#I really need that brain to do stuff you know

[emptymanuscript]

This is actually a good chunk of why I am so pro Nanowrimo. It’s a way to force it out of perfectionism. You most likely CAN’T make a perfect story. You most likely CAN’T even make a sufficiently good story. It’s such a harried pace that there’s pretty much no choice but to produce at least an uncomfortably large deluge of crap.

But this IS what lets most people produce the good stuff.

The fundamental stumbling block for most writers is the belief that the story in their head is heart achingly valuable. That it is a raw lump of gold that you will spin into a perfect skein of story, working with every ounce of imagination to turn that valuable material into the success you know it will be.

This is a lie.

It’s a lie your egotistical brain tells you to protect itself from the consequences of the shameful failure it is sure will happen if you actually put the beautiful gold in your head onto a page.

And it’s going to keep telling you that lie for as long as it works. Even if it’s forever.

People who have not yet written think their ideas are gold. They think it’s the work. The imagining of the story. And that feels true because of how difficult it is to get it down, to get it right.

People who have written slowly start to realize this is bs. The idea barely ever translates well onto the page because it isn’t gold. It’s not even fool’s gold. It’s crap.

At best, it’s a crummy clump of poorly mixed mud.

The idea is NOT the raw clay of story that you will spin into a wonder.

The idea is the half formed junk you’ll spit and sputter painfully onto the page in order to make the raw clay that you will shape into glorious art.

The reason the idea doesn’t translate well is because it isn’t writing. It’s some writing. Lots of shorthands for subconscious references. A handful of feelings. Plenty of desires. Some faded memories. A goal or three of what you want it to finally look like. Maybe some images. In the extreme majority, it’s stuff that CANNOT be literally put on the page because the majority of it isn’t text.

That’s why it comes out in random fits and starts into random bits and pieces on the page.

Because the story only FEELS like a lump of gold in there when it’s nothing but fairy twine and elf glue propping up a thin veneer of shiny paint. You have to actually invent what isn’t there at all to fill up all that empty page space because that illusion CANNOT do the job.

Your brain knows this deep down. That’s why it resists. It knows the text on the page will NEVER look like that golden illusion in your head. Failure is inevitable because you are trying to do the impossible. You WILL fail.

The question is only if the failure is SHAMEFUL.

Why are you ashamed of writing crap when every single writer that has ever enchanted a reader before you wrote plenty of crap in their time? Why are there so many lamentations over the umpteenth draft if special really gifted people didn’t need to do them? Why do so many published writers provoke the reaction, “I can do better than that,” when so few actually superior stories exist? Do you really think it’s because you are the best writer to have ever walked the world when you’re one of the tut-tutting legions of people reading their crap and you are having trouble getting anyone to look at yours?

Or, is it simply that good old unglamorous nose to the grindstone work is harder than having imagination and wondrous flights of fancy?

The crap you write as a first draft is the actual text that you can rewrite into something better. It’s what you can analyze and reinvent into text that provokes others into imagining what you want them to, spinning your reworked and reworked and reworked text into such a wondrous treasure that it’s hard to imagine it was ever just a painful slog of planting your butt in a chair and forcing out one word after another while you screamed that it shouldn’t be this hard.

The good news is, the more you do it, the easier it is to do. The more you mold crap into something beautiful, the easier it becomes for the crap to just come out vaguely sculptural and suggestive for how to facet it into a provocative sculpture.

AND the more mistakes you make, the more you’ll accidentally spit out something that’s good in an entirely different way from your intention. Which will train you to imagine in ways you haven’t thought of yet because you haven’t been exposed to it yet. The mistakes and unimagined successes will teach you just as much as figuring out how to get it to provoke the reaction you want.

There’s simply nothing like experience. You can’t simply learn from a book what experience will teach you because writing is simply not the same as reading. And you CAN’T get experience without writing.

There’s simply nothing, not even my masters degree in teaching creative writing, that could have enabled the same benefits of writing 21 Nanowrimos over the years. Even the crap I shoved in a drawer to shun forever because it was just that bad taught me things I simply couldn’t have learned any other way.

The problem is the shame.

You’re not doing anything shameful in this. You’re working. You’re learning. You’re making mistakes that will show you where to improve. You’re blundering into successes that will show you new vistas. You are WRITING.

Imagining is nice. But it isn’t writing. It’s imagining. It’s a part of the process. But it’s not even all of that.

If you’re a writer, there’s nothing shameful in writing.

If you just WANT to be a writer, there’s nothing shameful in writing.

