#Framed mountain poster

[medo57]

Snow-Capped Serenity – Breathtaking Landscape Poster with Wooden Frame"

This poster with a wooden frame showcases a breathtaking view of snow-capped mountains under a clear blue sky, creating a peaceful and majestic scene. Towering evergreen trees in the foreground add depth and contrast, emphasizing the grandeur of the alpine landscape. Perfect as wall décor, this framed artwork brings the beauty of the wilderness, adventure, and tranquility into any home or office space, making it ideal for mountain lovers and outdoor enthusiasts.

visit our store for more designs

[ecoartlabgallery]

[artcbyviet]

Embrace Comfort and Style: The Timeless Appeal of Women's Pullovers

Introduction:

As the seasons change, so do our wardrobe choices. When the chilly winds start to blow, a cozy and fashionable women's pullover becomes an essential addition to our closets. Women's pullovers are versatile garments that offer both comfort and style, making them a staple for any fashion-conscious individual. In this blog post, we will delve into the timeless appeal of women's pullovers, exploring their versatility, design variations, and how they have become a must-have for any fashion-forward woman.

1. Comfortable and Cozy:

Women's pullovers are renowned for their softness and warmth, making them a go-to option for staying comfortable during colder seasons. Crafted from a variety of materials like cotton, wool, cashmere, or blends, these pullovers wrap you in a cocoon of comfort, making them perfect for casual outings, lounging at home, or keeping warm on chilly evenings.

2. Versatile Fashion Piece:

One of the biggest advantages of women's pullovers is their versatility. They come in a plethora of styles, cuts, and colors, making them suitable for various occasions and outfits. Pair a classic crew-neck pullover with jeans for a relaxed weekend look, or dress up a turtleneck pullover with a skirt for a chic office ensemble. From casual to formal, there's a pullover for every occasion.

3. Timeless Style:

The timeless charm of women's pullovers lies in their simplicity and elegance. These classic garments have been in fashion for decades and continue to remain relevant in contemporary styles. Their clean lines and minimalist designs make them easy to match with different pieces in your wardrobe, ensuring they never go out of style.

4. Trendy Designs and Prints:

While women's pullovers are known for their classic appeal, they also embrace the latest fashion trends. From bold prints and patterns to eye-catching embellishments and embroidery, pullovers now come in a wide range of designs to suit various tastes. Whether you prefer subtle sophistication or a statement piece, there's a pullover for every fashionista.

5. Complementing Body Shapes:

Pullovers are designed to flatter different body shapes and sizes. Whether you want to accentuate your curves or opt for a loose, comfortable fit, you can find a pullover that complements your body type. This versatility is one of the reasons why women of all ages and body shapes appreciate this wardrobe essential.

[shotmrmiller]

pretend boyfriend but it's in a time where roads are nothing more than muddy tracks, making travel slow and cumbersome. the town's buildings are a mix of weathered wood and crumbling brick, faded paint peeling off their facades. wanted posters, yellow and tattered, are plastered on every available surface, faces of outlaws and fugitives who roam the countryside depicted in greyish ink.

the townsfolk go about their lives with a wary eye, and you go about yours with a sharp one, in search of opportunity: a cowboy too drunk off his wits to know his right from his left. the humble borough of blackthorn doesn't need any more working girls, no more ladies with hair down to their corseted waists beautifying the arms of both bounty hunters and farm hands alike.

that's fine, you reckon. you've always had a knack for survival. your deft fingers have made a living out of slipping into pockets and relieving men of their hard earned coin pouches when they lose themselves in drink and laughter. its not an easier life than that of the ladies in the saloon but it's yours, and you've learned to navigate it with equal cunning and charm.

but as people say, anything that can go wrong, will and tonight nothing seems to go right for you. just as you'd been slipping the stolen bills from your latest mark in between the swell of your breasts, he stirs from his drunken sleep, bedsheet tangled in his spurs as he struggles to rise onto unsteady feet. his movements are sluggish, muddy brown eyes blinking against the dim light of the quaint room.

you don't wait for him to ask any inane questions, you know when you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. you run out the door on bare feet, fisting the rough fabric of your dress to lift it above your ankles as you barrel down the stairs.

your shoulders ache from bumping into patrons as you try to quickly weave your way toward the door, your breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. the saloon is a blur or faces and noise, the jaunty tune coming from the piano as fast paced as the galloping of your heart.

just as you reach the swinging doors, you glance outside through the dusty window panes and see someone right across the street in the patio of the drugstore.

the star on his chest gleaming even in the flickering light of the shop is distinctive. your heart sinks like a stone dropped into a well, the weight of the situation leaden over your puffed shoulders.

but you haven't made it this far while skirting around law and order without a sharp mind. your thoughts swirl in your mind as you run through options. a horse loosely tied to the hitching post out front, sleeping roll behind the saddle. you could take it but risk getting roped off by someone. slipping out the windows would draw too much attention. using the back door near the kitchen would have the owner on your arse.

shit. shit-

then you spot him. sitting alone at a table is a hulking, beast of a man. (his broad shoulders and burly frame makes him resemble more mountain than man tbh.) a small shot glass rests on the scratched surface before him, the only delicate item in his vicinity. the wide-brimmed hat he wears casts a shadow over his face but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable. maybe that's why even the other patrons have given him a wide berth. (the knotted scar that runs from the corner of his cheek pulling his lips into a permanent, twisted sneer makes the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end.)

desperation fuels your next move.

your hand trembles when you place it on the the exposed skin of his forearm that's covered in a fine layer of grime, as does your voice when you speak.

"hey-" you don't get to finish your sentence, feeling the words crumble into ash on your tongue when you realize you're out of time. the drunken idiot from upstairs is storming straight towards you, his nostrils flared, white etched on his knuckles. panic surges through you and so you move.

coming to stand behind the seated stranger, your arms cradle his large head, clammy palms flat on the sweat stained fabric of his union shirt. his body tenses under your touch, muscles cooling like a spring, but you muster all the bravado you can.

"if ya got a problem with me," your voice is steady despite the fear that's settled at the base of your spine, "take it up with my husband."

the drunk comes to an abrupt halt, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion, uncertainty, as he glances between you and the human(?) shield you're clinging to.

the room has fallen silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama. they watch with bated breaths, even the bartender had paused mid-polish, his hand frozen on the glass.

the man wavers, his resolve crumbling like freshly tilled dirt before you. but the final nail in the coffin is when your 'husband' grabs onto your arm and leads you to sit onto his lap, both your legs fitting on top of his one, feeling the tarnished buckle of his leather belt even through the couple of layers of your dress on your arsecheek, his arm cinching tightly around your waist.

his skin feels rough, scarred, yet warm, beneath your hand. (embarrassing that this surprises you.)

you can feel his voice vibrate from his chest and sink into your bones when he aids you in this mess you've created. "ya 'eard m'wife. piss off 'fore i make you."

his mouth twists into an ugly line but concedes defeat, telling your 'husband' to "keep his wh-wife on a tighter leash unless she's keen on ending up on a missing poster alongside the wanted ones."

when you turn in his lap to look outside the window, watching the drunk unsteadily get on his horse and leave, you give the man you're on a muted thanks and move to get up only-

the arm around your waist feels more like an iron band. you're can't get up. you can't leave. your feet don't even touch the wooden floorboards of the saloon. you turn your wide eyes toward him, lips parted in surprise.

he doesn't seem as surprised as you.

"wha'? thought you could jus' up and go 'bout your way?"

you open your mouth wider, to scream maybe, you aren't sure but he cuts you off with a sharp suck of his teeth.

"make trouble and there will be trouble. i'll drag your pretty arse to the sheriffs office by the hair."

the realization of what he is keeps you utterly frozen in place, any fight you'd had bleeding out of you.

a bloody bounty hunter. no wonder everyone had kept their distance.

"i'm gonna be finishin' this bottle and you'll be a good wife and draw me a bath in our hotel room."

(he plucks the dirty money from where you'd kept it and tosses it on the bar top, carrying you straight to where he'd hitched his horse and plops you in front, your back to his barrel of a chest. "youll bathe with me, gotta have you clean for our consummation.")

[zhivaoverdrive]

Filling the Void Breast Expansion and Butt Expansion via Saline Expander Implants.

But you've seen the image, too late.

Each image from the poster wall is available in full on the extras gallery, some with their own small stories.

Have fun.

----- As I pushed open the door, my eyes widened in horror. Lani lay sprawled across her bed, her body resembling a collection of medicine balls that had been inflated one too many times. Her breasts hung from her chest like overfilled water balloons, threatening to burst at any moment. 

The soft light cast by the lamp on her nightstand danced across her skin, highlighting every vein and crease as if trying to accentuate the sheer magnitude of her transformation. The implants themselves seemed to be straining against Lani's skin, like four enormous balloons about to burst at any moment.

Lani's eyes snapped towards mine, wide with surprise and shame. She looked guilty, her face flushed like a person who'd just been caught cheating. Her gaze darted around the room as if searching for a way to make this situation disappear, but the evidence was undeniable. It was like trying to hide a skyscraper behind a curtain – impossible.

I took in the scene: her already-enormous frame now straining against the seams of reality; empty saline solution bottles littering the room like discarded confetti; and Lani's body... altered, distended by the relentless stream of liquid she'd forced into it. The four orbs of saline inside her seemed to be straining against their containment, as if desperate to escape were it not for Lani's stretched skin holding on with all its might.

