#But also I would like to learn in general

[bitterreid]

🌷 Bad dream, baby - S.R. 🌷

summary: After Spencer gets wounded in the field, you do your absolute best to take care of your boyfriend in pain. He is having a particularly tough time with it, frustrations running high, and he thinks he knows how to solve it, but you're not so sure.

or: idiots in love that learn to communicate :) and have sexy times :)

Category: smut but also hurt/comfort and it's extremely fluffy and he's angsty. I did it, I collected them all. 

Contains: porn with plot, vague descriptions of canon typical violence and injuries, fem!reader, smut!!! so minors DNI!, dry humping, a lot of fluff, hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v (pretend she's on birth control idk), implied (?) cockwarming, intimacy, very many feelings, established relationship, whiny Spence but no s/d dynamics, I am so down bad for this man help me

Trigger warning??? I'm not really sure whether this is relevant but better be safe than sorry! At the start there is a case of a sort of dubious consent? It gets communicated about, resolved and turns out really sweet (and nothing malicious goes on at all), but always take care of yourself and skip this one if that sounds like something that's not for you <3

word count: 5.9k 

a/n: Look I'll say it first. I have a Thing™️ for wounded men. It's okay. You can say it too <3 This is our support group now.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

"I'll be right back, baby" you said, as you took the dirty plates to the kitchen. 

A sigh escaped your lips as soon as the door closed behind you. Not because you were tired of Spencer, never, but your heart just felt so heavy having to see him like this.

It had been a little over a week now since Spencer had been seriously injured in the field. His injuries had been worse than any other member had ever been harmed, and after having to spend a few nights in the hospital, you finally had him to yourself again. The last few days had been some of the worst of your whole life. Getting the call about the shooting had felt like being shot yourself, and racing to the hospital in a perpetual state of panic and despair had felt like it lasted forever. Seeing Spencer unconscious on a hospital bed, being dragged away to surgery, it had almost been too much to handle. It all seemed so far away now, and getting to sit by his side as he opened his eyes again, that was a flood of relief that would never again be parallelled. "Hi…" he had said, large eyes lidded, a faint smile on his lips, and you had just burst into tears on the spot.

You shook your head to get away from the thoughts, feeling the warm water hit your skin as you started to wash the dishes. It hadn't been easy, having Spencer home and pretty much immoble for another while. Of course you had immediately jumped at the opportunity to take him home and care for him yourself, you loved him so much and nothing could change that, but that didn't mean it wasn't hard on you, or on Spencer.

You could see that he was really struggling. He was always so independent, from a young age already and now even more so, so naturally being unable to even stand on his own was like torture to him. You did your very very best to accommodate him, helping him where necessary and letting him take the wheel where he could, but it was a tough balance. He was extremely proud and though he was more than grateful and appreciative of your help, his frustrations were beginning to run high.

Not that you didn't understand, of course. Despite the frequent and sincere thank you's you were given every day, it must all have been so frustrating to him�� Spencer was not good at being taken care of in general, you had noticed. He was a giver through and through, selfless, kind, generous, and he had never been in a position where he received just so much. It was eating him alive that he couldn't give you anything in return.

Of course you didn't want or need anything for your care, you loved him and would do anything to make him comfortable in his time of need, but you could see the (entirely misplaced) guilt on his face when you made him his meals, helped him into his clothes, or fetched him another book.

You strolled back into your bedroom, Spencer still in the exact position you had left him in. Not that he had much choice. He put his book down slowly and smiled at you warmly. You returned the smile, but seeing him like this made your heart hurt every single time, no denying it. His right leg was propped up on some pillows. The bullet had penetrated his knee, and at first the doctors weren't sure he would ever be able to use it again, but after emergency surgery, luck had finally been on Spencer's side. During the fall, he managed to sustain an injury to his ribs which had needed stitches, and he had hit his head on something, which had left a glaring gash right though his eyebrow.

"Hi, baby" he said, looking extra soft in his pyjama pants and shirt, "ready for the movie?" 

"Sure am," you smiled warmly at him and got on top of the blankets. You had deemed every single night movie night while Spencer was bed-bound, you know, silver linings and such. Spencer lazily put his arm around your waist as you cuddled up next to him - carefully - and pressed play on the old Italian black-and-white drama. (Spencer's pick, naturally.) You had had to beg him for subtitles, because no matter how much you loved his whispered translations in your ear, you just could not keep up that way. Not that you understood all that much of it this way either, but Spencer seemed to enjoy it, and anything for him.

"Hey, baby, you want some hot chocolate?" you were halfway through the movie at this point, not that you understood anything close to half of it, but anyway.

Spencer smiled sheepishly, which you had learned to take as a yes from him. "Yeah?" you smiled at him, kissing his shoulder briefly before getting up.

"Only if it's not a bother!" he was quick to say, holding your wrist gently in his palm, his eyes pretty and impossibly round.

"For you?" you kissed his nose, "Never."

He smiled in the bashful way that you knew all too well. You tried to sprinkle in little sentiments like that last one, in hopes that he would finally start to believe them, but for now you knew that some twisted sort of guilt over being taken care of was eating at him.

When you returned with the mugs, you placed his on his bed-side table, as it was still too hot to drink immediately. You got back into bed, right away finding your place next to Spencer again. The movie progressed slowly, but you were content just cuddling with Spencer all night, or this careful version of cuddling, at least, trying to avoid any bruised or battered parts of him.

"Did you know that actually-" (you already knew you would not know whatever was to follow), "the director of this movie wanted to shoot it by the sea, but the guy who plays Phillipe just absolutely refused to?" Spencer giggled to himself, "They had to shoot by a big lake instead."

"How do you even find all these fun facts at this point?" the warmth you felt for him was evident in your tone.

"Don't know," he smiled down at you tucked beside him, "just catch them here and there, I guess"

"Oh yeah," you drawl, "me too, I'm always just hearing about old Italian movie stars and their affinity for lakes."

This drew a chuckle out of Spencer, his eyes sparkling like they always used to do. "They actually did end up winning multiple prizes for this film back in the day, so people could hypothetically still be talking about it to this day, you know, it made a lasting impression on the way they still today portray loneliness in relations to large bodies of water and how people-"

Spencer suddenly hissed out in pain, after which you heard a dull thud on the floor beside him. He had tried to grab the mug off the table, but the wound on his ribs must have caused him to drop it, you deduced and, oh, you knew this was so not what he needed after the already difficult day- week- month he'd had. You charged up for maximum damage control.

"Spencer-" you tried.

"Shit. I- Auch," he groaned in pain again, clutching his side.

"Spencer, no, baby stop trying to twist your torso, it's alright, I-" He wasn't listening, he was looking over the edge of the bed with clenched teeth, staring at the slowly spreading stain on your white bedside rugs.

"I- I'm so sorry, I'm- I'm just-" you could see the emotions taking over, it was all just too much in this moment. You had known this would eventually happen, he had been so brave, so well-behaved, just like you knew Spencer to be, but the frustrations had to come to the surface one way or another, you knew that very well. 

"I, just, FUCK" he near shouted. It was strange hearing Spencer cuss in this setting, normally so calm and collected.

"It's alright, Spence, really, I know it was an accident," You slowly got out of bed to take out some paper towels to try and manage the bleeding stain. "I can just throw these in the wash and tomorrow all will be alright." You tried to smile at him, but he wouldn't meet your eyes, still transfixed on the rug. 

"No." he said, just as you crouched down. "No, let me do this, it's my mess." there was a red blush creeping up his neck from below his collar and his eyes were fiery. He tried to lift his leg off the mountain of pillows, to no avail, as he immediately had to cease his efforts due to another spell of pain washing over him. 

He groaned - in frustration or pain, or both - and your heart broke in two. "Spencer," you said softly, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed. He tried to get back up again and failed, clenching his teeth as he held onto his side. You reached your hand out to him, wanting to stroke his hair, but he ducked away harshly. Your hand faltered in the air, not used to reactions like this, and so it took you a second to remember to take your hand back into your lap.

He looked back at you, his scrunched-up brows smoothing out again when he saw you sitting there. "No- God, I'm sorry, I don't- I didn't- mean to-" he was breathing irregularly now, almost hyperventilating, wringing his hands in strained motions. There was so much pent up emotion in his body, fear from the shooting, pain from its wounds, anger over their consequences and guilt for the care they required, it was all coming to a head now. "I'm just so fucking, it's all so incredibly-" he was trying to push it back in, keep it all to himself again, but you knew the both of you couldn't continue like this. And he knew it too. It was as if he was trying to cram too many emotions all into one envelope to seal it off again, but finding it impossible. The fiery waves still spilled out of his eyes, the desperation layering onto itself until he was nearly shaking.

"Just, let it all out Spence, you don't have to hold it in, you can just yell for a while if it would make you feel better." you tried to soothe him best you could, you didn't know what would calm him now, and you didn't really dare to guess, but his eyes looked so pleadingly in your direction, looking for answers you didn't have.

"No, No," he shook his head, wincing again afterwards "I-" he groaned, now out of pure and visible frustration, and suddenly he took your hands, placing them on his chest "Will you just, touch me, please?" His amber eyes, impossibly big and begging, bored into yours.

"T- touch you?" you weren't sure you understood him right.

"Please-" his voice broke, desperate, desolate.

"O-okay, sure, Spence, anything," You didn't quite know what to do exactly, your hands stayed still on his chest, your mind racing with what to do. 

Clearly displeased with your inactivity, Spencer whined and his hands reached out, he took a light hold of your waist and tried to pull you closer, which was not as simple in your current position. You finally understood, he wanted you close, so you snaked one hand behind his neck to tangle in the curls at the bottom of his skull, and let the other one lightly graze the skin of his collarbones, making his muscles relax ever so slightly. His eyes still stared disparagingly back at you, as he kept clumsily pawing at you to get closer.

You leaned in slightly and gave him a quick, experimental peck on his lips. Hungry like a tiger, however, he kissed you back, hands immediately tangling in your hair, lips immediately seeking more contact. He kissed you like a man starved, like it had been ages since he had you close at all. You kissed him back, taken aback a little, but the familiar deep lull of his kisses didn't go unnoticed as you let your guard slip just a little, giving into his touch. 

Still not exactly sure where this was going, or what on earth he was trying to communicate, you let him manoeuvre (more like manhandle) you fully onto his side of the bed. You knew he was being careful - it was Spencer, after all - but in his desperation and need, he failed to account for his current situation, bumping into his painful leg or his bruises. He winced into the kiss, but still refused to break it, kissing and softly licking into your mouth as he went. 

"Spencer-" you tried, as you momentarily leaned away, but the amber of his eyes had molten, pools of craving peering back at you. He leaned forward with you, closing the gap again and once more capturing your lips with his. His gentle but guiding hands on your waist had directed your legs open on either side of him, essentially hovering you over him in a straddling position. You didn't dare to bring your hips down in fear of hurting his leg, so you just awkwardly loomed over him.

