria has to offer if all yours with a snap of your fingers.  

She tells you not to worry, dear pet. She swears the world will soon bend to accommodate both yourself and her. And should anyone dare to stand in your way, she will squash them like the insignificant bug they are.  

Overall, she’s a little dramatic and murder-y about it, but it’s only because she loves you, and she knows how hard living (or nonliving) is when you’ve been made to feel small. She never wants you to know that pain. And you won’t, so long as she has something to say about it.  

Lenore:  

Lenore is a natural peacekeeper, so when she notices you are upset, she immediately sets out to do something about it.  

She will ask if there’s anything you would like help with, or if there’s perhaps anything she can get for you.  

If someone else is causing problems for you, she offers to act as a go-between or mediator of sorts and talk it out on your behalf. She insists on it, especially if the person causing you great distress or giving you bad news is one of her sisters.  

Striga & Morana: 

Striga and Morana are very practical thinkers, even if Striga is prone to outbursts occasionally. As a team, they are strategic experts in execution. As such they notice small changes in your mood. You don't even have to confide in them before they ask you what’s wrong.  

Striga offers to torture or kill whoever’s causing you to feel this helpless meanwhile Morana makes you a soothing cup of tea.  

It can be a lot to take in at once, two people who love you who want to protect you, assisting you in the very distinct ways they know how, but you know it is because they treasure your company.  

If this news is not something that can be fixed, they will hold you sandwiched in between them as you let out your feelings, be it by crying or simply voicing your frustrations.  

St. Germain: 

St. Germain tends to get carried away in his train of thought, so he is not always privy to your feelings and opinions.  

You would have to confide in him that you’ve received such devastating news, otherwise he would be completely oblivious.  

He still swears he has no clue as to why his previous lover left him, something that haunts him to this day. So the minute you tell him something’s wrong, he drops everything he’s doing and listens.  

He’ll hold you close to him and whisper sweet things into your ear, telling you how much he loves you and values you. He ensures you this world, and countless others, are greater with you in it. He begs for you to internalize that. He truly doesn’t believe he could survive without you.  

All he knows is that this world, as well as his life, would be poorer if you were not in it.  

Ratko:  

Ratko is not a sensitive man, but he does recognize the importance of sharing news with your loved ones, so he will insist you tell him what you know, as soon as you know it.  

When he learns it’s distressing, he sighs and reminds you that when you are close to a victorious vampire, such news should not matter.  

Still, if you are shaken up or angry, he will relent and allow you to sit in your emotions for a time.  

When he thinks it’s appropriate (most likely sooner than you would have), he demands your presence, bringing you to a surprise. It may be good human food, it may be money, it may be clothes, either way, those things matter not to Ratko. To him, they are merely symbols of wealth and victory.  

But that is why he insists you enjoy them. Despite whatever news you receive, he insists that you spend every waking moment feeling victorious- because you are.  

He thinks most humans are stupid pigs, beings he feels no need to respect. But with you, he is in awe of you. That alone, he will remind you, should make you feel more worthy than any other human on the planet.  

Varney/Death:  

Varney is an enigma, mainly because he’s playing dual roles. As Varney, he is compelled to embellish and dramatize his thoughts and feelings, and he will respond similarly to your own. On the other hand, as Death, he is compelled to be stoic and serious, gleefully capturing souls after they’ve departed.  

In the chance your upsetting news is the loss of a loved one, he will know before you. (Because you know, he is Death after all.) But for your sake, he will act shocked when you tell him. It may be a lie, but it’s meant for your benefit. He’d rather lie and validate your feelings than tell the truth and make you feel more alone.  

In the case your news is not a death, he will learn of it only if you tell him. And when you do, he tries to listen, and not tune you out. It’s a difficult task, the ups and downs of a single human life tend to seem too trivial to him, but for you, he makes an exception.  

And while he cannot directly kill all the people who have upset you, should your news be centered around the actions of a large group of people, he will make a point to consume their souls much slower than others, telling such folks he is doing it as an act of vengeance in your name.  