All writing is - terrible, bad, mediocre, good, great, or transcendent - is the work of a writer. There’s nothing shameful in work.

writing badly and cringily is actually an essential part of the writing process, both in terms of individual projects and in gaining voice and confidence as a writer in the long term. there is no way around the cringe. there's no way around the work.

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. Uncharted waters for me, because I have no idea how many chapters it will come out as.

Reader is: British, Young Vic (get it?) theatre company director, working class, in her 30s, a control freak, a semi-conscious sub. Viktor is: Czech (as always), working in biotech with Jayce, working class, in his 30s, a control freak, a conscious dom.

next chapter -> (will be here once published)

word count: 4,6K

warnings, or rather this work contains: d/s dynamics between main characters (but who the fuck knows what Mel and Jayce are doing), love (attraction?) at first sight, no strings attached to lovers/strangers to lovers (so like reverse emotional slow burn?), lots of porn, angst, happy resolution. I will be adding kink warnings as they appear in the future chapters.

author’s note: Ok, so, um, hi! A Deer and a Man is ending, so something else has to begin. It’s like… a very freeform thing I’m doing here. Sort of about nothing, just relationships with d/s dynamics, because I want to play around with some kinks and stuff. I’m trying to make it make sense here, but not everything might, since it’s just my subjective take on things. It will have some d/s etiquette but not always, because I’m clumsy and my characters get infected with my clumsiness :v Nothing’s new really (hehe, get it?), some plot, some porn, some feelings. It’s basically me going to IKEA asking you if you wanna come and grab some vegan meatballs and the meatballs are smut in this :v So yeh, hi, welcome to another blurb of a mutlichap work.

Special thanks to my friends @rennethen and @strongfartzemergency for pre-reading this and enabling my brainrot. Artist is @petitesieste, just ahh ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Your eyes glaze over the computer screen, trying to memorize a list of poor souls to probe the next day. An ouroboros of theatre life has reached another mark, one where you must make a million decisions in a short span of time: Which plays will grace the stage, who’s performing in them, who’s directing, and who’s dressing all those people in their fancy costumes? And, most importantly, who’s paying for all of it?

So far, a successful year has set your bar even higher, with the next season looming in the golden light of August evenings. You don’t even have time to warm your bones in it—you have to think ahead, transport your brain to the future, to a cold January, when the real test begins for you. In truth, you don’t have time to do anything beneficial for your bones, and you’ve just learned to accept that your joints crack like dry wood every time you move.

A head peaks through the crack in your door, and you don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“Charlie,” you greet him, your nose still scrunched up by the screen. “I know, I know. I’m going, I just need a second.” You begin to rise from your chair but remain hunched over, extending your arm blindly toward the computer. “Did you bring my shoes?”

“Yes, and I’m not kicking you out,” says Charlie, passing you a pair of ballet flats. “But if you want a driver, well… he’s getting impatient.”

“That’s okay, I can commute,” you smile at him, taking the shoes and glancing at your watch. “It’s only Camden… oh, shit, it’s very late. You should, in fact, kick me out.” After a few hurried jumps while putting the shoes on, you're back to frantically picking up unrelated objects and shoving them into your purse: tissues, lipstick, random notes to review in the morning, and Mel’s gift—a seasonal Young Vic pass for her and her plus one.

“Where are you guys meeting?” he asks, passing you the rest of the things you will obviously want or need. It’s a seamless collaboration with Charlie. Since the very beginning, you two have been sharing a brain, and this is partly why nothing has collapsed yet. On the contrary—both you, as a theatre company director, and Charlie, as an assistant director, have been doing an amazing job, mending together a forthcoming approach and love for theatre. And this is all your head is at, despite the one evening of reprieve where you can share beers with friends in a pub that Mel has chosen completely out of character for herself. Which is why, instead of answering, you ask, “Do you really think we can do Hamlet?”

“Why wouldn’t we be able to do Hamlet?” Charlie parrots, passing you a coat with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know, is it not a bit… on the nose? It’s my second year, and my brain’s steamed up so much that I’m doing Hamlet?”

Charlie chuckles softly, as he steps behind you to dress you up. “You are going to do a bitchin’ Hamlet. And now can you please go and have some fun for once?”

“This is fun, Charlie. Hamlet is fun,” you say, holding his arms and giving him a playful shake. “Fun!”

“Calm down, captain,” he grins, rolling his eyes. “Where are you guys going?”

“Ugh… World’s End?”

“World’s End?!” Charlie covers his mouth in feigned horror, his eyes wide. “This is so unlike Miss Medarda!” he whispers, shooting you an incredulous look.