Getting his lips off of yours proved to be harder than you'd anticipated, with Spencer kissing you like you were the air he desperately needed, yet holding you so firmly to his lips that there was hardly any chance to breathe. It didn't help that his kisses were absolutely intoxicating. The need and passion he poured into each gentle peck and deep lick made you want to sink into him more and more. 

When you finally came back to yourself and managed to get some distance between your faces, he whined softly at the loss of contact, his lips red and slightly shiny in the dim light. 

"Spencer," your tone was somewhere balancing on a thin line between affectionate and scolding. He was blushing, of passion, of something more akin to shame, you didn't know for sure. He was pleading, he was pawing at your hips again before you could utter the next word. "I'm not sure we should- you're still-" he winced at your careful words. 

He gently pushed your hips towards his, softly, lovingly, like he had done a hundred times before, but this was different. "Please," his voice soft and almost breaking, "baby?" And with that plea, your hips slowly connected. How were you to refuse? Softly, you sat your weight down on him, terrified to hurt him, only thinking about his knee, his bruises, but Spencer only hummed when your core connected with his obvious hard-on. 

"Are you alr-" his large hands were on the side of your face once more, drawing you in for another kiss. It was intoxicating, his lips moving against your own just the way you liked it, slow, but drawn out long and passionate, with Spencer's little sounds mixing in here and there to pull you under completely. You had missed this so much, this closeness, this heat, his lips and touches. But you could not get carried away, he was being rash, he needed to communicate. This could not be something that hurt him down the line.

You kissed him back softly, trying to take the heat out of the exchange, but he kept pouring it back in, deepening and deepening. You slid your hands into his hair, which he took as an affirmation to grind your hips into his. He let out a flustered sound at the contact, like a craving finally being met. But you had other plans. You pulled his hair softly, just the way he liked, but you pulled his face away from you. His eyes shone with betrayal, being unable to reach your lips now.

He couldn't look at you. This was not his usual way of initiating anything. He was always so communicative, so in search of consent and praise wherever he went. This sudden desperation worried you, like it was all just a cover, a trick.

Despite his lanky frame and current state, he was strong, he leaned forward (your mind immediately going to the purple splotches on his ribs) and buried his face in your neck, so as to not look at you. There he began planting small kisses, carefully, sweetly, like you knew him. But his hands also continued to grind your hips into his, seeking friction.

"Spencer- are- are you sure?" You gently offered, still combing through his hair, feeling his hot, now slightly quickened breath on your neck.

He only whined in response, only grinding you down more desperately on his lap.

"Spence, baby," you shushed, trying to convey that it was okay, that there was no need for this urgency, that you were not going anywhere. His breathing in the crook of your neck was frantic now. "Spencer," you tried again, as you softly ground down your hips on your own volition. Immediately his grip loosened, a small moan being drawn from his lips. You softly continued the movement, as it seemed to physically melt his pent up state back to the man you knew. The heat low in your belly started to burn at the edges from the friction his clear arousal warranted, but you ignored it in favour of checking in on Spencer.

You carefully cradled his head and brought it so you could look him in his eyes, but he kept them closed. As long as you continued the movement, his face stayed relaxed and borderline content, though you could still sense his frantic state in the occasional scrunch of his nose or the semblance of a frown pulling his eyebrows tight. You made the movements come to a halt, carefully inspecting Spencer's face, awaiting his reaction. His breath stuttered, probably from the sudden lack of friction, and his eyes slowly opened. 

His big brown irises were overflowing with a desperation you thought only existed in Victorian novels. You could almost see the inner emotions of it all working, a glimpse of sadness, toppled over into guilt, pushed under by the sheer need for closeness, and then the fear of it. You carefully caressed his cheek with your thumb, "baby…", he immediately leaned into the contact. "I'm right here, okay?" Big brown doe eyes just peering back at you, 

"I'm right here, but, you have to talk to me, Spence. I don't know what's going on in your head," your own voice sounded surprisingly small and sad to your ears, and Spencer winced at the words. 

"I-" he opened his mouth and closed it again. You could see he was at a loss for words, that he probably also didn't know what was going on or where this was all coming from. "I'm, I'm so sorry" he spoke, his eyes wide and sincere, like he was just looking down on the situation for the first time. He let go of your hips at once, looking at his own hands with a degree of bewilderment, his eyes somewhat glassy as they floated back up to you.

"No- no, you don't have to apologise," you felt guilty at once, "there's nothing to be sorry about." A small smile formed on your lips, caressing the sides of his face once more. "Hey," you tilted his face to yours, eyes flickering over the gash in his eyebrow, down to the yellowing bruise high on his cheekbone, "It's alright."

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed at the gentle contact. "I'm sorry," he whispered once more, turning his face slightly to kiss your wrist softly as it passed by his lips. "I just, I just think I missed you… you know," a blush took over his cheeks, colour muddling with the bruises, "this… this way", his sentence trailed off towards the end.

"Oh," you felt your own cheeks burn at his gentle confession, "Oh, I- I didn't know," you were at a loss for words yourself now. You had been so caught up in caring for him that any physical intimacy honestly had just slipped your mind. 

"No! No, no, no, you couldn't have known, I, I should have said something, but I didn't know how, you're so sweet, for taking care of me, I didn't want to ask for even more" he closed his eyes, furrowing his brows, mentally beating himself up, no doubt.

"Oh Spence," you leaned in slightly and softly pecked his lips, "I'm sorry, I just didn't think of it, honestly, I was so focussed on taking care of you, your knee and your bruises, I just got caught up in it all I think… I was just so worried-" 

"Yeah, no!" he sounded slightly panicked. "I- oh God, I'm such an asshole," he pressed the palms of his hands against his eye sockets, "you're here taking care of me - excellently! Oh, so excellently, couldn't ask for anyone better, nicer, I mean- God, you're here caring for me and I'm just here complaining about not- not-" a deep blush found its way back onto his cheeks and he looked away, deflating just a little. 

"Look," his eyes bored into yours again and this time they were soft around the edges, a little pleading, "I don't want you to think that you did anything wrong. At all. I just, it's all been so much, you know…" 

"Of course, I know, baby," you stroked a stray lock of hair out of his face and he softly took a hold of your hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it.

"And you just, this just-" you quietly marvelled at how, still, after all this time, Spencer was just as bashful as the day you met, "brings me comfort?" his eyes were glued to your entangled hands. "I just really want you close, … this close." he sheepishly motioned to where your bodies connected.

The puzzle pieces fit. He just needed extra comfort, especially at a time like this. You smiled at him, hoping to calm the vibrations of nervous energy coming off of him. "Well, we can do that," you whispered, trying to make your voice soft and velvet to the touch. Spencer seemed to soften at the edges. 

"Yeah?" his eyes impossibly wide and full of adoration.

"Of course, Spence," you kissed his lips softly, combing through his hair once more and staying closeby. "It's just, I'm scared of hurting you."

He peered up at you, hands finding your waist once more, "Don't be. I'm not made of glass."

You appreciated the false bravado, but you also knew the way he winced in pain every time he had to do as little as get dressed. You could hardly stand the little sounds of pain, the way his pretty eyes screwed shut. "Spencer," 

The pleading look was back. He kissed you softly, intimately, his lips finding yours like they were made to fit there, "we'll be careful," he promised against your lips.

"Very careful?" you asked as you lost yourself little by little in the kisses. 

"Very careful." he confirmed, his voice low and breathy. God, you had missed seeing him like this, feeling him like this. The way he held your face while he kissed you, borderline possessive but mostly so insanely sweet. His tongue traced your puffy bottom lip, asking for entrance you gladly gave.

Your arms snaked around him for real this time, pulling him closer by his hair. He moaned into the kiss, a gentle vibration you hadn't known you missed so much until you tasted it again. He was hungry, hands tracing your body, but he was still so Spencer. So warm and lovely, large fingers caressing your sides and back like you were something to worship. 

You revelled in his adoration, letting yourself melt against the familiar warmth of his body, the distant smell of his sweet cologne and shampoo. You couldn't help but moan softly when Spencer squeezed the soft flesh around your hips, only now realising how much you had missed his gentle touch. 

You carefully brought your hands down from his hair and started undoing the top button of his pyjama shirt. Spencer smiled into the kiss, content with your cooperation no doubt. You never could deny the pretty boy in front of you anything after all.

The shirt falling away revealed a canvas of pale skin dotted with bruises in various shapes and colours. Peeling the fabric off his shoulders carefully, you finally broke the heated kiss and ventured to look down to his chest. Spencer eyed you carefully, not quite bashfully, but with an uncertainty in his eyes. You vowed to make it disappear at once.

Small kisses starting from his jawline found their way through the minefield of bruises, paying attention not to hurt him in the process. First his collarbones, then downwards to his chest and abdomen, you left no untouched space unkissed. Spencer revelled in your attention, your care, your love.

"Hey," he said softly. You looked up at him in the dim light, your hair falling in your eyes. He took your face into his hands and kissed you tenderly. His fingers found the hem of your t-shirt, gently lifting the edge until you raised your arms to let him pull it over your head. Wearing no bra, you were now topless sitting in his lap. Oh how you had missed seeing the warm brown of Spencer's eyes flash up into something sharper. He let his eyes roam over your body in a way closer to reverie than hunger, though you knew it possessed both. If he hadn't had an eidetic memory, you would almost believe he had actually forgotten what you looked like, the way he drank in the sight like it was his last meal. 

You couldn't help but smile at him, a coy little gesture that Spencer returned as soon as his eyes made it back onto your face. "Missed you," you whispered softly.

"You have no idea," he replied. 

Then his large hands slid up to your chest, one gently brushing your hair away over your shoulder, the other cupping one of your breasts in his palm. He massaged the soft skin gently while leaning forward to pepper your neck with kisses. You sighed into him contently, eyes closing upon the tender contact. His finger grazed over your nipple, making goosebumps spread over your arms like the fire did in your belly. A soft sound escaped you, not quite a whine, but not far from either. You felt Spencer smile against your skin, the kisses turning to little nips as he neared your collarbones. 

Your eyes shot open as you heard Spencer wince. "Spence?"

He shied away at the concern in your voice. "It's nothing," he assured. "Just, um, overdid it." He had leaned too far into you, the bruises on his ribs not quite allowing him to. "I'm fine, you're just, well," he raked his fingers through his hair and let his soft smile return, "well look at you, how could I not."

You tried not to worry, to let yourself melt back into the moment. "Well, let me help you, then," you purred, coming up off your knees so your chest was on his eye level. 

"Perfect…" Spencer mused, more to himself than anyone else, before he recommenced his sweet attack on your skin. Flicking his thumb over one nipple, he took the other one in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. Your head almost fell back, but you wanted to enjoy the sight before you. Remembering exactly what you liked, Spencer's skilled hands and mouth worked over the soft skin of your breasts until you were a whining puddle in his arms, just how he liked you.