"It's not that big of a deal," she said, her voice laced with justification. "I'm fine. Just... just this little bit more..."

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Lani, I know we agreed monthly would be the limit," I reminded her gently.  "But you know how close you came to... complications. And yet here you are again, doing it without supervision."

Lani looked at me pleadingly, her eyes welling up with tears. "Please," she whispered, the air thickening with shame and desperation.

The shame and desperation, struggled to come to terms with being caught. AGAIN.

On one hand, I was impressed by her willingness to take control of her body and push the boundaries of what society considers "OK".

But I was also worried about how far she was taking things. Like, expanders... that's some next-level stuff.

And not just that - Lani had taken her body modification game to a whole new level by having expanders in her butt as well.

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of discomfort she must be going through with those things implanted in her backside. And yet...part of me couldn't help but admire her spirit.

I get that Lani wanted to change herself, but this was just crazy. "You're not even trying to hide what you're doing," I said, shaking my head in amazement. "You're trying to turn yourself into a human balloon or something!"

But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had spoken too bluntly.

"You're using expanders like they're some kind of...I don't know, saline-filled superpower or something!" I said, trying to lighten my tone.

"I just need this one more time," she said quietly, her voice filled with reverence.  "I promise I'll slow down after this. It's not like..."

She trailed off, looking down at the floor as if embarrassed by her own words. But that did not last long.

Lani gazed up at the posters on her wall. Her gaze lingered on the statuesque figures, their bodies seemingly defying gravity itself - their breasts rose up from their chests like mountains, butts jutted out far behind them.

"Look at them," Lani said quietly, her voice filled with awe and longing. "They're doing it... Just look at them - so many people adore them, that one's been on TV!"

As Lani admired these perfect forms of femininity, the competing idea inside of her believed she was still the waifish girl she'd been years ago stewed. Trapped between two conflicting realities unable to be reconciled.

"And honestly, what's another litre of saline when you're already..."

I didn't push her for more. Another unnecessary question. A different tack was in order.

"Lani, baby," I said carefully,

"You've never removed ANY saline before. I'm not even exactly sure if we can. What if this is a one-way process without going back to the doctor..."

Her eyes dropped, and she nodded slowly. "I know, but what's the worst that could happen? You'll still l-" "Ah," I interrupted her, trying to sound more reassuring than concerned. "The weight of... well, let me ask you this: how much saline are we talking about here?"

Lani looked down at her chest, a sheepish expression spreading across her face. "I've got 10 litres in each boob.."

My eyes widened in shock. Ten litres per implant? That was... that was a lot of saline. A lot more than last time.

"And?" I prompted, trying to keep my tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

Lani faltered for a moment before she spoke up again. "And... um... well, I might have also exceeded 10 litres in each butt cheek."

My jaw dropped. She couldn't be serious. Could she?

"Lani," I said softly, trying to keep my tone gentle despite the shock and concern I was feeling. "You're telling me that you've got a total of 40,000cc saline forced in your body?"

Lani nodded sheepishly, her face flushing with embarrassment.

I glanced at Lani's ass and saw the telltale signs of strain: deep creases in her skin, fine lines tracing the contours of each implant, and an eerie sheen that hinted at stretchmarks. Her veins stood out like blue highways, pulsing with effort as they struggled to deliver oxygen to her skin.

"The weight of this much saline is crushing you," I said firmly. "You've already been struggling with everyday tasks for months now. You're going to continue to struggle even more as time goes on. Your body simply can't keep up."

Lani's gaze faltered as she tried to consider the consequences of her actions.

"What does the future hold?" I continued. "Don't even get me started on trying to cook dinner or do laundry. You're being short-sighted! What happens when you can't even get out of bed in the morning?"

The silence between us grew thick with unspoken understanding – a tacit agreement that more caution was needed, but also a recognition that we were both too afraid to seek help.

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"You're right," she said quietly. "I'll need you".

[wha-archive]

Shirahama has been invited as a featured guest to Toronto Comic Arts Festival (May 11-12). She drew this poster (reposted to her twitter today) for a previous year when she was invited but the event ended up being cancelled.

For fans in Canada and the Toronto area specifically, don't miss out!

Link to Twitter announcement [LINK]

Link to TCAF website feature [LINK]

[ID: An illustration of a young girl standing in front of a framed illustration of a dragon. The girl wears winter clothing and is looking up from a notebook in her hands, seemingly making eye-contact with the dragon in the frame. The dragon seems to be peering over the edge of her book. Part of the dragon's tail extends out of the frame behind the girl, like it's escaping the illustration. The background behind the dragon is a landscape with a mountain range in the distance, and in the top left there is a triangular banner reading "TCAF Toronto Comic Arts Festival". END ID]

[lets-try-some-writing]

What’s your thoughts visually on how bots habsuites/ quarters look like? And would they differ between frame types ? As prime big lol Wish we got some media on it :0

Hmm well I do imagine things would differ wildly between each continuity. However, some generalizations might be the following:

Autobots as a whole: Generally speaking, I do imagine the Autobots have habs that match their size and their rank. Rank and file soldiers are bunked together in rooms filled with recharging stations crammed shoulder to shoulder. Most don't mind since they are all together and it's not as if they have anything of their own anyway more often than not. Those further up the chain of command get rooms with less people in them until they finally get a roommate or possibly, if they are super duper special, their very own closet sized space. Actual berths are reserved for those with rooms big enough for them. Most just use recharging stations since it's generally more useful to making the most of a space.

Rank and file soldiers: The average soldier is bunked shoulder to shoulder with his or her comrades. They are each given a standing recharge station boxed right up against everyone else's unless they have an injury which warrants the usage of the handful of berths given to soldiers lower on the chain of command. Generally, such soldiers are kept in huge facilities meant to keep everyone safe and secure rather than comfort them. As such, decoration simply does not happen unless the military position a soldier is stationed at is more permanent. In which case, the soldier might paint their station with odd doodles, splotches of color, or if they are lucky enough to find some, they might slap some stickers on it.

Company commanders and the like: Directly above regular soldiers, various commanders of lower rank get bunked together as well, but they are given a tad more room. This is not a privilege as one might expect, but an actual necessity. Commanders can get called on at any time, and each of them need a little more room to work on reports and whatnot since there simply is not enough space to give each of them an office of their own. As such, their stations are a little farther apart, and between them are their personal effects and maybe something to play the part of a makeshift desk if need be. Decoration is the same as regular soldiers, with the possible addition of medallions, the odd set of fairy lights if one gets lucky, or even a poster or two.

Lieutenants and up: Now this is when a bot would start getting their own space, kind of. Bots of this rank are still bunked with a buddy or two, but they are actually issued rooms in order to supply them with the privacy needed to handle sensitive data. They also get actual berths (which can and often do double as desks). Getting a room means a bot can do almost whatever they like to decorate so long as it sort of aligns with military orders. Most often, lieutenants and the like decorate with weapons on the walls, trophies, artwork, or even murals. It depends on his strict the command center is.

Generals and Prime's Inner Circle: Inner circle bots get privileges, and one of those is a private room. A bot can do whatever the heck they want with their space so long as it doesn't disrupt workflow and the like. Decoration depends entirely on whoever owns the hab. In the case of Ultra Magnus, he lives in a mountain of datapads. Ratchet keeps mementos but will die before admitting it. Jazz has what few instruments he's managed to save. Ironhide decked his room with weapons... the list goes on. There are no limits for the most part. Comes with being constantly under threat of being assassinated.

Prime: Technically, he should be living in a high end facility, never to dirty his digits. But because this is Optimus Prime, he tends to wander. He rests wherever there is a free space and will gladly rest with the soldiers without a worry in the world. The only reason he has a hab at all is for the sake of morale amongst the troops. Although more often than not, it doubles as an extra room for injured troops in need of protection.

Not sure if this is what you wanted anon, but these are my thoughts!

[theninth09]

ive been looking at liams room for funsies. as one does, right. anyway im gonna talk about what his room looks like in season 4 first. (please excuse the ugly fucking filter i put over the pics, i wanted to be able to actually see things and teen wolfs lighting is.. like that)

i find it interesting that they put a picture of a woman (im assuming its a woman?) with a surfboard and an actual surfboard in his room. does this imply that liam has an interest in surfing? i mean, he does live in california... i dont know where exactly beacon hills is located as it doesnt actually exist and i know nothing about surf culture, in california or otherwise, in general. i dont think this means liam knows how to surf or anything but i thought it was a fun detail. maybe he just likes the aesthetics. i personally often like to connect him to ocean/beach imagery so this makes me very happy.

another detail is that next to the picture of the woman at the beach is a picture of what im assuming is a model in a "sexy" outfit and pose holding a soccer ball. considering he gets together with hayden, who plays soccer, the next season, this was just kinda funny to me. apparently liam likes girls who play sports. also, on the floor behind mason theres a soccer ball as well. feels really random since liam is only really interested in lacrosse, but i guess he likes sports in general?

theres more posters above his bed:

you can see the one saying "blood brothers" better here. its pretty obviously a lacrosse thing, based on the guys in their jerseys and the sticks they're holding but i couldn't figure out what/who exactly it is. perhaps some players that liam likes/looks up to? no idea if they actually exist or if its just a random picture of lacrosse players.

even further up theres another poster of a woman in a bikini/underwear. lovely that they portray liam as this stereotypical teenage boy with half-naked women on his wall. personally i think its really funny. theres a few other posters but its simply too dark for me to be able to tell what they are. i think the one right above the blood brothers one could be lacrosse related as well? not sure.