“I know, Mel wanted casual,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. Then, as you move past him, you swat him lightly on the shoulder, seeking another round of uninhibited cackles. “Don’t be mean, Charlie!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Charlie laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, World’s fucking End, who would’ve thought. Let me fetch you a driver, my lady.”

You shake your head and scan your office one last time, making sure you haven’t left anything important behind. Figuratively, of course, since almost everything dear to your heart is actually being left behind. And even though it’s only for a couple of hours, not being in control is frightening.

On the other side of the coin are your friends, with Mel right up front. She’s been there since the very first second of your meeting—right after you yelled at a light technician, making him flinch and nearly fall off the ladder. You had immediately corrected yourself with, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But this lightwork is still shit. Please fix it. I ask you kindly.”

That was when Mel grinned, wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and whispered into your ear, “Okay. I want to be your friend.”

Since then, Mel has been one of the main patrons of your theatre company, and you—being a firm unbeliever in your own abilities—are convinced it’s largely her money and pep talks that have granted you the creative freedom that led to you becoming an artistic director. Your worlds collided fast and hard, and, being another person married to her work, she quickly became one of the closest people in your life.

Until Jayce.

Mel, being someone who treats every relationship as an investment, doesn’t limit her influence to the arts. So when her family decided to fund research grants for scientists from the Francis Crick Institute, you knew something was coming as soon as she justified the decision with, “And they are both very handsome.”

You know the urge very well—the ever-nagging need to have everything under control, to oversee every grain of sand that rolls through the waist of the hourglass, every second planned, every schedule so tight there is barely time to breathe. It’s one of the things that bonded the both of you.

So when Jayce came along—with his motivation stemming not from a sickening need for self-accomplishment or a desperate urge to prove something to the world, but from the purity of his own heart and a healthy curiosity—Mel began to crack. And then the disease spread to you.

Now, you actually rest. You spend your free Sundays socializing. You talk about things other than work. You’ve even been on a few unsuccessful dates. And it’s all Jayce’s fault.

You loved him for it immediately—the small crumbs of the outside world granted to you and Mel through his unabashed joy and excitement. Jayce made things fun, and turning your phone off—briefly relinquishing control—became a little less terrifying.

From there, your thoughts drift in different directions until your absent-minded stare at the moving lights outside the car window is interrupted. The driver, in a grumpy tone, informs you that you’ve arrived at your destination. You crack the joints in your hands before thanking him and bidding him goodnight.

The World’s End is all red from the outside, its glow bleeding onto the wet pavement. Through the glass, you spot the back of Mel’s heavily accessorized hairstyle, a head of intricate twists and gleaming accents. You glance at your reflection, and—well. You’ve seen better days.

Your mini skirt has twisted around, placing the slit exactly where you don’t want it, so you yank it back into place, cursing Charlie for not telling you. In the process, you notice a small eyelet in your tights, the hole widening with each step you take. No nail polish to stop it from spreading. You curse yourself for that one. Your shirt is crumpled at the stomach—a reminder of hours spent hunched over your desk. Your necklace has caught a bunch of stray hairs, which you pick out frantically as you stride toward the door. And the rest of your hair? An artistic mess, sculpted by an impatient hand that’s raked through it a hundred times too many today.

Once inside, Mel’s slender hand and a row of her impossibly white teeth beckon you forward as she stands up to give you a hug.

And the inside of The World's End is exactly what you would expect from a Camden pub—big, loud, and brimming with mismatched charm. The walls are cluttered with a collection of art that looks like it was bought in a rush at a local flea market. There's a hum of conversation mixing with the thrum of the music playing in the background, and the space itself is large, almost cavernous. The low ceiling and uneven, wooden floorboards give it an unpolished look that feels welcoming to some, but it's not exactly the kind of place you'd expect to see Mel at.

Mel, in contrast, belongs in a sleek, minimalistic bar, somewhere where the drinks are as carefully curated as the furniture, where everything is perfectly composed. Here, she’s lost in the midst of it all, a little too refined for the space, as if her sharp lines don’t quite align with the pub’s rough edges. The things we do for friends.

“Darling, I’m glad you made it,” she chirps, walking toward you and spreading her arms wide.

“Now I can say I’d go to the end of the world for you,” you murmur into her shoulder, squeezing her tight. Then, pulling back, you present a small envelope. “Happy birthday, love. Here—best possible seats.”

Mel’s brows lift as she takes the tickets, flipping them between her fingers. “You shouldn’t have,” she says, though the gleam in her eye betrays her excitement. “But thank you. You wouldn’t believe who Jayce has managed to drag along,” she murmurs into your ear.