And now it wasn't Spencer that was eager, no, you had felt yourself grow wetter for him with every passing second, and the want and need of the last few days washed over you in waves of anticipation. Your hands instinctively went to the hem of his pyjama bottoms when he came up for air, and you ran your finger along the waistband teasingly. 

Spencer looked up at you dazedly, big puppy eyes glazed over with lust, a sweet smirk playing on his lips. You carefully slid off of him, helping him out of his pants and boxer briefs, careful not to hurt him. Your heart ached a little when you heard him hiss in pain and steady himself, but you reminded yourself that you both wanted this. Once his pants were off, you shimmied your own plaid pyjama shorts and panties down your legs, now sitting completely naked on the bed next to Spencer. 

"C'mere," Spencer reached out his hands for you to take, affection muffling his otherwise perfect diction. 

His broad hands positioned you back into his lap where you belonged. The kiss that followed was hungry. Hungrier than you had ever felt Spencer before. His hands were everywhere on your body, grabbing your hips, smoothing down your back, on your tits, you felt him everywhere, except where you needed him most. 

You whined into his mouth, "Spence, please." 

His eyes glinted with something akin to mischief, and his teasing words of "Aw, is my baby so eager?" would almost be convincing, if he wasn't hard and desperate himself right underneath you. So you moved your hips slightly, your folds dragging over his erection. That shut him up real quick.

"Cat got your tongue?" You purred, drinking in the feeling of his skin on yours once more. 

Spencer's long, dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks as he breathed heavily from the friction. The sight was from a movie, the prettiest boy you had ever seen, bruised up, but revelling in feeling your body. You wanted him, needed him.

You slowly lifted your hips, careful not to put too much of your weight on him, and let Spencer position himself at your opening. The anticipation in the air was sweet, almost stifling, you could already taste the sweet release. 

Spencer dragged his tip though your folds, spreading the wetness that had accumulated up to your clit, circling it a few times before going back to your entrance. 

"So wet for me, baby."

"I'll be gentle, yeah?" you checked with him. 

"Yeah, hm, sure," his eyes flickered up from where you two almost connected to your face, "god, i need you, please."

Who were you to deny? You sank down slowly, just the tip at first, and the stretch was already delicious enough to warrant the soft, whining sound leaving your lips. Spencer looked dizzy with it, patiently waiting on you while he steadied your hips. You sank further down on him. God, you had missed feeling him inside you. 

When you had taken all of him, you tried to check in on whether this position was comfortable for him, but instead you were pulled into another desperate kiss. His tongue was in your mouth in seconds, making you lightheaded with the eagerness Spencer poured into you. He moved his hips up, thrusting into you once, and it felt amazing, but he winced into the kiss.

"Babe, Spence," you halted the kiss, "let me do the work now, please," you gently pushed him back against the pillows, "let me take care of you, yeah?" 

He looked up at you straddling him, hair messy and cheeks red. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he replied bashfully, his voice hoarse and deep with want.

You rolled your hips into his, soft but deep. His pretty lips, red from being kissed stupid, parted and he made a delicious sound that went right to your core. You continued to roll your hips, trying to get leverage to ride him, but not wanting to put pressure on his bruises.

"Here," Spencer positioned one of your hands on his chest and one on his shoulder. "And no, it doesn't hurt there," he replied to the silent question in your eyes. You believed him. 

With the new leverage points, you could ride his dick properly. The sensation was dizzying, feeling him so deep inside you. The drag of your clit against his skin with every bounce was delicious, making you moan into Spencer's neck. 

Spencer's hands were moving your hips along with you, squeezing and petting along with his own shallow breaths. He started attacking your neck with kisses again, open-mouthed and sloppy this time, leaving marks for you to discover in the morning, no doubt. 

The drag of him against your insides was maddening. The position gave you all the control and with just a bit of Spencer's help, you found the spot that made you go crazy every time his tip grazed it.

"That's it, that's it, oh god, keep going," the desperation is Spencer's voice set your core on fire. The way he said your name over and over sounded like a prayer, like a man starved. He moaned unabashedly when you sunk down on his entire length, looking at you like you personally cured all of his pain. 

"Spence, you feel so good," you practically whimpered, and Spencer nearly came right there and then. He held you closer, nearly all of you touching, like he couldn't get enough of you.

The way you moved together was perfect, a practised ease that came with knowing each other so well that you knew exactly what the other loved most.

"Fuck, baby, oh, I'm- I'm not gonna last much longer," Spencer said though laboured breaths as he snaked his arm between your bodies. 

You were already close, but when you felt Spencer's skilled fingers on your clit, you knew you were done for.

"Come with me?" Spencer spoke into your ear, planting more soft kisses on your jaw. 

Once again, who were you to deny him anything? With a loud moan from you and a stutter of Spencer's hips, you both came together, your release washing over you in white hot waves of pleasure, with Spencer buried deep inside of you. You rode out both your highs, seeing Spencer's eyes gloss over in real time once the satisfaction settled. 

He smiled his wide, dopey smile at you, the picture of contentment, an entirely different version of himself than the one before. You returned the smile, carefully draping yourself over his chest, completely spent.

"Hey," Spencer whispered into the quiet air, "I can't do it for you, now, but you'll have to go clean up, sweetheart." 

"Mmm," you bury your face in his neck, "I will, I will." You could hear the overflowing fondness in his laugh that followed.

"Hey," he said again, smaller this time, "thanks for taking care of me."

You languidly sat up, staring into his big, earnest eyes. Your fingers pushed his hair out of his eyes, revealing the cut above it. You leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "Was that an innuendo, Doctor Reid?" 

He burst out into an unexpected laugh, his eyes twinkling again, "maybe, maybe." 

<3

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx

[wisteriasymphony]

Since you know a lot about horror methods of control, (to which I thank you as it is helping with my writing), what are some hypothetical GOSHE methods of controlling a sentimonster other than using their amok (this is a scenario where the amok is broken or not functional, like in Mirelle's case). I already have dr*gg*ng with ketamine, but what would you suggest. Microdosing them with medicines to make them more suggestible?

My suggestion for you would be to study Steven Hassan's BITE model of authoritarian control!!! I learned of it from the first time back when I was in my cults phase back in middle school, but the model is a very digestible way of categorizing controlling behavior, and having that as a starting point is going to be helpful for going forward.

Behavioral and Emotional control is going to be what you want to draw from. Behavioral control is going to be used more for the sentihumans that are already "well-conditioned", and Emotional control for the ones who are trying to be more independent—But there will obviously be an overlap.

So, in addition to drugging with medication, I'd say that sleep deprivation would be a huge way of control. Bribing them and withholding things from them would also be a very simple method of control—Given how stunted the sentihumans are supposed to be (like Ambre, like Adrien), no matter how much they may goof off they will generally listen to whatever authority figures ask of them because they are biologically conditioned to go along with it. Mireille doesn't know that her broken amok means she's able to not follow orders, because she doesn't know that the amok is how people make her follow orders!

For many sentihumans, keeping them suggestible is something you'd only need to do for those that have gotten pretty far in their mental development. Once they've gotten into the routine of doing whatever they're asked, it's going to be something they default to.

[towasdandelion]

And haha… Can you make a smau where the reader has an overwhelming outburst of love for the ghouls and demands that the ghouls come to her to so she can show them some attention?

WITH VAGAATEOM AND SINOSTRA I FORGOT TO ADD😭😭**

This is a very cute idea (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠) Let's get straight to it hehe

Sinostra and Vagastrom ghouls when you're having an affection outburst

Romeo sighs each time he finds you clinging to his side like a lost puppy, but he doesn't actually hate your little love outbursts. He loves when your attention is purely on him so no matter how much he grumbles, he won't push you away. If it interferes with his work he might make you wait a little bit until he's done. Whine too much and he won't hesitate with scolding, calling you childish. A part of him thinks it's adorable though.

Ritsu will play along, using the same tone you're using when texting him. I'm pretty sure you and him have worked out a code you're using whenever you have various kinds of emergencies. And naturally, your need of expressing your affection to him is a matter of utmost importance. He hates leaving his work unfinished, but he finds it incredibly hard to say "no" to you. And so he will close his books and go cuddle his needy girlfriend like a good boyfriend he is.

Taiga's mood is rather unpredictable, but you've already learned how to deal with it. Ignore it and push him until he bends to your will. He won't give you a lot of time to think though, so you need to act fast! Generally doesn't really mind you being clingy or cuddly because whenever you two are together his hands are on you anyways. You get bonus points if you put his head in your lap as he naps. Play with his hair too. Just don't wake him up.

It's okay for him to be clingy, but the other way around? It makes Leo's eyes roll. He will pretend to hate it, but won't really do anything to push you away. He actually does like it when you're close. But you need to understand Leo is like a cat. You can't just have him whenever. It's better to wait for the moments where he approaches you himself.. However if you simply cannot help it, with a deepest sigh he'll settle for laying his head in your lap, asking to make yourself useful and play with his hair.

Sho knows all too well what it means when you're being whiny like that. It makes him sigh, but there's a fond smile on his face. Another one who can't really deny you of anything. Especially affection. Whatever it is, he will put it aside to come see you. Unless he's busy with the food truck.. But worry not, there's also an advantage to it! He always brings you some food as an apology for making you wait. Now you can enjoy both your boyfriend's warmth and his cooking. Is there anything better?

Alan is still a bit confused whenever it happens. He doesn't understand why or how, but at the same time he doesn't really question it. You want to hold him, so why would he decline? Referring to him as your big heated teddy bear makes a small smile appear on his face. You always address him with fondness, and it melts his heart. He loves and takes every single opportunity to make you feel loved and safe in his arms.

[lanietadelatierrawriter]

Marcus Acacius x The Huntress 🏹

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Gladiator (Movies - Scott)

Relationships: Marcus Acacius/You, Marcus Acacius/Reader, Marcus Acacius/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Marcus Acacius, Publius Septimius Geta, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus | Emperor Caracalla

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Smut, Dark, Ancient Rome, Gladiators, Historical Fantasy, Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Bondage, Non-Consensual Bondage, Dark Fantasy, Marcus Acacius Lives, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, blood, horror

Summary: You hunt because it’s in your marrow. Left to the wilds as a child, you learned to survive before you learned to speak. Now the forest bends for you. The trees whisper your name in the hush between wind and kill. You wear your dominion proudly: scaled hides stretched over muscle, wolf pelts draped across your shoulders, a crown of antlers rising like thorns, and a mask stitched from the skins of beasts you gutted with your bare hands. When the Roman stumbles through the brambles, armor caked with dried gore, breath ragged in the cold, your axe hums like a live thing in your palm. He has a body honed by war, broad and brutal, reeking of conquest and challenge which makes your blood sing for more than just the kill, your cunt to clench with a need no blade could ever satisfy. Perhaps death can wait and he can serve a better purpose, something warm and filling to fuck the edge off your carnal appetite.