A/N 2.0: Can you tell I have a favorite background character or two? Lol.  

As always, if you enjoyed reading this work, please Like but more importantly, REBLOG.  

If you’d like to support me, Consider Buying Me A Coffee <3. 

[mm-lurking]

Malfunction: Heart Mode - Boothill

Based on this post. fem reader. Praying this is not ooc. Writing is kinda choppy, I tried my best. 1.6k words. tag: @nvuy hope you like it -- Boothill is one strong muddle-fudger. He does not give a rat's behind when it comes to romantic love, affection, and all that fudging nonsense. Even if it has crossed his mind, he's too busy dealing with the forking problems of the cosmos and most importantly trying to find that son of a nice lady who is responsible for killing his sweet angel and destroying his planet.

Yet here he is, standing in front of you at the bar with a drink in his hand as he hears his machine heart starting to whir. You both were regulars at the bar and often ran into each other from time to time. Your encounters were akin to something like being seatmates; there was enough information exchanged to know about each other yet it was nothing personal. While you didn't quite understand why he would disappear for long periods before returning like nothing happened, you never questioned it and were simply happy to see him again.

He too liked meeting up with you. He couldn't help but flash his razor-sharp teeth whenever he saw you; calling you “partner!” out loud before greeting you and asking how you had been. The little interactions you both had were always a pleasure and as time passed, he seemed to grow more attached to seeing you.

Today was a little different. Compared to your usual outfit, you were dressed up all fancy and the more he looked at you, the louder the whirring of his heart got.

"Fudge."

He mutters under his breath. You look at him inquisitively as he turns his head sideways and sighs.

"Something the matter Boothill?" "It's nothing partner."

You watch as he chugs down his glass and sets the empty vessel down on the bar counter before ordering more.

"I haven't even finished my first drink yet and you're already done?"

You laugh a little as you take a sip of your drink. The dim lights of the bar made your jewellery glow and alongside the reflections of other shiny things, you looked heavenly in his eyes. He doesn’t answer so you look over and find him dazed.

"Boothill...? Um, do you need some space?" "Fudge!"

He can't help but say it out loud this time, covering his face as he scrunches his eyebrows and frowns. This was not how he normally behaved. What in the hot diggity fudge was going on with him?

"Yes- I mean no, ugh fork me!"

You stand there confused (and slightly amused) at how he seems to be fighting himself like a madman. He almost looked possessed from how he kept going back and forth with himself as if he was surprised at what he was saying. Like his tongue wasn't his own.

"I'll give you some space."

The last thing you wanted was for him to hurt himself or those around him. You finally decide to leave just to make sure everything's alright only for him to grab your arm and then quickly let go in shock.

"Sorry 'bout that partner.”

Boothill awkwardly apologises for his unusual behaviour. Before you can reply, a drunk accidentally pushes you from behind and you lose your balance causing you to fall straight into his arms.

“I-!?” “Um…?!”

Both of you are speechless. He swiftly holds your waist with one hand while the other firmly holds onto malt juice. Your hands are tightly gripping his shoulders from the fear of falling. No coherent thought is spoken but the flustered look on your faces has got some of the bar regulars around you giggling.

You don’t even hear the apology of the one who accidentally pushed you. It's as if time has slowed down and nothing exists outside you both. Strangely, he doesn’t let you go and you don’t move either making things even more awkward.

The strong alcohol you were sipping on makes you tipsy and somehow gives you the courage to lift your head and gaze into Boothill's unique eyes. You've always admired how dashing he looks; from his physique to his dressing style and even his interesting way of speaking. And now here you were up close, staring disrespectfully at his face and how handsome he looked.

Boothill is no different either, he's gazing at you hesitantly as he tries to find something to say but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is-

“Fudge me…” “I'm sure the ladies at the ranch think about that regularly.”

You mumble without thinking and he tenses up.