other than that, theres not that much interesting to see. his closet is a literal cage which?? sure, why not. apparently he likes to wear caps as he has four of them hanging off of it. his closet actually changes in s6 to a regular dresser which you can very briefly see.

this is in no way serious but my friend cody and i came up with a silly little interpretation for this. his closet in s4 is a cage, but its also see-through. hes in the closet (not out about his bisexuality yet) even though its quite obvious (see-through closet.) pre-s4, brett and the lacrosse team put him in a cage at the zoo and hit him with lacrosse balls = he feels like an animal, a monster, he represses who he truly is. his last name is dunbar, like the bars of a cage; hes caged in by his past and his biological father. and in s6 he has a regular dresser: he manages to break free, he grows closer with theo... he comes out of his cage/the closet. again, we're not actually serious about this. this is just for funsies.

moving on. back to his room in s4. heres shots of his desk:

we could already tell that his pc is on the opposite wall of his bed due to his and masons position when playing video games, but theres definitive proof of that. his pc and printer on his desk and what seems to be a tv? to the right over there. theres a few more posters too, one of what seems to be a.. mountain bike? motor bike? something like that (i guess liam really is a fan of anything sport related.) i cant really figure out what the other posters are of, sorry. although theres a few framed pictures and just pictures attached to the wall as well, which i think are supposed to be of him and friends and/or family. the last interesting thing to me here is that theres at least three trophies on his shelves. lacrosse? or did he play soccer before his step-dad introduced him to lacrosse... i guess we'll never know.

thats it for s4, now lets look at the things that change for s6. his bed and the chair next to it are like the only things that stay the same.

first off, all his posters are gone and replaced instead by two framed pictures (which just look like generic decor to me) but theres also small pictures tucked into the window frame/attached to the wall. cant tell what exactly they are, but to me this seems like pics of him and his friends/family again. hes got a few new lamps, the red table that used to be his nightstand is now just a regular table where he puts stuff (it looks like the same table to me at least.) theres a corkboard on his wall, but we didnt get a good shot of that wall in s4 so maybe thats not new.

boring stuff, lets move on to slightly less boring stuff!

the door behind scott is interesting to me. one, this lets us know that liam has a bathroom adjoining his room (since the scene of mason and liam in s4 starts by the camera "entering" liams room through his door on the exact opposite side of his room.) two, the door changed. if you look back at the s4 pics, theres the door as well but it has glass panels instead of being solid wood like in s6. now, im aware this was just whatever department is responsible for making a set like that forgetting/not caring/etc and thats why the door is different. i dont fault them for that, i dont think anyone else has payed this much attention to it like me.

but! this allows me to speculate about canon reasons for that change. and me personally... i think it would make a lot of sense for liams character if he accidentally destroyed the door during an outburst. punching is one of liams common reactions when he starts struggling with his anger: he punches the wall when he's stuck in the well in s4, in s6ep12 he punches the locker until its dented and hanging off of the hinges after brett provokes him on the field, he punches the wall instead of nolan at the zoo. theres more than enough events between s4 and s6b where he could've destroyed his door, but it also just could've been a regular outburst due to his IED. either way, his door got replaced.

i wonder if liam is familiar with the difference between feeling glass splinters and wood splinters being stuck in his skin. i wonder if theres a constant ache in his knuckles. i wonder if when he calmed down and saw the aftermath, he panicked because his parents didnt know about him being a werewolf and how was he supposed to explain a broken door but no injury on his hands to match? i wonder a lot about liam dunbar. anyway.

lets talk about something lighthearted and fun: video games! i ignored the guitar (that you can see leaning against the wall behind scott) until now, because its not an actual guitar. its a guitar hero controller made to look like a black-white fender stratocaster. meaning, liam just likes to play guitar hero, and doesnt actually play the guitar. im still taking this as a win since i personally headcanon that he has a huge interest in music. (also if you're wondering how i knew that its a controller: my captain's friend is in a band and figured it out in like a minute. he says you can tell because of the black pad in the middle. shout out to him.)

heres another shot from s6, which also shows us that his room is a lot more boring now. why did they take his shelves and only give him those four lousy boxes omg... whatever. take a look:

thats mortal kombat. they're playing mortal kombat!!! im pretty sure its mortal kombat ll but gladly correct me if im wrong. i got extremely excited when i recognized it being MK because i made another post about thiam & video games and, unknowing that he canonically likes MK, claimed that its one of liams favorite games. anyway, we know that liam plays cage because the screen says "cage wins" and in the scene mason and liam talk about liam winning. which makes the way they're sitting really funny. it'd make more sense if liam was on the right, yknow, in front of the character hes playing as. ah well, tv logic. fun stuff.

one last detail and then im done yapping. first pic is from s6, the second one is from s4.

these look like xbox controllers to me. i dont have much more to say about that other than pointing it out. liam prefers xbox over playstation, good to know.

[wordy-little-witch]

Hiiii PLS 🙏 wordy plssssz i need more transfem buggy headcanons like i love ur post but i need more🥹🤲 like the hc and scenarios that shook the seas,,, wat r crossguilds reaction n shanks n other pirates reaction uahxiskzkzs shes gonna b so hot dksk ive seen fanart and fembuggy looks so HOTTTT

Hiiiii honeybun!!! I got you, dw ♡♡

Reactions!!!!!!!

Shanks

• he finds out through news coos and bounty posters. It's no secret that the redhair pirates keep careful tabs on bounties, new and old faces alike in the game, but there's special attention to black haired rubber boys and blue haired clowns when it comes to bounties and reports. The crew knows this and supports it. So when they get a paper, when Benn reads through it and does a spit take with his coffee, everyone cones scurrying, especially when he yells for their captain.

• (romantic) Shanks, upon seeing the bounty and story, is left reeling. Buggy had always been breathtaking to him, had always been the epitome of everything he finds beautiful and attractive. Shanks adores Buggy, head to toe, inside out, and even then he could always see the little chinks in the other's armor, the discomfort and uncertainty that stained the clown's cells. It's in the microexpressions, he knows, and those signals are suddenly gone in these pictures. He's breathless. He's swooning. He needs to see Buggy in person.

• (platonic) similar to the above, Shanks keeps tabs on his precious people. And Buggy, his beloved baby brother, his beloved best friend, is among those he looks out for from afar. Seeing Buggy so different, so bright, seeing the way his - her - smile finally reaches her eyes and eyebrows and cheeks, it makes him melt a little. He's proud, so proud, so happy that Buggy looks happy and healthy, and he's.... he wants. By the Seas, he wants to see her. He wants to see and meet his sister.

Crocodile

• Depending on the time frame when the change happens, Crocodile either meets Buggy for Cross Guild as a woman or deals with the transitional phase with the business. If it's the latter, he actually makes a point to try affirming what he believes is Buggy's gender identity in vague terms. Then, when Buggy begins to shy away from them, he moves to more neutral monikers, heavy on the Clown and Fool.

• upon being told that Buggy identifies as a woman, he just rolls with it. He has to fight the trans urge to make "we traded genders" jokes, which he blames proximity to the clown for. He's not going to cause a ruckus about it. He will however cause bodily injury if someone else has an issue with that.

• he's absolutely livid, btw, that he finds the clown attractive like this. It's not the body, not exactly - Croc doesn't really care one way or another about the configuration downstairs of his partners - but he is attracted to intelligence, confidence, power, and how pretty someone is when they cry. Sue him, he has a type. It just so happens that Buggy, newly confident, newly steady, is branching out into all of his standards while staying so utterly charming. He's so mad about it. He wants to kiss her. He's going insane.

Mihawk

• he doesn't stick to labels. They're boring. He doesn't care. He will admit however that the majority of those who held his interest were men. The Clown was an exception - though not because of her gender. He's typically drawn to people by their Haki signatures, and he has noticed a common trend in those he enjoys - Shanks with his firey volcanic energy, Crocodile feeling akin to the desert lands he called home, even Roronoa Zoro's antiquated cliffside mountainous energy. He finds earthy energy to be the most comfortable, emotional aspect be damned. The Clown is very much a different element, liquid and mutable and dynamic. It is reflective, overtly bright and rippling uncontrollably. Odd, he admits, but not investing.

• it's when Buggy calms, when she blooms, that Migawk sees the ripples calm, sees the sharp reflections soothe themselves, and sees that the seemingly shallow pond of energy is but a cover which leads into a fathomless sinkhole. The shores are quaint, smooth, beautiful, and lead gradually further and further in towards a sharp drop which casts the Blues into blacks and the blacks into abyssal shade. It's strange, it's unusual, it's delicious.

• it especially helps that Mihawk finds Buggy to be rather good company. Without her forced shrill demeanor and loud hypervigilance, she's actually a wonderful conversationalist. He enjoys her company. It's unexpected.

More romantic aspects bc I am absolutely melting over it-

Cross guild

• Buggy has always been rather touchy-feely, something she constantly fights with because of her past and experiences. She adores cuddles, holding hands, casual touches, and the like. Her boyfriends aren't exactly the types to love PDA or to seek out physical touch. They do allow her to indulge, however, and they each have their preferred manners of doing so.

- Mihawk

- - in public, will pull a full chivalrous move, offering her his arm, his hand when she climbs up or down, a casual yet respectful hand on her waist to guide her.