Words: 1377

I’m so excited to share it with all of you. This is the first time I’ve written a story from a specific POV for a challenge, and it was an amazing experience. Thanks @almostempty and @gothcsz for letting me be a part of this challenge!

I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it. Don’t forget to leave kudos and tell me what you think! This story is also available on AO3.

Marcus Acacius x The Huntress 🏹

Stories were passed down from generation to generation—tales travelers told around campfires on cold nights. Stories about the forests sprawling on the outskirts of Rome. About creatures that lived there. About savages who grew up in the woods, far from civilization. It was said that their mothers had cast them there as bait, as newborns, to hide them. Unwanted births from single mothers, harlots, or the result of forbidden love affairs. They were called the savages, but you wouldn’t find these tales in ancient songs. No one dared sing them, as it was said these savages were children of the devil, and singing about them would bring evil upon the singer and their loved ones.

These stories reached the twin emperors Geta and Caracalla, whose tyranny ruled Rome. They decided to send an expedition into those forests to verify the tales, with one rule: if the savages were found, they were to be killed without mercy, regardless of age or gender, for it was also said they tormented travelers who dared to cross those woods.

The men were sent off with honor. Among them, leading the expedition, was General Acacius, a seasoned and strong 40-year-old man of war. By order of the emperors, he left behind his new wife to embark on the mission.

At dawn, the fifty soldiers rode out, each on horseback. Reaching the forests would take two weeks, but they wouldn’t travel directly—they planned several stops to recover their strength. The first leg of the journey took them through green fields and harvested wheat, but as they traveled further and drew closer to the forests, the temperature dropped. Winter crept in steadily.

Their final stop was at the forest's edge. The soldiers set up camp there. Towering and robust trees loomed majestically behind them, reaching toward the heavens. The men split into two groups: one would stay to guard and rest at the camp, and the other would venture into the forest before nightfall.

General Acacius entered the forest with the second group on foot, leaving their horses behind. As soon as they stepped in, the dense foliage enveloped them, hindering their path. The branches and treetops formed a high canopy, blocking sunlight. Only the occasional ray managed to pierce through, creating a dim and eerie atmosphere. Every step echoed, the sound of leaves and twigs beneath their boots blending with the distant songs of birds. Swords in hand, they advanced cautiously, alert to any movement or threat lurking in the forest.

With each step, they delved deeper into the forest's heart, and the savages noticed the intruders. Ambushing from behind trees, the savages launched arrows, striking down soldiers who fell to the ground like flies. Blood sprayed as the arrows pierced flesh. When the general saw his men fall, he began to run toward the forest's edge, unnoticed by the savages who assumed he had been killed.

Distracted by his escape, the Roman didn’t watch his step and stumbled into a bramble thicket. His armor was smeared with the dried blood of his fallen comrades, and his breath came in short, cold gasps. Hidden behind the trees, you watched him, your axe humming in your palm like a living thing. You studied him closely—a body honed by war, broad and brutal, reeking of conquest and challenge which made your blood sing for more than just the kill, your cunt to clench with a need no blade could ever satisfy.

You thought perhaps death could wait—perhaps he could serve another purpose. You approached him, axe in hand, noting how he was tangled in the brambles. He looked at you, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey. I won’t hurt you. Please, get me out of here," he said.

"Mine now," you said, your grasp of his language limited.

“Ugh?”

Drawing closer, you cut through the brambles with your axe, freeing him. He stood, towering but hesitant.

“You won’t leave,” you said, pointing your axe at him.

“All right, all right. We can negotiate,” he said, hands raised.

“No negotiation.”

You grabbed his arm, feeling the strength of his muscular frame beneath your fingers. Your long, dirty nails dug into his skin as you led him to the cave where you lived. There, you tied his hands behind his back and sat him down on a pile of animal pelts that served as your bed.

"Listen, you don’t have to do this. If you let me go, I promise I’ll leave and never return."

“No.”

“Okay… what now? Ugh?”

Without responding, you knelt before him on the makeshift bed and began desperately trying to remove his armor, feeling your clit throb, begging for stimulation. The Roman shifted, trying to stop you.

“Wait. Wait, what are you doing?”

“No.”

“Wait. Is this what you want?”

You paused.

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

You didn’t answer and immediately continued, now lifting the armor covering his thighs along with his war toga, revealing his underwear, his hard, erect member straining against the fabric. Your right hand slid over the cloth, feeling him. You bit your lip as you felt his rock-hard cock. It had been so long since you’d felt this, and carnal desire was consuming you. Your clit pulsed, on the verge of exploding, your skin flushing red with the heat of the moment.

The general bit his lip too, reacting to your touch.

“Promise me you’ll set me free afterward,” he said.

“Promised,” you replied with a sultry giggle.

You pulled down his underwear, watching his cock spring up, his balls bouncing as they were freed. Standing, you shed the furs covering your body, leaving yourself completely naked before his eyes.

You approached him, your lips close to his, pressing your wet, hairy pussy against his cheek, teasingly close to his mouth, hinting for him to lick. The Roman understood and turned his face. You spread your legs, and his face disappeared between your vaginal lips.

You felt him licking and sucking your clit at a steady, fast, intense pace, almost uncontrollable, as if he were unleashing all his frustration from being kidnapped onto your pussy. Moans escaped your lips, beyond your control. You loved what he was doing. It was clear he had experience eating pussy—this wasn’t his first time. You thought only the gods could do it like this. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly. You never wanted it to end, but you pulled away before reaching climax, wanting to continue the game.

You straddled him, taking his entire cock inside you, and began moving up and down, bouncing steadily, your arms around his neck for support. Your rhythm was pushing you both to the edge. The Roman groaned, his face flushed, his breathing ragged, unable to touch you with his hands tied behind his back. You felt it too, the impending explosion. His hips moved in sync with yours, each thrust bringing you closer to the limit. The wet sounds of your pussy against his cock echoed in the cave, mingling with your moans. Every so often, your eyes locked intensely. You didn’t kiss him, nor did you know what kissing was, and he didn’t try either.

Then the moment came. He filled you with his seed, his warm liquid spilling inside you with a final, trembling thrust. You released your warm juices mixed with urine. Both of you trembled, still pressed together. When you regained composure, you slid off him and stood. His cock softened, glistening with your juices. You cleaned yourself and put your furs back on. Then you approached him from behind and untied his hands. You kept your word.

The Roman stood quickly, pulling up his underwear.

“Will you come back?” you asked, a hint of sadness in your voice, knowing you had to let him go.

“I promise I’ll try. I enjoyed your company, despite everything,” he said with a warm smile.

“Me too,” you replied, mirroring his smile.

The general looked at you one last time and left the cave. Night had fallen, the sky blanketed with thousands of stars and a full moon. You stood at the cave’s entrance, watching him walk away, guided by the starlight and moonlight, the memory of your shared moment lingering until his silhouette faded into the horizon.

[certifiedsexed]

Heyo! I've got a question that I was originally gonna post to my own followers but I realized I can ask it here instead!

If someone asks you a question during dirty talk ("does that feel good baby?" "Are you close?" "I bet you're so wet for me right now") and the answers just, like, a straight up no, what's the best way admit that while keeping the momentum of the moment going.

To be clear I don't mean situations where something is actively uncomfortable and speaking up is a matter of consent, I mean situations where both parties are having fun and enjoying themselves, but the question asked is just, sorta, untrue?

My example is this: last night I was letting someone fuck my thighs. I wasn't getting any direct sexual pleasure out of it but I wanted to do it because it was fun and I wanted to make them feel good. Trying to be sexy in the moment, they asked me if it felt good and I had to be like "umm actually I'm not getting any direct stimulation from this". It wasn't a matter of him needing to stop or anything, I just didn't know how to respond to the question.

Does that make sense?

Ooh, hi!!

So, I can't guarantee this'll work but my recommendation would generally be by focusing your response on their enjoyment/how you're enjoying their enjoyment.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Example response: "You look so hot, I love it"

"Are you close?" Example response: "Are you close? You look so close/like you're enjoying yourself."

"I bet you're so wet for me" Example response: "Its so cute you're trying to focus on me, you look so turned on right now"

Obviously, those are just examples but things like that often work pretty well. (In my experience and learning, anyway.)

Sometimes basic sexy talk like the examples you gave don't always work but you can still keep the moment going by being ready to push the focus away from the stereotypical "sexy shit" and onto what you're actually enjoying in the moment.

That's my best recommendation anyway but I might also have followers who have suggestions too. Hope this helps!

[semi-imaginary-place]

There's a part of me that always gets annoyed when people say "there's no platonic explanation" for characters like Frodo and Sam because it means I need to navigate 2 hostile factions. Between the classic conservative Catholic homophobes who think gay people are evil demon worshipers and going to hell, and the supposed queer allies who are blatantly and fiercely erasing acearo perspectives. I wrote about how Lord of the Rings is a batman story, it was a product of 20th century Great Britain's class structure creating a unique and deeply intimate hierarchical relationship that no longer exists. These were largely platonic but had a domestic intimacy that in many cases exceeded heterosexual marriage. Europe in general has some history with marriages not being the most intimate relationships of one's life, they were for property, inheritance, or status.

#inverting an incorrect view does not create a correct view. It just creates an incorrect view from a different angle.

Here's an article by Finn Longman that delves more into the topic:

many marriages throughout history were not contracted because of romantic or sexual attraction, but that doesn’t preclude the possibility that romantic or sexual attraction existed within them.

Additionally there is always the danger of ascribing modern values to historical contexts and the difficulty surrounding labels.

The separation of the terms “platonic friendship” and “romantic love” is a remarkably modern one, even before we start dealing with additional linguistic complications of working with non-English material. My PhD has so far involved a great deal of work on the terminology used to define relationships and express affection, and what I have learned is that there is a huge amount of overlap, with relationships from military alliances to marriage to friendship to casual or illicit sex all being described with many of the same words. That doesn’t mean that these relationships were interchangeable to a late medieval Irish audience, but it does caution us to be aware that the lines between them may not be drawn in the same places that we would draw them, and the defining or distinguishing features of one type of relationship versus another may not be the features we would have focused on.

Once definitions become unstable and contextual ... Warnings not to apply anachronistic labels can become a denial of queer pasts — the truthful statement that an individual wouldn’t have understood themselves as homosexual because the concept of identity formed around sexual attraction was still a few hundred years off is taken as denying the possibility that the individual’s feelings and behaviours may have been more or less indistinguishable from those of somebody who would understand themselves as gay now.

You see, once you allow the possibility for friendship to be transformative, physical, lifelong, and passionate, there is no obvious reason to disagree with historical individuals’ characterisation of their relationships as ‘friendship’ — in fact, to do so runs the risk of erasing their self-definition and replacing it with ours, something that is not less of an erasure because the label replacing it is different.