“Oh, it can’t be,” you whisper back, scanning the table over her shoulder.

A few of her closest friends sit huddled together, deep in conversation and laughter. Then, Jayce’s broad frame, unmistakable even in the dim light. And next to him—

A pair of loose shoulders, wrapped in a red shirt stretched between two sharp blades. The nape of his neck, covered in a mess of brown curls. He leans on one hand, nodding along to whatever Jayce is saying, his profile cutting sharp against the glow of the street lights.

Viktor. The last man standing, the one seemingly immune to Jayce’s influence when it comes to making people step out of their comfort zones. And yet, here he is. Of all occasions, it’s Mel’s birthday that has somehow coaxed Viktor out of his self-imposed solitude. A horse you wouldn’t have bet on.

You are led to the table, where all the seats seem to be taken—until Viktor removes his cane from the empty stool beside him and gestures for you to sit between him and Jayce. As you lower yourself onto the stool, you take his hand briefly and say, “The smartest man in the room, finally in the room.”

“You must be talking about Jayce,” he counters, a glint of amusement in his eye. He holds your palm for just a moment longer than necessary before letting go. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” you reply with a smile—until Mel’s head suddenly pokes between the two of you.

“What’s your poison, honey?” she asks. Only now do you notice her flushed cheeks and the way she’s completely disregarded the concept of personal space, her arm stretching beyond your shoulders to tug playfully at Jayce’s hair.

“A pint of bitter?” you say, startled.

She frowns slightly, but you quickly follow with, “Cheers,” hoping to steer her attention elsewhere. Her eyes squint at you, but she relents, giving Jayce’s back a clingy hug before strolling off to the bar. Only now Viktor’s hand releases yours.

He studies you for a moment before turning to his glass, giving you the chance to take a closer look—

The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the hollow between his collarbones, skin up to his neck is covered in a satin sheen of sweat. Tendons shift beneath it, blue veins threading along his throat. His hair is faintly damp around the ears, curling and plastering itself to his temples. From the side, his jaw forms nearly a perfect square.

You don’t dare to look higher.

Lower down, though, his sleeves are rolled up carelessly, exposing freckle-specked arms. You spot it by dropping your gaze naturally.

Mel was right. They are both very handsome.

As the birthday gal disappears toward the bar, you are left wedged between the two scientists, the noise of conversation assaulting your ears. Across the table, Amara leans in, her many rings clinking as she refills someone’s glass from a sweating bottle of wine. Beside her, Salo—always overdressed for the occasion, his blonde curls neatly combed back—gestures broadly mid-story, his voice animated. A few seats down, Mion, the youngest among them and always balancing the line between sharp and naive, listens intently while occasionally stealing olives from Mel’s abandoned plate.

"So," Jayce starts, shifting his weight so he can face you properly. “What’s keeping you so busy these days?”

You exhale, stretching your arms along the back of your seat, making your spine pop. “Wrapping up meetings with playwrights, directors, and actors—making sure everything aligns. Managing funding and sponsorships, finalising script choices.”

Salo whistles. “Sounds like a headache.”

“It’s a miracle she’s here at all,” Jayce adds, nursing his beer. “I half-expected her to send a regretful telegram from the depths of her desk.”

That earns a laugh from Amara, who nudges your foot under the table. “And what are the plays, then? What’s in?”

You rest your chin in your palm and do a mock countdown with the fingers of the other. “Further than the Furthest Thing, The Scottsboro Boys, A Streetcar Named Desire—possibly Hamlet.”

Mel, just returning with your beer, lets out a delighted gasp as she sets it down. “Hamlet? Oh, darling, tell me you’re doing it.”

“Calm yourself,” you warn, reaching for your drink. “I said possibly.”

She spreads her hands dramatically. “I can already see it now—the staging, the lighting—”

“Don’t start designing the posters just yet,” you cut in, but she’s grinning too widely to be discouraged. “I can still change my mind.”

“You know that’s a lot for one person,” Viktor remarks, leaning in from your right, his voice lower, meant just for the two of you. His pupils are darker, wider than the number of glasses of wine he’s had would suggest, assessing you from under hooded eyelids.

“I’ve always run through my life,” you say simply, tipping your glass toward him. “I do have help, though.” Viktor clicks his tongue, his mouth curving into a half-smile.

Before you can figure out what it means, Mion suddenly snaps her fingers. “Wait—how did you and Mel meet, anyway?”

Mel waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I saw her preparing Yerma, and it was love at first sight.”