“I- what?!”

He stutters as his cheeks turn slightly red and his eyes widen.

“Uh?! Nothing!”

You mentally slap yourself for blurting that out loud. Even if it was true, why did you have to say it and make things awkward? Come on! You both were having a somewhat endearingly awkward time together! 

You attempt to conjure up something to smooth things over but your thinking is disrupted by a strangely loud machine sound that seems to be coming from nearby. The whoosh is accompanied by irregular beeping sounds, almost like one of those technology things Boothill had told you about. 

You glance around to see if you can find the source only to realise-

It’s coming from Boothill.

“Oh.” You whisper under your breath but the cyborg (who still doesn't let you go nor drinks his beverage and is as still as a statue for some reason) hears you loud and clear.

“Something the matter, pretty lady?” “Yes. Do you plan on us staying in this position until the bar closes?”

Instead of answering his question, you deflect it with another. He turns red again and stammers badly which makes you giggle and further confirms your theory.

“Gotcha.”

Before Boothill can ask what you’re doing, you slowly drag your hands down his shoulders until they rest on his chest. You feel the rapid whirring of his heart through the vibrations it emits through your fingertips. A tiny smirk spreads on your face and you look back at him.

“You’re pretty cute.”

You flirtatiously speak. The look of confusion and embarrassment on his face makes you laugh harder.

“What- hey what- I-”

Boothill’s stammering only gets worse alongside the overheating of his heart. He tries to reply with a snarky comment but the only thing he’s capable of doing is squeezing your waist harder and propping himself up with the bar counter to avoid falling. You, being the woman you are, do not stop the teasing.

“You can’t handle affection, can you? Look at you sweet thing, your heart is overworking and your synesthesia beacon has already overheated.” “Shut…” “I barely said anything and you’re malfunctioning already? How amusing.” “Son of a nice lady…” “I am indeed the daughter of a nice lady.”

“You-!”

He is bewildered at your unexpected behaviour but that painfully obvious blush on his cheek tells you he's not mad about it.

“Oh dear,” you chuckle and pry yourself off his metal chest, “I should stop or else your…eccentric friends…will hold me responsible for any severe malfunctions.”

This was enough teasing from you today. If it were up to you, you would go on and on but you feared any dire consequences that would affect Boothill. You lift and steady yourself up nonchalantly as if you just didn't cause the ranger to nearly pass out from your shenanigans.

Despite the cold metal exterior, he feels the loss of warmth from you moving your body away. His hand slowly retracts from your waist but lingers as if he hesitates to let go. The overheating of his system rapidly starts to decrease, however, he is unable to calm his emotions down completely. He turns his attention away from his mechanical heart and gazes at you curiously while you fix your wrinkled dress.

“You are one hell of a woman.”

A long sigh leaves his mouth as he speaks as if still processing your chaos. A sly smile appears on your face when you (finally) hear him speak properly.

“Took you a while to get talking didn't it mister?”

That grin on your face screams ‘this wasn’t even my best attempt’ but he shrugs it off. He unknowingly takes a step closer to you as if wanting your presence as close to him as possible. The (welcomed) intrusion into your personal space causes you to sharply inhale. He simply places his hand over the rim of your filled glass and whispers gently.

“You think I'd let any lady come close like that?”

Your mouth practically foams as you try to formulate a response. Eventhough you're not looking him, you can feel his gaze on you which makes you nervous.

“I'll tell you something sweetheart. I've got some fudging business to attend to in a bit but the next time we meet, I'll finish what you started.”

His voice is low and rumbly as he subtly warns you of the consequences of your actions. He follows it with a tight squeeze of your hand and then steps away from you. Your mind protests his leave but you're too stunned to speak; had you put yourself on his wanted list now? 

There is a devilish smile on his face as he checks his gun and locks it before walking away with it casually. Next time, he'd show you what a cowboy is capable of.

Hey, at least you were living out the dreams of those ranch ladies. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.