This raises the question of what we’re really doing when we seek out queer histories. If our intention is to prove that people outside of a rigid heterosexual binary cisgender model have always existed, then we should take care to represent as many facets of those non-normative experiences as we can. What makes a relationship non-normative? What does it mean to defy expectations? What even are the expectations being defied? Amidst a rigidly heteronormative and patriarchal set of expectations, such as has dominated the past centuries, two women who chose to build their lives together rather than marry men were defying norms whether or not they were also having sex. Sexual activity is far from the only factor (or the most important factor) in claiming those lives as part of queer history, unless our definition of queer history includes only unambiguous sexual activity between people of the same gender (a deeply limited and problematic definition).

Tangentially an there's a discussion to be had on changing values across time and culture. The norms of gender and sexuality vary and are specific to their specific contexts (time and culture). Well known examples include European men used to wear high heels (also a class thing), or the Scottish kilt. So when talking about historical relationships it's important to distinguish non-normative in terms of modern (whatever specific part of the world here we are mostly talking about Western anglosphere social norms) and historical values. Was the relationship non-normative according to modern values, historical ones, both, or neither?

We generally find two models of history dominating popular discourse: a heteronormative model, in which only male/female relationships may be readily accepted as romantic or sexual and so all same-gender relationships must be read as socially normative friendship, or an amatonormative model which, in being open to the possibility of same-gender romance or sex, reads all intimate friendship as actually romance in disguise. The latter is an understandable compensation for the former, which dominated much 19th-20th century scholarship, but is just as essentialising and limited. The reality in the vast majority of cases is going to sit somewhere between the two, and requires explorations of nuance and acceptance of ambiguity.

We will never know if something was “really” friendship or “really” romance until we stop projecting our expectations of what either of those things means and start looking — openly and non-judgmentally — at how they are actually being constructed in the sources and societies we’re working with, particularly when that challenges our sense of the divisions between them. To properly understand and appreciate a passionate physical friendship, we need a degree of openness to the possibility of queer sexualities, so that we can see what that friendship is and isn’t doing, and how it sits alongside counterculture and transgression; to properly understand queer sexualities, we need an openness to emotional and behavioural norms that may allow for a degree of physicality and intimacy outside romantic or sexual relationships that the homophobic anxieties of the modern world have largely eliminated.

The danger is that in trying to recover and celebrate queer possibilities in history and literature, queer people often participate in the erasure and exclusion of aro and ace possibilities by privileging romantic and sexual relationships above friendship and creating hierarchies of intimacy based on a modern amatonormative worldview. As a result, in celebrating alternative forms of love and its expression beyond romance and sex, such as friendship and kinship, aro and ace people are seen as erasing the more visibly embattled forms of alternative sexuality to replace them with something more ‘family-friendly’. Friendship-focused readings of literature or historical evidence are understood as an alternative to queer possibilities, rather than a queer possibility in themselves, and so positioned in opposition to gay and bi histories, rather than intrinsically connected to them.

In compensating for homophobic “Just Friends” narratives, we should be wary of reinforcing them by suggesting that there is, indeed, anything “Just” about “Friends”. Maybe friendship can be as transgressive, transformative, countercultural, physical, intense, and, yes, queer, as relationships more easily labelled as romance; maybe it can challenge hierarchies of gender and sexuality, push back against oppressive norms, and represent radical ways of life that should be celebrated as the queer histories that they are.

I wish it wasn’t a hot take that a story in which two characters of any gender prioritize their purely platonic relationship over any other romantic or sexual interests they might have is a textually queer story

[transmutationisms]

i'm chronically ill and still take covid precautions and lately i feel super alienated from most people i know. not alienated as in angry, but genuinely like i live on another planet. is this just garden variety ableism i'm experiencing or is there something else involved?

i guess i always expected leftists and other disabled people to care about COVID indefinitely to some extent, but that's kind of not what i've noticed IRL or online. i'm just surprised that my life has diverged so drastically from people i expected to be on the same page with. i can never predict who still cares about COVID and who doesn't anymore. i can't seem to find spaces IRL or online where i can genuinely connect with like-minded people also who live the way i do and can empathize - doing risk calculus, wearing masks, constantly looking for accommodations. i've learned so much about disability politics in disability spaces and now i'm the one of the few people in them trying to avoid infectious diseases and i just don't understand where that divide came from. i feel like people care but they also don't care and i can't wrap my head around it.

honestly i don't think individual attitudes about public health measures are the causal fzctors in general & i don't think therés much point to beating yr head against the wall about them bottom-up like this 😬 if masks were mandated then they would be ´normalised', if sick leave were actually given & guaranteed then it would be ´normalised' not to infect everyone at work, &c &c. i think casual individual attitudes toward covid & infectious disease in general tend to follow from a social-legal situation in which they're institutionally treated as insignificant, more than the other way round. the us is also doing its damndest to incubate bird flu as the next pandemic & to give measles one billion chances to mutate and spread and nobody gaf either lol. plus the institutional public health establishment has at no point ever messaged or legislated appropriately re: post viral syndromes so it's not really surprising to me no one takes them into account in risk calculus. & people tend to use past responses to infectious disease to gauge how they should be reacting to current ones eg laxity around covid following basically the same behaviour patterns as established laxity around influenza. epidemics/pandemics for the entire 20th and 21st centuries have ´ended' by actually continuing to fester and kill vulnerable people while the wealthy protect themselves & go about their daily lives, it's not really any surprise to see the same with covid imo. just my 2c

[starcurtain]

Please do elaborate on Kaeya and Diluc's fanon! Your post on Kaeya and Venti was amazing to read.

First, before any Diluc lovers come out of the woodwork trying to defend their favorite from me, I gotta place my disclaimer: I am also a Diluc lover; he is definitely in my top three favorite Mondstadt characters (after Venti who is my favorite archon and Kaeya who is one of my favorite Genshin characters in general). So as I make this post, please just keep in mind that I also love and respect Diluc and his role in the story; recognizing a character's flaws and mistakes isn't a personal attack, mmmkayy?

All right, so anyway...

When it comes to Diluc and Kaeya's shattered relationship (personally I view them as strictly brothers, but I can also stay in my own lane, so there is no ship hate intended by this post), everyone talks about the damage Diluc supposedly did to Kaeya's eye and focuses on their duel on the night of Crepus's death.

People are quick to forgive Diluc because he had an obvious reason to be completely overwhelmed; having just lost his father, Kaeya's timing of coming clean about his secret was absolutely abysmal. If Kaeya had managed to wait even one day, the situation might have been very different, so I don't think there's any particular surprise that Diluc ended up attacking his brother, and I think this is where fanon takes on Diluc and Kaeya tend to focus--that Diluc had an warranted emotional response on the night of his father's death and lashed out, and Kaeya has mostly his own terrible sense of timing to blame for what occurred.

Therefore, the fanon approach to Diluc and Kaeya seems to be largely that both of them owe each other reconciliation and that, if they want to mend their relationship, both of them need to put in equal amounts of work.

But personally, I think this is neglecting two glaring aspects of the canon material we're given:

Kaeya's physical injury (if there even actually is one) is absolutely minuscule in comparison to the emotional damage Diluc's attack did. Even years later, Kaeya is not okay.

The diametrically opposed ways that Kaeya and Diluc understand and react to the people around them make Diluc's methods of atoning for his behavior virtually incompatible with what Kaeya emotionally needs from his brother.

I am not downplaying the incredible pain that Diluc would have gone through, having to mercy kill his own father after barely surviving a brutal attack thanks only to his father's sacrifice. To then learn, on top of that, that the brother you had loved, who had been an accepted and trusted member of your family for years, was actually a foreign entity planted in your country with the possibility of becoming a sleeper agent for the enemy--this is beyond the pale of what any normal person could accept. Diluc's anger, pain, and desire to lash out are understandable, and turning on his brother in that moment was essentially inevitable.

However, what people neglect is that Kaeya told Diluc the truth in that moment explicitly because of guilt.

Kaeya felt that his own reaction to Crepus's death wasn't appropriate (he felt liberated by Crepus's loss because it resolved Kaeya of the pain of making the choice between his blood father and his adoptive father) and he was trying to immediately atone for his perceived selfishness by being honest. Kaeya believed that telling Diluc the truth in that moment was better than continuing to perpetuate another lie for the person who had just had to confront his father's likely lifelong deception with the Delusion.

By baring himself completely, being honest for the first time in all his years in Mondstadt, Kaeya thought he was doing the right thing--even though he knew it would cost him his relationship with Diluc.

Diluc repaid Kaeya's honesty with rejection, and Kaeya viewed this as a deserved punishment.

Kaeya's confession was effectively a form of self-harm. He was disgusted with himself because he perceived his complicated feelings over Crepus's death as insufficient grief--Diluc had just lost the most meaningful thing in the world to him, and so Kaeya wanted to "make it right" by losing what meant the most to him too. It was self-sabotage of the highest caliber, provoking Diluc into attacking him because that's what Kaeya thought a liar like himself deserved.

But even though Kaeya knew what the outcome would be, it's clear that he did not understand the extent to which he would internalize the messages he learned that day:

No one should put their faith in me, because I will eventually betray everyone who cares.

and

If I tell the truth, I will lose everything I have.

We're told that, as children, Diluc and Kaeya were thick as thieves, but that Diluc was the extroverted and outgoing one, while Kaeya stuck "in his brother's shadow."

Stories from their childhood reveal that Diluc was the troublemaker who dragged Kaeya into his antics. Kaeya's hangout confirms that Kaeya was a quiet, well-behaved child (it's possible he feared that acting out would cost him his place in Mondstadt) and that his people-pleasing tendencies were already firmly in place, if the stories Adeline has to tell are anything to go by.

And yet the Kaeya of the present is described as shifty, deliberately untrustworthy, and even the type to put others in danger to suit his own ends, refusing the trust of even those closest to him:

It's obvious that there's intentionality behind this behavior--a double-edged blade: Kaeya successfully deceives everyone around him about his actual past, blinding people from asking the hard questions with flashiness and diversions on the surface--and yet he also cannot bear to be trusted. He has internalized the impression of himself as a liar and a betrayer so deeply that he actively repels others' attempts to get closer to him, acting shady and unreliable to introduce doubt into every relationship he forms, so that when the inevitable happens and his secret is finally revealed to the world at large (as it was once revealed to Diluc), he won't face the same pain of loss again.

Kaeya cannot betray anyone ever again if no one ever trusts him to begin with.

Thus, Diluc's reaction to Kaeya's reveal didn't just cost Kaeya his relationship with Diluc. It effectively cost Kaeya his relationships with everyone.

Kaeya went from being a quiet, well-loved child to the kind of person who would smirk while putting his own men in danger, the kind of person who every single other character in Mondstadt (and even the Traveler!) calls a "mystery" whose words can't ever be trusted:

The people of Mondstadt, particularly his fellow knights, clearly love Kaeya; they want to be close to him. The archon of Mondstadt clearly loves Kaeya. But Kaeya's self-image is so horrifically warped by the fact that he revealed the truth of himself one time (just one time!) and immediately lost everything he loved because of that truth, that he has become incapable of letting anyone close again, sabotaging all his relationships in advance before the people on the other side can figure out that he's not who he claims to be.