- - in private, he will cuddle against her back when he is amenable to touch, chin over her shoulder as they both read a book, one arm wrapped around her waist, fingers caressing the soft skin of her soft sides, other hand tangled with one of her own. If not that, he will become a cat in human form, wordlessly smacking whatever was in her hands away to burrow into her stomach or chest, going limp yet clinging in a mess of contradictions. It never fails to earn a slightly annoyed snicker from her.

- Crocodile

- - in public, he and Mihawk seem to share a general demeanor insofar as the types of touches. He does however take it further by occasionally just plucking her up into his arm, treating her as a dainty little thing, casual touches peppered throughout that imply a level of possessiveness, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, a drag of fingertips or hook along her shoulder, a curl of a hand at her hip.

- - in private, the touches come and go, but the emotion behind them remains. Sometimes he will simply trail fingers over her spine or shoulders, absent and affectionate. Sometimes he will drag her into the cage of him limbs to have and hold her close, a cheek pressed to her chest, hand cupping the other breast in a simple gesture.

BONUS REACTIONS

Luffy

• only thinks "uncle buggy -> auntie buggy"

• does not care, Buggy is Buggy.

• is happy that Buggy is happy!!!

• will throw hands if anyone is mean to his aunt, his hands are rated E for Everyone.

Rayleigh

• for a long time, didn't even know. Finds out by rumors in a random bar which he is Hella confused by and so fact checks. Has a mild moment when he realizes his baby boy is in fact a baby girl now. Wild. Decides to go see his daughter because What The Fuck Buglet

• no he doesn't cry when he sees Buggy. He just.... got sand in his eye. He did not get emotional when he saw his youngest child beam at him with a smile so like Roger's, in bold colors which suited her, so bright, so joyful, so free -

• he remembers the trembling, scrappy little being who would huddle between him and Roger after bad fights, so uncertain, so scared, so far removed from the young woman before him today, and Rayleigh just smiles, bonks her on the head and calls her princess.

• and if he pulls her aside later on and they sit together on the beach, drinking together, well.... when he says Roger would be so proud of her, he means it. And when she cries? Well. He won't tell anyone about it. It's a private moment between father and daughter.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"'I should like to save the Shire, if I could—though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don't feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.'" - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Shadow of the Past"

@aspecardaweek day 1 ⇢ asexuality || FRODO BAGGINS

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in shades of black, white, grey, and purple (the colors of the asexual flag). Each poster has a light grey background and is framed on one or two sides with dark and light purple lines.

1: A horizontal, rectangular image at the top left shows pakistani model Nyle Khan in black and white. He is a young man with a serious expression and dark curly hair that reaches his shoulders. His head is tilted to the left and he is wearing a white shirt with a collar. Purple text at the bottom of the image reads "frodo" in block letters and "the ringbearer" in lighter purple cursive. White serif text below that reads "And here he was, a little halfling from the Shire, a simple hobbit of the quiet countryside, expected to find a way where the great ones could not go, or dared not go. It was an evil fate." / 2: A large image in the upper right corner shows a dirt track leading between banks of purple heather under a cloudy sky. White text below the image reads "I will take the Ring," / 3: Same format as Image 2, but the orientation is reversed, with the image in the bottom left corner and the text on top. The image shows purple mountains wreathed in cloud, and the text reads "though I do not know the way." / 4: A vertical image of Nyle Khan in the upper right corner shows him sitting back and looking at the viewer with a neutral expression, wearing the same white shirt as in Image 1. Vertical text to the left of the image reads "Baggins" in block letters and "of Bag End" in cursive. White text below the image reads "I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades." //End ID]

[medo57]

Mystical Lunar Glow – Surreal Moonlit Lake Artwork for Home Decor, Posters with Wooden Frame

Transform your space with this stunning fantasy landscape poster, featuring a majestic blood moon illuminating a serene mountain lake. The deep blue sky, twinkling stars, and soft mist rolling over the peaks create a sense of mystical beauty and tranquility. This high-resolution moon wall art is perfect for those who love dreamy celestial scenery and astronomy-inspired decor. Available as a premium-quality print with a wooden frame, this artwork makes an excellent statement piece for living rooms, bedrooms, or offices.

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[ecoartlabgallery]

[ms0milk]

firework breathing, fifth form.

tengen uzui(s) x bounty hunter of sorts

no cw whipped tengen and the wives try to recruit the love of their lives using all means available. thank you @ltadoriyuujl for making this request for the @ficsforgaza initiative! to say I had fun with this one is an understatement 2.5k

Vigilante justice had repercussions, and before you would have said you were amply prepared. Law enforcement had no chance of keeping up with you. That’s what happens when you don’t believe in monsters. You could make all the noise you’d like in a hunt and their incompetence only served to soothe, always looking for the humans on their wanted posters. Bounty hunters cowered when your blade cleaved through the throats of demons and theirs hacked pitifully at the creatures happy to consume them.

A looted sword and penchant for timeliness, what fight couldn’t you weasel victory from? The answer was rhetorical until a letter arrived on scented paper, where, buried under three pages of classical poetry there lay a clear and calligraphed, 'Marry me.' Signed, Uzui Tengen.

“Saw your kill,” Tengen gleamed at dawn outside the shop that kept you good and fed on steamed buns. “Just as flashy as they say.”

“Next time someone has something to say about me, kindly change the subject.”

To call him persistent was an understatement. The Uzuis were old money with old traditions and older practices. Their mansion sat behind flowering hedges and wisteria vines on the stream at the lip of the forest, just too far to receive visitors and just close enough to rub the opulence in the whole town’s face. You quite liked your little life, the little apartment above Old Man Tatsu’s udon shop, the reward money that came in little pouches when you rolled bountyheads across the sheriff's desk. Though you had to be fast. Their expensive criminals had a habit of disintegrating.

“Are you Kinoe?” He’d ask as you shopped for dry goods. Obnoxiously tall and draped in silk for every color of the week, the master of the mysterious house was never too far from the hunter in her linen haori. “Who's your master?”

Sometimes a wife would come and when Makio accompanied you she would drop coin into the merchants’ dishes before you had the chance to pay for yourself, “Stop asking her so many questions.”

“Women like to talk.”

“Not to you.”

And so gifts started arriving shortly after. Clothes and ribbons, a barley pillow of purple silk, perfumes, ceramics– your one room above Tatsu’s udon shop was soon so laden with treasure you worried it might fall through the floor. “Leave it here,” Hina whispered to couriers from the staircase outside your apartments.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” you yawned in the doorframe, wrapped in a padded red hanten. It was one of your many new treasures. Hina smiled wide at the insinuation and you could see even through sleep, all the notes she took behind bright eyes. Three more jackets came that autumn and the fourth was delivered in person.

You slid a cloth down the bladedge of your sword after a hunt. As always, your weapon had burst from the arc over your head and with shattering speed through the back of the creature’s throat, but it found your scent the second the rattling strike touched its flesh. It twisted this time and caught the blade at a notch in its neck before losing its head. Every swipe of the cloth down your sword was filled with the apprehension of it catching on a crack in the blade.

In the cold candlelight, there was a grunt and then a hand in your apartment window. You startled when the hand started to talk, and gripped your sword from the cover of blankets. “Don’t pounce, princess.” Tengen’s voice was at least better than the snarl of a demon. His head peeked over the frame. Two lilac eyes grinned at you.

“Little late for a climb, Uzui.”

“S’cold,” he grunted and his head dropped below the frame for a moment before his hand gripped the sill and the rest of him followed, swinging over itself into the room. His mountainous body landed without a sound and he smiled, white hair framed by moonlight, “brought a gift.”

You thought he might be referring to himself before he rummaged through his haori and pulled a twine wrapped bundle out from under his arm. You rolled your eyes, “How do you know where I live?”

“You know where I live.”

“You want me to know where you live,” you crept forward to accept the package, “you’ve practically spelled my name out with your hedges.”

“Did you like that?”

He crouched a respectful distance away from where you startled back into blankets and settled on his knees. He and his family moved like cats in the night. They appeared exactly where you expect them and still it was always surprising. “Why do you work so hard for my attention?”

“I want more than your atten–”

“Mr. Uzui.”

He bobbed his head in concession and shifted his legs underneath him so that the white muscle of his thigh glowed through the drapes and folds of his long pretty robes. He pulled one knee up and rested like a king against your simple wooden window. “Who taught you?”

“Taught me what?”

“The sword.” He pointed with a painted nail to the weapon you kept tucked against your chest.

You shook your head, “No one, I just– I found it.”

“And so you hunt demons for fun?”

You smiled through the sarcasm, “For money.”

“Is there much money to be had in bounties that disintegrate?” He loved to thread a reel between endearing and irritating and that evening was no different. He watched you like an acrobat on a line.

“And what do you know about hunting, Sir?”

“Why do you think the strong ones stay away from this town?” Strong ones, was a horrifying thought and for a moment you forgot to stay cool across from the sudden and fleeting stoicism of your patron. Tengen’s eyes darkened, his broad hands flexed like a fist would be more natural. “You’re safe here. Protected.”

“That’s not necessary.” 

And his facade changed with a nod of his head. The smile returned under summer eyes. “I hear you fighting, you strike like fifty firecrackers– a roman candle–” You jerked your hand to your lips in a signal to keep it down, which he did, and leaned forward with a simmered voice, “Your breath is like a firework. Like nothing I’ve ever heard.” It was as if the sound followed the command of its master and cupped your jaw where he’d like to. Worry about your chipped sword was as far away as ever. Your life was warmer with the Uzuis in it, if not just slightly more embarrassing. He raised an eyebrow, “Have you studied the poets?