Because of how Diluc reacted, Kaeya has subconsciously drawn a connection between honesty and pain: So long as Kaeya hides who he is, he can be accepted and tolerated in Mondstadt. But if he dares to reveal the truth, he will be met with violence and outrage.

Thus, Kaeya has resigned himself to a literal "lifetime of lies," a "never-ending performance" in which he can never be honest with those around him--even while other characters like Albedo cruise through life with seemingly no care that people know their Khaenri'ahn connections.

This is why "acting" is so prominent a theme in Kaeya's character, both in the past and present, why we constantly see him "playing a role" (as a prince, as a bandit, as a hero, etc. etc.)--he is never the real person, always a performer, and it is often only through his performances that he's able to express some of his own true thoughts and feelings, masking himself behind someone else's script as a way to "safely" express the tiniest hints of his own truth.

What happened with Diluc fucked Kaeya up bad, in the most basic of terms.

Because the problem is: Kaeya doesn't want to be the way he is. He clearly loves the people of Mondstadt with everything he has. He adores Klee, greatly respects Jean, and has an incredible desire to protect the city that took him in. He wants to be close to others. He wants to reconnect with Diluc. He's a desperately lonely character who practically begs the Traveler to spend time with him and reacts surprisingly harshly when the idea of his being lonely is dragged into the light.

I'd even go so far as to argue that his legitimate issues with alcohol stem from the fact that the taverns of Mondstadt are the one place where he is guaranteed to find company, where no matter what time of the night, he is sure to find someone--even if it's just bandits and treasure hunters--to fill the silence.

Because of his past experience, Kaeya can neither be honest with others nor comfortable with lying to them, constantly forced to keep others at arm's length to avoid the painful possibility of further rejection for just being himself. What happened the night of Crepus's death essentially shut Kaeya out of any healthy adult relationships, leaving him entirely alone even in the middle of a city full of people who want to love him.

(This is why it's so important to me that Dainsleif already knows all of Kaeya's background, even the parts Kaeya is still keeping quiet about--but that's just the DainKae shipper in me jumping out, so I'll move on lolol.)

While grappling with the very real fear of his own future, of knowing that his destiny will catch up with him--but wracked with the uncertainty of not knowing where and how--while struggling with his divided allegiances, while just trying to figure out where his own place in the world even is, Kaeya is entirely alone, trapped on the sidelines of his own life in no small part because he took the risk of being himself one time and it cost him everything he loved.

And this is where I think fanon struggles, because it's much easier to just say that Kaeya is dishonest by nature, that he was always going to be a deceptive character, or that the worst outcome of his duel with Diluc was the scar on his face. There's this ridiculous notion that Diluc is already done atoning for that physical wound...

But the scar on Kaeya's face (if there even really is one) is utterly meaningless. The reason Kaeya won't take off his eyepatch has nothing to do with his appearance. He won't take off that eyepatch because it's symbolic of his fear of revealing himself. Kaeya's eyes are synonymous with his identity as a Khaenri'ahn, and thus his refusal to reveal his other eye is nothing more than a visual indication of his discomfort with himself, his divided loyalty, and his internalized belief that the cost of revealing himself fully will be the thing he most cares about: his home in Mondstadt.

Kaeya's entire personality, his sense of self-worth--his life--was reshaped on the night he dueled with Diluc.

And this is the tragedy, of course: Diluc's actions were understandable. Even Kaeya knew Diluc's lashing out was inevitable. It's not like we can really say "This is your fault, Diluc." But the fact of the matter does remain: If Diluc had only managed to control his emotions just a little bit better, if he had only been able to stop himself for a moment to think about his brother as a person who was also hurting and fraught in that moment, he might have realized the emotional significance of Kaeya revealing who he truly was. If Diluc had accepted--or even just tolerated--Kaeya's truth, Kaeya's entire adult life would be different, and that's just a basic fact.

Diluc has his own flaws though! He has his own crosses to bear that made it impossible--that I think, to a certain extent still make it impossible--for him to understand the damage he did and can still do to Kaeya.

So this whole fanon notion of them being on a reasonable path to reconciliation, that they'll be able to resolve their past disagreements by meeting each other in the middle... I just don't think that's really all that accurate to canon. I don't mean that they're not working toward reconciliation or that they won't get there eventually, but that the notion of "reconciliation" in the first place is entirely tangled up with Kaeya's sense of self-identity, and until he is able to resolve the truth of his past and his lingering loyalties to Khaenri'ah, I don't think he'll ever be able to fully repair the relationship that was lost between himself and Diluc.

And to be honest, this is just my personal view of the situation, but... I find it particularly hard to stomach the idea that Kaeya should be the primary driver of repairing the relationship between himself and Diluc, which I've seen in a lot of fanon takes (perhaps because fans in general agree that Diluc is a lot less likely to take action in an emotional situation than he is when fighting monsters lol).

I don't believe Kaeya really thinks it's possible for him to fully reconcile with Diluc. Kaeya cannot apologize for his existence, for being Khaenri'ahn--he cannot change who he is. He cannot "undo" his revealing the truth or make the reality of his double life go away. Thus, in Kaeya's eyes, he effectively has no way to make himself "acceptable" to Diluc again. This is why he continues to shy away from Diluc, even all the way to the recent archon quest, where he tries to excuse himself immediately, claiming that they'd just get in each other's way:

It's why he behaves like a thief sneaking into the Dawn Winery and repeatedly calls himself nothing more than a "guest" in the house, even though Adeline and the other employees pointedly tell him it's still his home and he's still welcome.

It's why, despite continually doing things to show he still cares--keeping Diluc's Vision safe, sending letters while Diluc was away--Kaeya isn't even brave enough to call Diluc his brother to his face anymore.

Kaeya cannot "fix" what happened between himself and Diluc, and his own image and sense of worth have been so shattered by what is now years of internalized self-doubt and self-imposed isolation that he seems afraid to even genuinely expect anything of Diluc at all, let alone consider the possibility that Diluc might owe him an apology instead.

Diluc knows he does, though.

He just can't give it because of who he is.

This is, I think, the most frustrating--but also most realistic and best written!--part of Diluc and Kaeya's relationship: Diluc clearly does want to atone for what happened the night Crepus died. He is doing many things, in his own Diluc-ish way, to signal to Kaeya that he wants to put the past behind them and restore their relationship.

He kept and displays the vase Kaeya hid his Vision in (despite it being garish on purpose); he also keeps the lantern Kaeya brings him from Sumeru in Kaeya's hangout.

He responded to Kaeya's letters during his absence from Mondstadt. He allows Kaeya into the Dawn Winery, with the implication that the doors were always open for him in the first place.

When Kaeya tries to leave during the most recent archon quest, Diluc essentially makes it clear that there's no reason why they shouldn't stay together.

Showing a picture of Diluc's in-game model feels like character assassination at this point...

Although Diluc can be prickly and doesn't always have the nicest of things to say about Kaeya to others, it's pretty clear that he isn't intentionally holding a personal grudge. For the most part, it comes across as if Diluc seems set on quietly putting aside their past--as if it didn't happen.

This is, effectively, an apology without actually speaking one: If Diluc allows Kaeya back into his life, acts as if Kaeya is making a big deal out of nothing (like when he told Kaeya to quit guilting him over the eye injury), and implies that Kaeya still belongs in the Winery family, at the Angel's Share, etc., then isn't he doing the right thing? Isn't he showing Kaeya that he does accept him as he is? That he knows who Kaeya really is and still can tolerate him?

You can almost feel the thought process: Do I really have to spell it out?

But the problem is that Kaeya's sense of self-worth is so crippled by his internal perceptions--I'm a liar, I have and will continue to betray my loved ones, I'm not meant to be here--that Diluc's presumptuous and silent form of reconciliation is essentially incompatible with what Kaeya actually needs to hear and experience. Kaeya does, in fact, need it spelled out. In glaring red letters. And then probably fifteen more times for good measure before he'll actually start to let himself believe it.

Over and over and over again, people reassure Kaeya of his place in Mondstadt and in the Dawn Winery family specifically:

But over and over again, Kaeya dodges and dismisses their reassurances, because until he believes Diluc has forgiven and accepted him, he will never feel confident in his place in the Ragnvindr family (and by extension, Mondstadt) again. Even though Kaeya has visual proof of Diluc's continuing care--the vase in the lobby of the winery--he doesn't dare to make any major assumption. He isn't confident enough to take Diluc's string of small gestures for actual, meaningful acceptance.

Despite how obviously Kaeya wants to be Diluc's brother again--the moment at the end of the recent archon quest is the most joyously animated we've seen Kaeya in a long time--

--their reconciliation is effectively doomed to continue at a glacial pace because of who they are as people.

Diluc's method of handling the emotional issues in his life is critically avoidant, while Kaeya desperately needs direct and unambiguous confirmation that he cannot rationalize away.

Until both of them are able to confront the heart of the matter--which is Kaeya's identity and Diluc's explicit acceptance thereof (Kaeya's explicit acceptance thereof!)--they will continue to make minuscule progress as Diluc lets his gestures, rather than his words, speak on his desire for reconciliation, and Kaeya tentatively toes the line and then retreats, two steps backward for one step forward.

It's my personal belief that we'll likely see a "real" reconciliation between Diluc and Kaeya only when Kaeya is able to finally reconcile with himself.

But Diluc could fix this problem at any time, if he wasn't, you know... Diluc. 😂

Anyway, all this to say that I think fanon really favors Diluc over Kaeya in a lot of cases and that there's a critical lack of reflection on the long-lasting and very serious effects that their falling out had on Kaeya's emotional and mental state.

It's not about the duel, it's not about the eye scar--it's about Kaeya becoming convinced that his entire life must, by necessity, remain a lie forever, crystalizing his belief that he can never feel comfortable in his own skin.

He was already struggling and uncertain about his dual allegiances, but to take the risk of revealing himself to someone he loved only to face immediate and violent rejection... Kaeya knew it was coming and it still messed him up a lot, a lot more than people seem interested in talking about.

Just sayin'.

[skaldish]

Nostalgia is a form of grief

Clearly, I don’t mean all nostalgia. There are times when we look back on something and go “Yeah, that was awesome,” and reminisce in that space for a bit before returning to the present.

That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about persistent nostalgia that comes with a sense of yearning; the kind of nostalgia we continuously turn towards for relief from the present. This kind of nostalgia is a form of unprocessed grief.

There’s a lot I can say about nostalgia of this sort. For one thing, many people don’t recognize that it IS unprocessed grief. For another, it seems to reflect a specific phenomena.

There was a study floating around here at one point about fans of baseball. When researchers asked fans of different generations when the game was at its finest, the fans all gave different dates, but those dates all correlated to the time each fan was about 12 years old. Interestingly enough, this is also the age most people seemed to have been when they experienced the stuff they’re currently nostalgic about.