One picture of your apartments could inspire a whole comedy performance. Cold and wooden and upholstered with jewels that could buy the building five times over. If he started sending poetry you might have actually had to pay taxes. Tengen waited, happy and handsome, for your response as you stared. Could you have ever guessed grabbing the sword of a fallen soldier as your village crumbled around you would have led to this?

“In pale moonlight,” he urged and leaned farther towards you, drawing his knuckle over your fingers at sword hilt, “the wisteria’s scent…”

You steadied yourself through the waves of goosebumps that came from his touch and his gaze, closer than he was before. “It’s late, Mr. Uzui,” you managed and closed your hands around his to keep it from wandering farther. He sighed through a smile and drew back slowly to stand.

“Then I’ll wish you goodnight, Mrs. Uzui.”

You pursed your lips and he laughed like a windchime, lightly, his warmth and perfume spilling from his chest as he drew a thick haori tight around himself. “I’ll show myself out.” He stood and crossed your room to pull open the door.

“No,” you startled again and covered your own mouth at the volume. He turned to you, grinning, surprised, and it took everything you had not to grin back behind your fingers. His flamboyant dress was already enough, townsfolk didn’t need any reason to speculate on why a man who dressed like a successful pimp was coming from your rooms at midnight.

Tengen flashed one more obnoxious and knowing smile before crossing back over his dozens of gifts and stepping through your window frame like there might be a staircase waiting outside. “As you wish.”

He dropped with your heart and your sword clattered to the ground and you dove to see, surely, a broken puddle of a man two stories down. But the master of the flamboyant mansion only dusted his shoulders off with his landing and turned back up to watch you from below. As always, every proposal of his was punctuated with a deep bow.

See how he likes it, you grumbled, brimming with renewed frustration. Just a few weeks later and it was supposed to be a simple night.​​ The edge of town reeked of blood that day, the blood of fresh kills and wild animals, all day it lingered on the shadows that touched the forest. A new demon was always easy to track because hunger is easy to smell when you’re quiet. You were the loudest thing at twilight. You hushed the moss underfoot and bobbed between branches. Simple. Night. You would have been easy to smell too if demons weren’t too gluttonous to realize humans can reek of bloodlust.

In the clearing ahead where iron mingled in the fog, stood a woman where, by all accounts of your tracking, the creature should have been. Uzui’s Suma stood alone, pregnant beyond imagining, and dropped her kunai in the grass when you stumbled into the open. She wailed when she saw you and sobbed immediately to the tune of, “s’not fair!” and “wanna propose too!” as she waddled closer.

Like gifts that much– lucky I’m even delivering this one.

You spent the better part of two hours walking her back home, sword raised and mind racing at all the ways you might strap a pregnant woman to your body and walk a little faster for the both of you. She apologized sixty-seven times and kept track herself and when you finally approached the back gate of her home, she labored over her belly to pull the latch open. No key, no guard, no Uzui. No supervision! No protection! No worried greeting at the door–

You gripped tighter at the vines on the side of the house and pushed higher. Your feet found purchase in wisteria so solid it must have been a hundred years old, farther, higher towards the window at the corner of the mansion that Suma pointed you towards. You hissed and pulled yourself the last two feet to the windowsill.

“Uzui,” came out as a grunt.

“M’lady,” he smiled. You edged yourself into the room with an arm braced over the sill. Tengen rose from his desk to meet you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bite me,” you grunted and regretted immediately and slung your other arm inside, ignoring all the retorts such a man might have to that.

He settled on, “Happily,” and offered you a hand. Suma had pointed you to her husband’s office before drifting towards the pantry for a snack. The room was modest, tatami mats and a paper door, and a low desk on the floor long enough to fit his long legs. Western paintings were hung satisfyingly asymmetrically in what would otherwise be a very traditional room. A coal brazier glowed beside the cushion he used as a seat. 

You tried your best to do without the hand but when footing gave way and your chin dipped below the window, he snatched you up by the bicep. The temperature difference inside was dizzying.

“Long night?”

“Understatement,” you shivered in the new heat. Your shoes and scabbard suddenly seemed too dirty inside such a pleasant home and a bit of your fire faded. You sat on the lip of the widow and pulled your legs up beside you. “You–”

“Yes?” Tengen cocked his head, smiling always smiling. His loose white hair fell in locks over his shoulders.

“Your wife was wandering demon-infested woods until just a minute ago.”

“My Suma?” You thought he might ask which one and had prepared a thousand scathing retorts, but he only watched your anger fall from you cooly, “she wanted to impress you.”

“By dying?”

“She killed your demon didn’t she?” You opened your mouth too quickly to realize you hadn’t processed the thought. Tengen massaged a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. He almost looked normal like this, in a pretty house, in a warm room glowing by firelight. The cold of the night nipped your back in breezes. “Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“You impressed?” He chuckled and settled himself on the floor beside the window. He knelt beneath you, elbow on sill and cheek in hand. “Do we impress you?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight a smile, “You all do something to me, but impress it not the word.”

“Do you think of us?”

“Naggingly.”

“You worry?”

“Not anymore,” you sucked your teeth and pushed his head off balance with a finger to his forehead. “She really scared me, you know. All those months pregnant and alone like that.”

He grumbled something like, not alone, and, mice were with her, which you chose to ignore because Tengen Uzui took up your rough fingers in his. Whatever face you made he couldn’t see. He brought the knuckles to his lips and kissed your ring finger just once before releasing you. “My wives are capable. They don’t need permissions and they don’t need escorts, but know they are cherished by me.” You watched him, fingers lingering in the warm space. “They want you, I want you. Want to cherish you.

The sincerity, the lack of laughter, made your ears hot. His lilac eyes set to swallow you. “Mr. Uzui–”

“Tengen.”

“Tengen–”

“Mrs. Uzui?”

“No,” you giggled and rolled your eyes. He rose to his knees and made to guide you inside but you rested two hands on his broad shoulders to settle the advance. You turned and tucked your legs back out the window, “It’s late.”

“Then come rest.”

“Mr. Tengen,” and the voice came out so much softer than you meant it to, “In pale moonlight.”

He clenched his own jaw at that as if to keep himself from pouncing. The veins in his hands rose on the sill instead of around what he so badly wanted. “The wisteria’s scent..”

“Comes from far away.” With your last murmured words and a smile, you dropped back into the vines and floated to the garden floor. He stared after you from the second story as you took a theatrical bow and called back up just once, “G’night princess.”

Next time then, he agonized behind his own smile, pink climbing up his throat like a spell. In the hallway outside of his office, the wives groveled amongst each other in piles cursing their husband’s lack of charm.

"In pale moonlight the wisteria's scent comes from far away." -Yosa Buson, 18th c.

[ko-fanatic]

Leave All Your Love And Your Longing Behind | Chapter One: Double Vision Turning Triple

Rating: Teen and above Pairing: JayVik Characters: Jayce, Heimerdinger, Mel Medarda, Salo, Mylo, Claggor Content warnings: Vomit, References to Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Very Minor Reference to Self Harm (blink and you'll miss it), Slight Well-Meaning Ableism, Co-Dependency, Anxiety, PTSD, Trauma Summary: Jayce gets spat out by the Arcane, again, after all was said and done. All he knows is that he needs to find Viktor. Things here are... very different. A/N: I’ve fudged ages a little bit to make the narrative a bit smoother for what I want to do. You can probably take that as the Arcane being weird, if you wish. And yes, Jayce is already irrevocably in love with Viktor as it’s post-series Jayce. You’ve heard of slow-burn, get ready for light-speed incineration. AO3 LINK

After what Jayce and Viktor believed would be the end, the first thing he could feel in the darkness was burning. From his stomach, a path scorched along this throat and out of his mouth, lungs seizing as he choked and coughed on viscous magma. For all its discomfort, it struck Jayce as familiar.

Unsettlingly, horrifyingly familiar.

He remembers his time in that other universe, how it felt to be hurtled through timelines and threads of everything that could, would and has been. How it had turned his stomach upside down and his thoughts to static, unable to focus for a good few minutes, at least. Then, he’d opened his eyes to that post-apocalyptic hell. The culmination of all the flesh and blood that’d spilled on Viktor’s path to… “evolution”. Hell. 

However, rather than opening his eyes to blackened, twisted metal and death, what greeted him when he finally managed to pry open his eyelids was… a sunlit room. Granted, with a puddle of bile and whatever else that had managed to stay in his system during his not-so-merry jaunt through time and space, but it was still bright and warm.

Lifting his gaze, he could see a blue sky through an airy window, framed by white, gossamer curtains. A desk that was standard issue and groaning under the weight of books - notebooks and textbooks - schematics and blueprints. A neglected pot plant sat on a high shelf above, flowers shrivelled and leaves beginning to turn brown, but not quite dead yet. Something forboding beat in his chest, a little off-rhythm with his heartbeat, feeling like his guts were going to upend once more but pushing through the sensation. 

There were three walls painted a pale cream colour, offset by one navy to make the place seem a little less devoid of personality, but Jayce knew where he - probably - was. 

An Academy dorm room. 

He’d, of course, had his own apartment during his time there, but he’d had acquaintances and classmates who’d lived there, and it was just so reminiscent. 

The deduction was not at all aided by the uniform hanging from the wardrobe door. 

So he was at the academy, in a dorm room that seemed to be his, despite having never roomed at the academy in his stay. The posters on the wall were just too… him for this not to be his room; sketches, his childhood drawing of himself with his hammer (which definitely didn’t leave an awful taste in his mouth), and various memorabilia from magic shows and the like. At least he knew that, brain leaking out of his ears or not. 

Jayce stumbled to his feet, bracing himself on the wall as to not eat wood flooring soon after waking up. 

“Jayce!” A too-familiar voice called as it knocked politely on the door, “Are you alright, my boy?”

Blinking away the double vision, knowing that it was best to open up and see what the Arcane had in store for him this time, he shuffled his way to the door and twisted the handle. 

If it weren’t for his distinctive voice, Jayce wouldn’t have known it was Heimerdinger at the door. Not because he looked different at all, but because the short Yordle was fully eclipsed from view by a mountain of papers and books. In fact, Jayce had no idea how he’d managed to knock at all, let alone so politely. 

A brief spark of a memory glitched through his consciousness. Viktor clutching boxes upon boxes of metal and gears, before he’d needed to switch his cane for a crutch, debating whether to “knock” (read: kick the door) with his good leg and be forced to balance on his bad, or vice versa. 

He’d reminded Viktor that he could do it, and the other man genuinely hadn’t considered the idea before he’d said it. For a genius, he could be… Not stupid, never stupid, even in Arcane-tainted madness. He could be silly. 

Jayce caught the pull at his lips and dragged himself back into this unfamiliar present. 

“Uh… Fine! I’m… fine,” He attempted to assure, but he didn’t sound all that convincing. Evident when Heimerdinger dropped the stack he’d been carrying - with an impressive thump, one might add - and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re usually up and about by now, and when you missed the first meeting on the agenda, I thought I’d come looking for you,” Heimerdinger explained, “Very unusual behaviour from you, my boy. If you’re ill, you only need to say and I can continue on for today.”

“Meeting…?”

Jayce ran a hand through his - much, much shorter - hair, scratched at his shadowed-but-not-bearded jaw a little, trying to catch up. Heimerdinger was treating him like…

“I can cope without my assistant for a day or two, Jayce, Godsend though you are,” A small, gloved hand reaching up to rest on his forearm in something so painfully fatherly and caring, “You’re pale, and you’re equilibrium and balance are obviously off. Take the day.”

“No!” 

Jayce stopped himself in his tracks, coughing into his fist at the yell that came out unbidden. That probably didn’t help his case; the yelling or the embarrassed coughing. 

“With respect, sir, I don’t need the day off, I’m fine,” He smiled, playing off the small piece of spoon-fed information he’d likely get, “My alarm clock didn’t go off, and I was disorientated from being woken up by your knocking. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Heimerdinger looked him over, slowly, before sighing and nodding in a vague approximation of approval. 

“Very well, I’ll wait for you to perform your morning ablutions and dress yourself for today. No need for the uniform, you’ll recall, as we’re mainly going to be off-campus today,” Heimerdinger reminded, as far as the older man knew. 

Off-campus? So, presumably, that left supply shopping, personal errands, or council work. He should probably dress a little nicer, just in case… 

Heimerdinger cleared his throat, Jayce snapping out of the trance enough to watch as the man unclipped a well-loved clipboard that had been fastened to his belt, and passed it over. An agenda. Helpful. 

-*-*-

Working in a lab with Viktor meant that one learned to be as quick as possible when getting ready. Not because Viktor was mean, or demanding, but because of how excitable and surprisingly impatient he could be. Jayce was similar in that regard, the two of them often going days with only the basics of hygiene and self-care in favour of more planning, more theorising, not breaking their concentration for anything. 

Viktor drank sweetmilk and ate a truly horrifying amount of sweet things - baked goods, chocolate, and every fruit that was in season. Jayce drank black coffee that Viktor had tried once and nearly spat straight out, making the most adorable “blegh” sound and sticking out his tongue once he managed to choke it down, looking far too much like a grumpy cat. A probably inappropriate joke likening it to self-harm was made, and Jayce snorted so hard he gave himself a nosebleed. 

It’d probably been something to do with them both approaching the 100-hour mark without a wink of sleep. Still, it was a memory that he still held close, rose-hued and warm. 

Walking alongside the professor down the expansive, winding hallways, he still had yet to see Viktor. Back to the academy days, strange universe or not, he was expecting to hear some comeback or quick wit, or spy a mop of unbrushed hair as he took a “surprise nap” on a desk or table somewhere. 

He’d even been scanning the benches for his lanky frame, in case said “surprise nap” had taken him out in the hallway. No luck, however.

He was almost surprised by the amount of walking and the amount he was expected to carry. If he was Heimerdinger’s assistant also in this world, then maybe the man gave him a bigger, more physical share of the work. It hurt to imagine Viktor attempting to run around, trudging up and down the many staircases while his weak spine bent from the load he carried. 

Another flash of his other life, Viktor’s eyes shying from his own, arms crossed uncomfortably as he talked about his journey from people-pleasing and too “accommodating” for his own good, to self-advocacy and willingness to protect his admittedly fragile health. 

“Heimerdinger was very willing to support me, actually,” He’d chuckled, bathed in lamplight, a wicked twist of humour to his eyes, “At least, after I fell down the stairs.”

Swallowing hard, Jayce kept his head up, striding through the distortion as if there wasn’t any.

“I, uh… Suppose Viktor will meet us there?” Jayce ventured, deciding to try and prod a little more. 

Heimerdinger, however, simply gave him a confused glance. “I don’t know, lad, I’ve no recollection of a Viktor,” He hummed, “A friend of yours?”

A friend of ours, he manages not to say, breath a little too short to work with, everything swimming again. Cracks and fissures sprung through his mind, a recollection of the lifetimes upon lifetimes that Viktor had found him in. Smiling lips and soft eyes… A lack of runestone bracelet.

“He’s… He’s the best student the academy has ever seen…” Was what he did say, unable to keep himself from divulging that, speaking a little too openly for a world he wasn’t meant to be in but hoping that might make Viktor… appear? Like Heimerdinger was… He didn’t know, doing a stupid prank? As if the man would. 

“Jayce, there is no Viktor in the academy, as far as I’m aware,” Heimerdinger fiddled with the hem of his gloves, “And I would be aware of someone like that, if he managed to impress you so. Still, if your new little friend is that bright, he should certainly apply! I trust your judgement in these things.”

He hesitated, for a beat or two. 

“Morality of lying about being a student to - presumably - talk to you aside, of course.”

Viktor… wasn’t here? Not a student of the academy, even? Because Heimerdinger would know Viktor, with the man’s voracious consummation of knowledge and his sheer intellect, Heimerdinger would have to notice that. 

Did that mean that Viktor… Never got out? That he was still in the undercity, with poison in his lungs and pumping through his veins? That the violence and the dank still surrounded him, swallowing up his light?

That he could certainly be dead already, if that were the case.

He doubled over, books and papers dropped and scattered like debris and rubble, feeling like he’d been shoved off his feet, slammed into a wall.

His hammer dropping onto his leg, a mirror image to Viktor.

“A-Actually…” A big gulp of air as he tried not to vomit on the other man’s head, “Professor, I really don’t…”

“Feel well?” 

Soft replaced sharp, Heimerdinger’s careful, nurturing tone somehow a little louder than the screams in his head. 

“Go on, my boy, take a few days off, I can manage,” He assured, “I’ll pop by later, just to make sure you’re alright, but go rest and drink plenty of water.”

“I will.”

Barely ten minutes later, sprinting through the streets of Piltover and towards the bridge, Jayce couldn’t help but think that breaking promises was becoming an awful habit of his.

-*-*-

Heimerdinger could, despite all rumours to the contrary, get on perfectly well without Jayce. He had the agenda clipped to his belt as he had this morning, dropped the mountains of papers in his office, and had got himself to the meeting room with time to spare. He was glad that the perpetual over-worker had been persuaded to look after himself, even if he had to turn an alarming shade of green before he finally retired to bedrest.

However, Councillor Medarda was quick to point out the change of routine.

“Good morning, Professor,” She greeted with her typical smile and disarming humour, “I see you’ve lost your shadow this morning.”

“Yes, Jayce was quite unwell - I managed to shoo him off home,” He explains, taking his seat with a little effort. 

Jayce only tried to pick him up once, but the memory still comes up occasionally when he has to hop up there. Awkward apologies and a puppy-ish will to help that just made him such an endearing person. This morning he was… off. Quiet, and sullen. 

Perhaps he was missing this new friend he mentioned! A quick attachment, certainly, but that actually put another worry he’d had for his assistant to bed: his lack of close friends. 

Jayce was certainly friendly with others, but the more Heimerdinger observed him, the more shallow the connections seemed. Far be it from him to badger his employee about such matters, but as he mentioned before - Jayce was endearing. He wanted the boy to be alright, and his overworking habits combined with few close social connections were worrying. As were other things.

“Jayce, my boy, what are you doing?”

“... Just people watching,” He’d said, eyes cast down over the balcony…

Yes, a friend was just what the doctor ordered! When Jayce was a little less dizzy and such, he could introduce the pair of them, perhaps! He’d be very interested to see the person who managed to captivate him so.

“Fellow council members,” Salo, of all people, began, expression grim, “We’ve uncovered yet more unsanctioned engineering work in the undercity, with the same graffiti as the others.”

Salo passed a handful of pictures to Hoskel, gesturing for him to look through then pass them along.