Why is this? I think it’s because 12 is a sweet spot in our cognitive development. We’re old enough to track the goings-on of the world around us, but still too young to really pick up on the nuance, complexities, or problems behind everything. Unless we’re someone who went through some complicated stuff at that age, we experience the world exactly the way it appears to be, which makes it feel untarnished and “pure” in character. But as we grow older, we become increasingly aware of life’s imperfections, which creates an illusion that the world is steadily marching into a state of decline. That’s when we start turning towards nostalgia as a source of comfort.

I remember when my generation (the millennials) would talk about how we didn’t want to grow up to be the kind of old folks who got entrenched in conservative thinking, who waxed poetic about the good old days and criticized anything new and progressive. Only, we thought this attitude was the result of aging itself. Now that I’m older and watching my peers chase the highs of bygone experiences, I realize nostalgia is probably the culprit. When people make a habit of longing for the past, they grow bitter about the present, resistant to any new changes made to the world, and get stuck in familiar patterns of thinking. Conservatism is just the eventual byproduct of this process compounding on itself.

Now here’s the good news! This kind of grief is no different from any other kind, and can be processed the same way—by moving through it and letting ourselves feel the loss fully (and there are plenty of books and youtube videos on the subject). Once we’ve processed it, we can fully orient ourselves to actually being in the present.

“But that sounds bad!” you say. “I want to get away from the present!” Well, I’ve got good news about that too—even though things are pretty dicey right now, all time-periods have had their chaos. And because the world’s always had its chaos, it means we could always find the means to navigate it.

I think one trick to handling what appears to be an increasingly-complex world is learning how to use an increasingly-complex mind. Remember, what we perceive as the world unraveling as we get older is just our brains picking up on more stuff.

The catch is that our society doesn’t actually teach us how to use this greater, adultier cognition, which involves things like “how to manually resource our mental faculties,” and “how to care for and guide the inner child.” But this field is still pretty rough, decentralized, and mostly found within niche pockets of society, in the realms of cognitive therapies and spiritual mindfulness practices and the like. Unfortunately, this means I can’t point to specific methodologies yet. Society at large still thinks of the brain as a machine that runs on automatic transmission, rather than a stick-shift that carries the collective experiences and opinions of its ancestors.

But even with this state of affairs, having awareness that this kind of nostalgia = grief is half the battle. That alone does us plenty of favors.

One final thought I’ll leave you with: We can’t process grief if we’re busy being containers for all the world’s hardships. You must take breaks from all the bad that’s happening, and you must try to do so by seeking a source of pleasure other than nostalgia. Find a new experience for your inner child to be fascinated by. I know that seems like a lot to do, but it’s about teaching the inner child that gratification can be found in new experiences and not just in old ones. That alone will safeguard you from the plight of having a bleak outlook for the future.

[turtlesandfrogs]

The other big thing I think people could benefit from is avoiding challenges that your dog isn't ready for.

With Fido (which is definitely not his real name), he also felt the need to tell me when children were existing in the general vicinity. He might notice a hundred feet (30ish m) out, but wouldn't start barking until 80 feet out (24m). So I wouldn't get closer than 90 feet (27m) to any children, and I would praise him for being quiet and give him scritches.

Over time, that distance has reduced to about 5 feet (1.5m), which is a much more reasonable distance. I'm still working on it and my goal is to be able to be right next to children without him feeling the need to tell me there's children around.

WHAT I DIDN'T DO was take him near children and let him fail (start barking) and then tell him off for it.

This applies to all skills- don't set your dog up for failure by putting them in a situation where you know they won't meet your expectations.

Don't go to a field and let your dog off leash until you've practiced recalling in smaller, more confined areas. Don't try to recall your dog when they're in the middle of smelling the most interesting smell until you've worked up to that with smaller challenges. That would be like teaching a 16 year old how to drive by pulling off to the side of the highway one day and switching seats.

Help your dog learn your expectations. Help your dog succeed. That's your job.

No one tells you that one day you will get older and look around and notice that 95% of ppl who own a dog should not own a dog

[hoe-days]

How would the crew (five wise general and Tsukasa and Hyoga) react to their mini version chill in their s/o boobs, like they chill in the best spot whiling s/o fawning over them while feeding them grapes. Honestly be funny to see how jealous they be 🤣

Senku can’t help but respect the hustle. He suspects it won’t last long though and that’s what makes it funnier. Eventually Pocket Senku climbs out because he got over heated. And Senku is there watching with a shit eating smirk.

“Can’t handle the heat, huh?”

“Big oaf.”

——

Pocket Ryusui’s favorite thing to say is “I want it!”. He mostly stays on top of Ryusui’s S/O’s head and “gives orders”. It’s the cutest thing when he does his little snap and goes “Francois!”. Most of the time he’s not even talking to Francois, he can only say like 2 or 3 words so he refers to everyone as Francois. Except S/O. They go in the “Mine” category. Ryusui is at a loss for words for once when he walks in and sees his Mini just chilling in his S/O’s bra being fed chocolate.

“I want it!”

S/O gives him another piece and chuckles. Pocket Ryusui looks at his counter part and smirks.

“Mine.”

Ryusui blinks.

“Huh.”

“Am I wrong?”

Ryusui doesn’t know if he should be pissed or proud.

——

Pocket Gen likes to manipulate S/O into pampering him. He has a whole act and everything. 9/10 Gen’s S/O can see through it, but they like to play along cause he’s so damn cute.

He’d dramatically fall over and act famished in front of S/O so they’ll pick him up.

“For-eelray…”

He snickers when they finally give him what he wants and plays innocent when Gen catches him. Gen would look at the scene before him, his eyebrow twitching, and go,

“Wooow you’re quite the little actor, huh?”

“Aww Gen leave him alone.”

And the little shit will look Gen in his eye with that same snakey expression Gen has when manipulating people.

“Errible-tay.”

“DID IT LEARN A NEW WORD JUST TO SAY IT TO ME.”

“He’s said that before you’re being delusional.”

——

Ukyo gets along well with Pocket Uky actually, so he doesn’t pay it much mind. Pocket Uky is one of the few Minis that says his S/O’s name. He’s also one of the few that don’t talk much. Most of the time it’s S/O or Ukyo asking or saying something to him and him nodded or shaking his head.

He can be usually be found being carried by Ukyo or his S/O. He likes to sit on Ukyo’s hat or on S/O’s shoulder, but today Ukyo hasn’t seen him. When he stops in from patrolling to take Pocket Uky out with him he’s met with S/O working on wrapping more arrows for him with Pocket Uky tucked between their boobs.

“Well he looks comfortable.”

“He kept falling off my shoulder and head, so I put him in there.”

Poor Pocket Uky is so flustered it’s adorable. His face is red but he makes no move to get out. Ukyo chuckles picks up Pocket Uky’s little paper hat from the floor.

“Well do you want to go patrol with me, little guy?”

“S/O.”

“Hm?”

Pocket Uky shakes his head.

“S/O.”

“Oh. Well continue on then.”

Ukyo shakes his head and smiles before giving S/O a kiss and leaving.

——

Chrome is not having it. Pocket Chrome likes to point at things and go “BAD”. But you never know if he means good bad or bad bad. He’s adorable, he finds random things on the floor and hauls them to S/O. They’ll notice him bravely hauling a pebble to them and he’d go, “Resource!”.

Poor guy is tired after that and likes to rest on S/O. Since they’re busy they just sit him on their shoulder. He ends up accidentally sliding down into their shirt though. They just hear a muffled, “THIS IS BAD,” as he pokes his head out.

“Oh sorry little guy. You want to get down?”

They hold their hand up to him and he shakes his head.

“Resources.”

Chrome walks in to show S/O something and sees Pocket Chrome in S/O’s shirt and narrows his eyes.

“Whatcha doin little guy?”

Pocket Chrome looks at him before sinking down further.

“No you don’t!”

Chrome grabs him and squeezes him like a bobble head. Pocket Chrome reaches for S/O for help.

“BAD BAD BAD BAD”

“YOU’RE THE BAD ONE ACTING LIKE A LITTLE PERVERT IN S/O’S SHIRT.”

——

Pocket Tsu is the strong and silent type. He won’t talk much, but he acts like a little guard for S/O. He will happily fight any spiders and rodents for S/O. So it’s not a surprise when he squares up to a spider that comes into S/O’s tent from outside. S/O takes notice and quickly scoops him up.

“That one is venomous I think. You shouldn’t fight that one little guy.”

He raises his little butter knife sized weapon in protest but S/O takes it from him and puts him in their shirt while they walk outside. Pocket Tsu is immediately flustered and docile.

“We can go ask Senku if it is or not and what we should do.”

Pocket Tsu nods and holds on, still red in the face. S/O walks past where Tsukasa is training and decides to stop and say hi. When they walk up Tsukasa stops what he’s doing and approaches them.

“Hey. Out for a walk?”

Pocket Tsu looks up at him shyly, still flustered from being where he is.

“He tried to fight a spider that might be venomous, so I took his little butter knife. That’s why he looks like that.”

Tsukasa chuckles.

“Are you sure that’s why?”

S/O holds their hand up to their chest to offer him an out. Pocket Tsu climbs out slowly and stands on their hand. He looks down before taking a deep breath and regaining his confidence and bravado, putting his hands on his hips and holding his head high.

“It’s alright. I feel the same way when I touch them too.”

——

Hyoga will torment Pocket Hyoga and it will in turn, bite and stab his fingers. Pocket Hyo is incredibly possessive of Hyoga’s S/O too. He sits on their shoulder most of the time and just stares that anyone who approaches, ESPECIALLY Hyoga. He made himself a little spear out of twigs and pebbles and will poke Hyoga’s hand anytime he tries to touch S/O’s shoulder, which leads to Hyoga knocking him off.

S/O catches Pocket Hyo and shakes their head.

“Stop being mean to him.”

Pocket Hyo shakes his head.

“Improper.”

Hyoga looks at Pocket Hyo and reaches for him again , so S/O holds him closer to their chest. Pocket Hyo takes the opportunity to climb inside and make a hiding spot.

“You think that will keep me from getting to you, vermin?”

“You’re so mean to him.”

“Fine. Let’s see how long he stays in there while I get you naked.”

“Hyoga no!”

He smiles under his mask when S/O runs away with Pocket Hyo.

[chefboyroui]

I've been pondering how much each villain masturbates, how they do it, do they ever have sexual relations with civilians. I'm more interested in other people's thoughts so you can definitely just skip mine.

William- In his route it is said he falls in love easily and moves on, I can see this also being that he helps a person learn to follow their desires and then sets them free. I picture him jacking off a couple times a week, as soon as he shuts the door to his room, rocking his hips a little bit, or maybe in the shower. He could probably sleep with mostly whoever he wants even without using his power, and he probably has flings more than one night stands.

Liam- In his route he admits to sleeping with women if he thinks it will make them like him. In general, I think he masturbates by humping into something, like folding his pillow on his bed.

Harrison- He's attractive and probably wouldn't have a problem wooing a partner. I don't see him going for a relationship, but maybe hooking up with the same lady occasionally. I can see him trying to read and being too horny to concentrate so he quickly goes to the bathroom to rub one out to some detailed fantasy.

Elbert- Definitely propositioned a lot but ignores it. I don't see him having much of a sex drive until MC, he probably has a lot of trust issues around intimacy given his past.

Alfons- Yes.

Jude- I think he's very busy and his mind is always working, but with so much testosterone, he definitely jacks off several times a week. Sometimes it's in his office, he drapes a cloth over his torso and leans back, jerking it with reckless abandon to some made up story about a gorgeous lady he saw. He also does it in bed, and when he's really into it, he gets on his knees and thrusts into his fist. He's obviously wealthy, so I bet women are willing to overlook his surly attitude, and when he acts and talks like a gentleman, he turns even more heads.

Ellis- I think he masturbates nearly daily and would do whatever would make a lady happy.

Roger- Just from what we see from other characters' routes, Roger is totally DTF. If he gets MC off, he wants to let off some steam too. In one of the events he says he has a hard time picking up ladies. I see him having a wank anytime, after waking up, while waiting on some test results, after missions, before bed, in the middle of the night... He's also one I see needing to have a towel handy as he shoots thick ropes of cum, and has a short refractory period. Probably jacks off daily if not multiple times a day.

Victor- Like Jude, very busy. Probably does not think about sex until he finally retires for the night. I can totally see him having a secret sex dungeon and inviting Will to join him and MC if MC asked.

SPOILERS FOR VICTOR, ROGER, AND JUDE BELOW

Victor- He has a high libido as evident in his route and the event where the villains are abstinent with MC for 2 week and in Victor's story it is because MC got too worn out from so much sex. He carried strong feelings for MC for years, and I don't see him having casual sex or any other relationships because he doesn't want to drag someone into his world.\

Roger- In his route he says he likes to get a lady after going to the strip club, so maybe he pays for sex? I wouldn't be surprised if his size scares people away.

Jude- Due to his route, I doubt he ever pays for sexual acts, and probably doesn't want to get involved with anyone, so he gets pretty pent up.

[translatingpostsinfrench]

Why did French people invent verlans. Why would you do this to me (m atcually genuinely interested in their origin because they were very confusing to me when learning French. whywouldyoudothat)

causebe we kinfu can- okay that sounded terribly wrong. anyway, according to the little research i had to do because man i had no idea: while it did appear earlier (hard to exactly pinpoint when, there are exemples of verlan-like backward words as early as the middle ages, but can't really say when it became a widespread thing), verlan really exploded as a phenomenon between the 70s and the 90s, as an identity marker for the lower class, especially the maghrebi diaspora and/or younger people:

Along the seventies and the eighties, verlan is often spoken in the suburbs and becomes an element of identity for its inhabitants. The younger generation, which feels marginalized, normalize black leather jackets (piece of clothing worn by rockers who wanted to show a rebellious image in the fifties) and the use of verlan. The immigrated maghrebi population and their children, present in bigger proportions in the suburbs, marks verlan with arabisms by eliding preferably vowels, which are less present in arabic (...) [x]

also, feels worthy to point out that when used in music (especially rap which played a big part in spreading verlan) or writing, it's often used to create rhymes, alliterations etc!

[gold-rhine]

the missed potential of kinich's mercenary personality is why his chronicle was so disappointing to me. i loved the five seconds he talked about his ancient name, mostly bc i thought he was gonna elaborate more later on. the recen event quest distracted me with ororon's bonkers dialogue to be too disappointed in the missed opportunity with kinich. it feels like hoyo committed to kinich being very pragmatic but they don't want him to come off as cruel so they just write him as little as possible

agree, 0,005 seconds kinich was in his quest were very interesting and this is also why i was hooked at the beginning. okay tinfoil hat conspiracy theory time - i think hoyo had stuff planned for kinich and that it was supposed to go down in natlan finale. like to start, natlan finale had no plot and was very obviously filler that felt very rushed and last minute.

but also, kinich is like the only one in the main cast who got NOTHING, even xilonen had like scraps of the ancient name forging, but you can replace kinich with a wooden sign with his ancient name on it and nothing would have changed.

and his ancient name, Turnfire, is like. craaazy specific with very specific backstory. like everyone else is like Unity, Power, Leader, Hope, etc, generic positive things. But Turnfire backstory is about how the half dragon tyrant ochkan had this cursed fire that would kill ppl only if they turned back, and how one of his friends stole it from ochkan and used against his armies to overthrow him, but he heard ochkan's voice and couldn't help but turn back himself and die to this very fire. and how it can't be put out, it burned through leylines and is still burning in the night kingdom. like this is very cool setup with themes of betrayal, sacrifice, paying a high price for victory. like its sooo elaborate and specific, it feels to me like a setup that was going to pay off in the finale, that his cursed fire that never goes out will be used somehow.

bc like rn they just walked into abyss straight to the main boss and mavuika just soloed it and thats it, the whole finale plot not counting the 5 minutes capitano ronova speedrun that doesn't have anything to do with the abyss itself. maybe the turnfire would have to be used to burn through the abyss to get to the main boss, but it burns leylines too. maybe to play on the mercenary angle, kinich pretends to betray natlan and idk, extinguish the primal fire with turnfire, so the abyss boss shows up to attack, but its a trap and they kill him. like SOMETHING about risky play with high price that uses turnfire. like the WHOLE gimmick of abyss invasion was abyss mimics, the dark versions of natlan people and saurians, so dark version of the primal fire that was set up with a tie to one of the main cast looks like a no brainer checkhov's gun, but it was somehow never used AT ALL.

bc WHY even spend so much effort on that turnfire shit, like if you just want kinich in the story with zero effort, most obvious arc for him is mini han solo, mercenary that starts helping heroes for a price, but then learns power of friendship and stays for his friends. like that would take 20 minutes of writing in all of the acts. WHY do the complicated turnfire shit instead. like it really feels to me that the finale was screwed for some reason and so kinich got screwed too

[paradoxcase]

I think I actually believe John when he said he didn't intend for the Lyctor trials to be a murder mystery. I think he probably assumed the candidates would work together and share their keys and the theorems they'd learned, because that's basically what happened with his first set of Lyctors, more or less. I think he may have genuinely not been aware of the political tensions between the Houses, because Cytherea also seemed kind of surprised by this and commented on it specifically to Gideon. Like, John definitely still intended for all eight cavaliers to get eaten by their necromancers so he is not a good guy here, but I don't think he intended for anyone to start fighting over keys. It was in his best interests to generate as many new Lyctors as possible via the Trial.

Teacher does seem like the most likely candidate for setting up the keys, and who knows, maybe he could actually use one of the other priests as a cavalier and actually complete the challenges himself. He was almost too durable for Marta and Judith to kill, and he seems to have been linked in some kind of soul-related way to all of the other priests and servants at Canaan House.

Who the fuck set up the trials at Canaan House?

If the lyctors had to leave Canaan House in a hurry after the first assault of the Resurrection Beasts… how did they have the time to set up Canaan House like a videogame dungeon?

My thinking is,

“in a hurry” might still mean they had like, years after the detection of the first Beast to organize Canaan, put together the Mithraeum and yeet it through the River. After all, the RBs are slow as hell.

The problem with this is that the lyctoral studies are very much presented as if (and implied to be?) frozen right as they were when they had to leave. GtN presents them as if they had been left in a hurry on the very day that lyctorhood was achieved.

They had already gamified their investigation into challenges, and they had made nice lyctoral iron doors with unique keys for their studies, so it took minimal effort to set it all up like a necromantic escape room in case they wanted future people to earn their lyctorhood. (I'm still fascinated that this might have been a dormant backup plan for 10,000 years.)

Maybe there's just some time fuckery going on? And it was revisited and the theorems engraved into the slabs, etc. after the OG Canaan Crew scrambled. Maybe they left the priests and skeletons to set some of it up?

I don't know. It just doesn't quite gel together. Canaan always feels wrong to me! Or, as Palamedes put it, as if “I'm being lied to on a molecular level”.

[tcoaal]

I know you like TCOAAR and stand up for mods in the fandom, so I wanted to ask, is that new Andrew and Julia mod good? Just curious if it's worth trying out.

alrighty i'm praying you saw my panicked posts while i was half asleep but also like. you know, normally i have a lot of respect for TCOAAL modmaking. i don't actually really play mods for TCOAAL really (i sometimes watch fropamine's walkthroughs of them), it's just TCOAAR has a really soft spot in my heart and even that one i've fallen out of love with (but i still wanna play chapter 2) but in general i will say i actually don't have a lot of opinions on TCOAAL mods. that being said, i do kind of respect (usually) even the most dogshit OOC mods and fanfics as products of fan love and fan labor, which is something i highly value.

so i cannot stress. the Coffin of Andy and July (lol) mod is like. actively malicious.

the TCOAAJ mod is written by a transphobe. they were permabanned from the subreddit for this. they are also an anti that rants on-and-on about how gravecest is disgusting and gross and Andrew/Julia is the TRUE healthy ship and reduces Julia to being incredibly OOC to serve as her mouthpiece. fun fact: that incident they said got them permabanned (which you see here, saying she's "not a real woman") involves a friend i've had long before TCOAAL so i'm especially. bitter lol

and the just being an anti shit (there's a lot more if you go through the page. this is just a quick skim if you search "incest"):

this post would be like 50 million miles long if i got screenshots of everything (and also shoutout to @woodchipp for liveblogging this disaster of a mod to me watching fropamine we had fun laughing at it and also got a lot of good screenshots from it, we didn't learn later until how vile the author was) but here's like a few key choice moments that really stand out to me

(the last retort is funny to me it's one of the closest moments Andrew has to being IC in this mess. saying something like this SPECIFICALLY to Julia to make Ashley look better and get under her skin)

like.

the mod has a pretty specific agenda. both Andrew and Julia are horribly OOC, but instead of that OOC just being the result of a fanfic author who just can't nail the characterization but is still writing their AU fanfic because they love it, TCOAAJ is pretty clearly born from a place of spite. it is born from the author's personal genuine hatred for the fandom at large and gravecest and it uses Julia as it's vehicle to be able to rant against the ship and fandom. the author is a bigot who rubs elbows with pro-life conservatives and even outright said to one of my friends in that screenshot that you'll "never be a woman," which may not exactly correlate to this mod, but proves her to be a fucking rancid human being in general even if this mod was better.

i cannot unrecommend it enough. only time a mod has made me like actually angry in hindsight. if you really want to experience the trainwreck where even people in the comments have called out the author, watch fropamine's walkthrough of it on youtube instead. if you are an Andrew/Julia shipper and want fan content please just go read some fanfics instead of playing this, it's not worth it.