“This seems to have been a big project, requiring manpower and hours without interruption,” Salo continued, “Along miles of pipeline, as well as naturally occurring cracks in the rocks which lead lower. You are all aware of the system that was put in to migrate the factory fumes lower than the populated areas? Well, it seems our work didn’t meet someone’s standards.”

He spat the last word as if it were a curse, rolling his eyes and looking the most ticked off Heimerdinger had seen him… perhaps ever. 

“The sketches being passed around are of the devices themselves, including the graffiti -”

“I believe the young ones call it a tag, Councillor Salo,” Heimerdinger very helpfully corrected, met only with a slight narrow of Salo’s eyes before the man carried on. 

“Including the tag scrawled on them, but we also have a composite of a possible suspect, seen hobbling away from the scene by a witness.”

Heimerdinger accepted the pictures from Councillor Medarda with a nod of thanks, before parsing through them. 

The sketches of the device itself was… lackluster, seemingly not done by someone with a scientific or engineering background, but even so, it’d be hard to discern specific functions without seeing one for himself, in person. 

The copies of the tag were… odd. On one half was a crudely sketched, blue monkey, all big ears and separated jaw, a cartoonish, angry frown on its face. The other half was some sort of… reptilian creature in the same style. A lizard, or perhaps a salamander, in a green so pale it could have passed for white.

The composite wasn’t much to go by, a filtration mask covering half of the person’s face, but a few key details were available. A tousled mess of brown hair, interrupted with streaks of blue, red and purple; three piercings on each ear - one lobe and two cartilage, symmetrical; hazel eyes ringed with dark liner; a mole peaking out from the golden metal of his mask, beneath his right eye.

While they had nothing of his mouth, nose or jawline, it was… quite a few distinguishing features to go off. Which led to three avenues of thought: the suspect wasn’t smart enough to cover them up (unlikely), the suspect was just that cocky (more likely), or thirdly…

For some unfathomable reason, the boy wanted to be caught.

“Councillor Salo, you said the suspect was… hobbling?” Councillor Medarda inquired.

“Yes, he walks with a cane and a limp.”

-*-*-

Chest heaving, Jayce’s frantic running was finally halted, his lungs feeling fit to burst and legs weak with exhaustion. A blockade of people stretched in front of him, so dense he couldn’t pass without shoving. The need to just keep going was strong, almost reminiscent of the pull of the runestone in Viktor’s hand, his own clasped around like a lifeline.

“We’ll end this, together.”

He was about to start pushing through, when he took a second to actually observe the situation. 

The undercity was bright, almost bustling, and not in any way it had been before. Clean streets, adequate lighting, air that was almost as fresh as above. 

Nothing like the few stories Viktor had divulged, nothing like what he’d witnessed as a council member. 

He then took stock of those around him, seeing… braces, wheelchairs, canes, crutches. If he started shoving his way through, he’d definitely hurt someone, and while some desperate, slathering part of him didn’t care…

“Excuse me!” He all but yelled, trying to duck and weave through any opening he could, just to get a little closer, just to possibly stumble across Viktor in the sea of metal and mobility aids. He needed to get closer, had to find him, had to -

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jayce’s momentum was stopped by… a scrawny teenager with a bad haircut. Firm on the ground for someone so lanky, squaring up his shoulders despite the general height and size difference between them, “Do you have a ticket?”

“Ticket?” Jayce echoed, trying to stamp down any instinct to just push the kid out of the way, “No, you don’t… I’m looking for someone, I need to see Viktor.”

“You and everyone here, bud, step out of the crowd for a minute.”

… What…?

Jayce barely reacted as he was redirected out of the throng, that floaty, spacey feeling returning once again. The double-vision turned triple, brighter streets fading into crystalline, white structures surrounded by flowers. People turned to disciples and followers, Viktor’s fingerprints shimmering on their faces -

“Y’know, you don’t look very disabled to me - OUCH!!”

Another boy, much stockier than the other, almost seemed to materialise out of the crowd to punch the first in the back of the head. 

“What has Viktor told you about assuming, My?” The newcomer sighed, “Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” The scrawny kid huffed, hands held up in surrender, “He was pushing through, though, didn’t even know about the ticket system.”

“Did you tell him?”

Silence. 

“Thought so,” The boy turned back to him, pushing the gear-patterned goggles from his eyes and resting them on top of his head, “Hey dude, my name’s Claggor, the dumbass is Mylo. We’re working security today. We have a ticket system instead of a line, so people can take breaks to sit down and rest, get something to eat and drink, that sort of stuff.”

“Oh… uh…” Jayce eloquently stuttered. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where to go,” Claggor smiled, “Any assistance needed, just say. Cool?”

“... Sure…”

Jayce had to just… play it by ear, follow instructions. At least he wasn’t aimlessly running anymore, with no way to find Viktor. The other man had almost fallen into his lap, easy to find as soon as he crossed the bridge. 

He would’ve just taken a ticket and waited patiently, as everyone else seemed to be doing, had he not actually… spotted Viktor as he was led to the small booth. 

And time stood still for that moment, the rapid beating of his chest freezing like his heart had simply stopped.

Viktor was very different, visually. Brown hair highlighted with bright blues, purples and reds, his clothes so obviously Zaun that the sight instantly sent prickles down his back, piercings around his ears and tattoos trailing up his arm in swirls of dark ink. 

Even with his back to him, however, Jayce knew it was him. From the cane by his side - covered in paint though it was - the foot of his good leg tapping to the beat of heavy drums and electric guitar blaring from a beaten-up speaker by his side, to how he soldered the plates of metal in that oh-so-familiar way. If he hadn’t been wearing a mask over his mouth and nose, Jayce was sure he’d see his partner’s tongue peaking out the side of his mouth.

It was so different, yet so similar that he moved on his own, magnetised, to his other half.

“Viktor!” He yelled as he slipped out of Claggor’s grip. 

The familiarity ended, as this other Viktor chugged the ominously purple liquid in the cup beside his hand, used his good leg to push off, spinning around in his chair and grinning - not the soft, small smiles shared in the lab with the blue glow of hextech carving his cheekbones - but something more… manic…

Something almost like… Jinx.

“That’s me!” He all but sang, and Jayce could only collapse to his knees.

[u6is]

middle of somewhere

Perhaps a change of scenery was exactly what he needed to reset his focus and come back stronger than ever.

Victor's mind began to wander, conjuring images of tranquil forests and serene mountain landscapes—and you.

—victor wembanyama x reader: fluff

The news of his season-ending injury had hit him like a ton of bricks. You had seen him in pain before, but this was different.

His eyes were filled with a sadness that went beyond physical discomfort. He had worked so hard, dreamed so big, and now, it was all on hold.

The doctors had been clear: he needed time to recover, and pushing himself would only make things worse.

When you finally get the chance to visit Victor at his home after weeks of his rigorous rehabilitation, the transformation is palpable. His once-spacious living room has been transformed into a miniature training facility. The floor is lined with exercise mats and dotted with medical equipment, the walls adorned with motivational posters and detailed workout schedules. His towering frame is a constant reminder of the dominance he once had on the court, but now, he's surrounded by a team of coaches and physical therapists who are working tirelessly to help him regain his former glory.

Victor's stubbornness is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's what has made him the formidable player he is, pushing through every obstacle with unrelenting determination. On the other, it's what got him here in the first place.

He's always been the one to ignore the niggling pains and the warning signs, the one who refused to take a break when his body begged for it. And now, as he's told to rest and let his body heal, he's chafing against the very concept of taking it slow.

Every day is a battle between his desire to be out there playing and the cold, hard reality of his situation.

It's during one of these battles, when Victor's frustration is palpable and his physical therapist can see the stress etched into his face, that the suggestion is made.

"You know, Victor," he says gently.

"Sometimes the best thing for the body is to get away from it all. Take a vacation, clear your mind. It could do wonders for your recovery."

The thought of stepping away from the game, even if only for a short time, was foreign to him. But he had to admit, the constant pressure of rehab was starting to wear on him. Perhaps a change of scenery was exactly what he needed to reset his focus and come back stronger than ever. Plus, the idea of escaping the never-ending cycle of pain and progress charts was incredibly appealing.

The conversation with his therapist planted a seed of hope that grew with each passing day.

Victor's mind began to wander, conjuring images of tranquil forests and serene mountain landscapes—and you.

The warmth in the sunlight filtering through the trees, the quiet breath of the wind that whispered your name, the beauty that made every place feel like home. No matter how far his thoughts drifted, they always found their way back to you.

He hadn't had a real break in years. His life had been consumed by the sport he loved, and the prospect of stepping away from it all was both terrifying and exhilarating.

He knew that if he was going to recover, he had to find a way to balance his fierce dedication with the necessary patience.

With a spark of excitement in his eyes that you hadn't seen in weeks. And so, you found yourself seated on Victor's passenger seat, the wind whipping through the open window, your hair dancing with the air. The car was packed with the essentials for an impromptu road trip—snacks, blankets, and a playlist that mirrored the anticipation coursing through your veins.

You had never seen Victor so relaxed, his face unburdened by the weight of his injury. His laughter filled the car as you played his favorite childhood games and sang along to songs that held a special place in his heart. It was as if the miles between you and the city were also erasing the months of pain and doubt.

As he drove down the winding road, you couldn't help but ask him,

"You sure this is a good idea?"

His response was swift and confident,

"Yes, I need this. We both do."

He had a point.

The stress of his injury had not only affected him but had also touched the lives of those who cared about him.

This was your chance to heal together, to rediscover the joy that had been overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of athletic perfection.

As you walked down the soft green grass towards the lake, the gentle slope of the land made your heart race with excitement. The warmth of Victor's hand in yours was a comforting reminder of the support you had for each other. His eyes, which had been so often clouded with pain and doubt, were now clear and filled with wonder. The breeze played with the fabric of your dress, making it flutter around your legs like a second skin. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered beauty, a stark contrast to the sterile confines of the rehabilitation center you had both become so accustomed to.

It was the perfect place to escape from the noise and expectations of the city.

You had never seen such a serene view.

The water was a mirror reflecting the azure sky, and the surrounding greenery was alive with the whispers of the wind. It was a place where time seemed to slow down, inviting you to breathe in the moment and let go of the past.

You both spotted the perfect spot, a small clearing that offered a picturesque view of the water. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the scene. You hurried to spread out the blanket, eager to lay the foundation for the afternoon's adventure. But Victor, still unaccustomed to moving with such care, fumbled with the corners, his long limbs not quite coordinating with the task at hand. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing over the water. Even in his clumsiness, there was something endearing about watching him try. He shot you a playful glare, but his smile gave him away, and soon you were both doubled over with laughter, the blanket lying askew between you.

The afternoon was filled with laughter and playful moments as you both joked and enjoyed each other's company by the lake.

Victor, ever the competitor, decided to go fishing. You watched with a mix of admiration and amusement as he tried to fit his large frame into the tiny rowboat, rocking it precariously from side to side before finally settling down with a dramatic sigh. His patience paid off, and before long, he was reeling in a decent-sized fish. As he brought it to shore, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and without warning, he flung it in your direction. You screamed, more from surprise than fear, as the fish flopped onto the grass at your feet. Victor's deep, hearty laugh filled the air, and you couldn't help but join in, the absurdity of the situation breaking down any barriers that had remained between you.

Once the laughter subsided, you both set down on the blanket. He leaned back against the sturdy trunk of a tree, his long legs stretching out in front of him, while you rested your head on his lap. He pulled out one of his favorite books, the one with the worn leather cover and pages that smelled faintly of dust and adventure.

The sound of Victor's calm breathing that truly drew you in. It was rhythmic and soothing, a gentle reminder of his presence. His hands, those hands that had swatted away countless shots and dunked so many balls, were now tenderly resting on your shoulders, protecting the delicate fabric of your dress from the cool afternoon breeze that danced around you. Every so often, he would adjust the material, ensuring that it didn't get tangled in the grass or blow away with the wind.

Breaking the quiet, you turned to look at him, his profile outlined against the backdrop of the setting sun. His eyes lost in the words of the book he held open. You reached up, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was a comforting reminder that even though his body was broken, the spirit that had driven him to great heights was still intact.

"Vic," you said gently, "Why don't you come lay beside me?"

He looked down at you, the corners of his mouth turning up in a warm smile. With a sigh, he closed the book and laid it aside, using it as a pillow for his head. His arms, which had been folded behind his neck, now stretched out to either side of you, creating a shelter of sorts.

"Better?" he asked, and you nodded, snuggling closer.

The fabric of his shirt was soft against your cheek, and you could feel the warmth of his skin even through the barrier. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the trust and comfort you shared.

For a while, you lay there, watching the play of light on the water and listening to the symphony of the lake. Frogs croaked in the distance, and the occasional fish jumped out of the water, leaving a perfect circle of ripples in its wake. Victor's breathing grew deeper, and you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

But the peace couldn't last forever. The conversation that had been hovering on the periphery of your minds finally made its way to the surface. You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him.

"What happens now?" you asked softly, breaking the tranquil silence.

"What will the rest of the season look like for you?"

Victor's smile faded, and he took a deep, contemplative breath.

"I've been thinking about that," he began, his voice gravelly with the weight of his thoughts.

You sat up, looking at him with a mix of concern and curiosity.

"And?"

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking, his eyes still on the horizon.

"And I think... I think it's time for me to accept that I need this break. Not just for my body, but for my soul."

He turned to face you, his gaze meeting yours.

"I've been so focused on basketball, on being the best, that I've lost sight of why I started playing in the first place. This injury is a wake-up call, a chance for me to remember what truly matters."

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words.

"What do you miss the most?"

Victor took a moment to ponder before answering.

"The rush of adrenaline before a big game, the roar of the crowd when I make a play," he said, his eyes lighting up briefly before dimming again.

"But more than that, I miss the simplicity of it all—just me, the ball, and the hoop."

You couldn't help but smile at the nostalgia in his voice.

The air grew cooler, but the warmth of Victor's body kept you snug.

"You know, ma chérie..."

He reached out, his hand finding yours, and entwined your fingers together.

"I really appreciate you being here with me," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"This whole situation has been so... overwhelming, and having you by my side has made all the difference."

With your hands intertwined, you leaned forward just enough to feel each other's breath, a silent conversation passing between you. His breath was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the crisp afternoon air.

"I'm always here for you," you assured him, squeezing his hand gently.

But he leaned his head expecting for a kiss. The gesture took you by surprise, but you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It was a moment of vulnerability, a silent plea for reassurance that you didn't need to think twice about fulfilling.

You leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his. It was a soft kiss, tender and filled with all the unspoken words you hadn't yet found the courage to say. It was a kiss that whispered of comfort, of hope, and of the unwavering belief that he would overcome this setback.

Victor's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, his hand that were holding yours now slowly moving to your hips. The shift was subtle, but it sent a ripple of awareness through your body. You could feel the strength in his grip, a strength that had been the foundation of his success on the court, now transferred to hold you in this moment of quiet intimacy.

It was a gentle reminder that even though he was broken in some ways, he was still the same person you had always loved. Still the person you knew would come back from this, stronger than ever.

Breaking the kiss, you looked into his eyes, now dark with a mix of emotion and longing. His breath was hot against your cheek, his chest rising and falling rapidly. And you smiled, a soft, knowing smile that conveyed all the love and support you had for him. It was a smile that said you understood the journey he was on and that you were ready to walk it with him, every step of the way.

You laid back down, the blanket a tangled mess around you. The world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the sun above, and the whispers of the lake. The silence that enveloped you was no longer uncomfortable; it was a warm blanket, a safe cocoon that allowed you both to just be.

[bullet-prooflove]

Taken!Series Part Six: Family - Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @wakeama @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @emily2003alzaga @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @expir3dl0v3  @appreciatelove @the-wandering-lunatic @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @stressed-chas @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @prettyinpunk85 @adaydreamaway08 @thanossexual @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @crimeshowjunkie @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @sclitvdes @justreblogginfics

Taken!Series:

Part One: Mother - Tragedy strikes when Angel leaves you and Valeria alone for the evening.

Part Two: Bleeding Out - Angel returns home to discover what happened at the house.

Part Three: Touch & Go - Angel discovers where Valeria was taken.

Part Four: Meth Mountain - Angel retreives Valeria.

Part Five: Perfect - Angel reveals what he was really doing the night you were shot.

When you come home, it’s to Felipe’s house.

To a bedroom that’s been redecorated, to a space that’s tailored to help with your recovery.

You’ve been in Angel’s old room before. It used to be a blast from the past, basketball stuff littering the shelves, old, chequered sheets on the single bed in the corner, pictures of motorcycles and scantly clad women on the walls.

That’s changed now. There’s a double bed with crisp white sheets with pretty little plants embroidered into it, a swing cradle for Valeria is situated along side of it. The shelves hold all of your items from home. The various terrariums, the pressed rose in a frame from your Nana. Your clothes are hung up in a gorgeous dark wood wardrobe that had been hidden underneath Angel’s half naked lady posters.

The truth is you can’t go back to the house you were injured in, and neither can Angel. The memories are too raw, too vivid so instead you return to Felipe’s. A place where you can rest and recover with the help you need and the proximity to your daughter. You need to be close to her in the aftermath, the same way that Angel does.

Right now, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking the cradle lightly as Valeria kicks her legs and puts her hands to her mouth. Those dark eyes of hers stare up at the mobile that Felipe had crafted for her, brightly coloured zoo animals that ensnare her attention. You feel settled right now, at peace. For the first time in a long time everything is right where it’s supposed to be.

Felipe clears his throat from the doorway, you tilt your head up with a small smile before your attention turns back to the baby.

“She doesn’t have a care in the world.” You say softly.

Felipe sits down beside of you, the bed dipping as his shoulder bumps against yours. He chucks his finger underneath Valeria’s chin, and the baby tries to grab at it.

“I never said thank you.” You say quietly. “For setting us up here. I know it can’t be easy having us in your personal space...”

Felipe shakes his head, cutting you off.

 “It’s good to have other people around the house again.” He says, his voice gruffer than usual as he takes over the rocking. “Especially this little one.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a moment as you both watch Valeria. She’s getting tired now, her motions slowing as she turns her head.

You hear Angel’s footsteps trapsing up the hallway before he ducks into the room. He’s wearing a grey wifebeater and basketball shorts that are covered in flecks of paint. There’s a streak of green across his cheek, you can see the same colour marring his fingertips.

“Pops, you said you were getting more paint for the nursery.” He says, before he sees the two of you sitting alongside the crib. A smile crosses his features as he steps inside the room, grabbing the rag from his back pocket and using it to clean his hands.

“EZ’s old room can wait a minute.” Felipe says, continuing to rock the cradle as the baby’s eyelids start to flutter closed. “I want to spend a little time with my family.”

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