“Love?” Salo lifts a brow.

“She was standing on stage, sleeves rolled up, arguing over how the chairs should be arranged.” Mel sighs theatrically. “Her diligence. Her eye for detail. I knew I had to have her.”

Jayce snorts. “And by ‘have her,’ you mean ‘fund her.’”

Mel grins. “Exactly.”

The table dissolves into laughter, glasses clinking. Conversations crisscross—Salo and Mion bickering over some technical aspect of stage production, and you don’t have the heart to correct them. Jayce launching into an enthusiastic recounting of an experiment gone wrong. Someone beside you leans in to talk, and for a moment, you lose the thread of conversation.

The haze of smoke, the warmth of alcohol-softened breaths, the layered voices—it all blurs. Next to you, Viktor is speaking, but his words are swallowed by the noise.

The room tilts slightly, or maybe it’s just the drink settling in. Sounds overlap and ring in your ears as exhaustion takes hold and you zone out. Somewhere nearby, a bottle of wine gets passed around, then discarded in the middle of the table, still within your reach. A voice cuts through the fog, softer, closer. Then sharper, clearer than before.

Foreshadowed by Viktor’s hand on your leg—his right palm rests on you, and the moment it does, you tilt toward him, only to find he’s done the same. His fingers press inward, just barely grazing the inside of your thigh. It’s a gentle invasion, entirely unprovocative, something that simply happens—natural. His left arm hovers over your backrest as his mouth nears your ear, and you can feel the tickle of his hair on your cheek.

“Pass me the wine.” A soft command, tilting toward a question at the end, firm and quiet all at once.

You reach for the bottle without looking, your eyes fixed on his throat as he breathes. The moment it comes close, his touch leaves your leg and finds your fingers instead. His skin brushes yours, spreading the sweat from the glass onto your own, and something coils low in your stomach.

“Good…” he murmurs, clipped, as if something else should follow. “Thank you.” And then his warmth is gone, leaving you painfully sober, achingly empty.

It’s one of the most agonising seconds of your life—except this time, there’s something sickly sweet curling around the edges, a lingering undertone that was missing from all the other agonising moments you’ve suffered through.

For the rest of the evening, your attention doesn’t waver, save for the necessary moments to put Mel in the spotlight.

Viktor lingers close. Not close enough to raise any eyebrows—everyone else is too busy bickering and laughing at Jayce’s anecdotes—but enough for you to notice and relish in it. His breath occasionally fans your face when he leans over you for the bottle, his knee bumps yours under the table. He sits tilted toward you, his arm hooked against your stool, and his eyes never leave you, one way or another. He bombards you with questions and answers yours without blinking.

"Where did you study?" you ask, lips glued to the rim of your glass, leaving an stamp of your lipstick there.

"Abroad," he says vaguely, tipping his head. "You?"

"England. Try again," you counter, not looking up, only baring your teeth to the remnants of a cocktail in your hand.

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his glass idly in his fingers before conceding, "Vigilant, of course. Very well—biochemistry at UTC Prague." He pauses, watching your reaction. "Then onward to Francis Crick through MSCA. Now—tell me yours." The last part, a command again, gentle and firm and you find yourself reciting in no time.

"Theatre and Performance at Goldsmiths," you reply, your words a little looser, the alcohol working its way through your veins.

"Ah, how prestigious," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"If you consider five years of bullying that, then yes," you slur, twirling your drink in your glass. His expression sharpens, brows lifting slightly in silent question. You sigh, meeting his gaze. "I got The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art scholarship. Before that, I led an utterly non-prestigious life in Staines."

"Hardworking girl," he purrs, and oh—his hand returns to your thigh, this time less inconspicuous as he drags a long finger up and stops just beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Where do you live?" he asks, his voice dipping lower, quieter, like the answer might be something just for him.

"Hackney," you answer immediately, then, seeing his knowing smile, feel the need to correct yourself. "The bad Hackney. You?"

"Eh, Islington," Viktor says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

Your mock jaw drop is immediate. "Unbelievable," you drawl. "And you dare to make fun of my fancy living?"

Viktor smirks, his fingers brushing your thigh before retreating. "You are making it up. But we can share a cab home then."

Something jumps in your chest at the thought of being locked in a tiny space alone with this man. And the cab driver, but, nevertheless. "I suppose we can. When do you want to go?" you ask, as steadily as you can manage right now.

He exhales slowly, then leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Let's go now."

You have to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull. In fact, with the mix of various alcohols cursing through your veins and the secretive glances he’s been giving you, you’d probably nod vigorously if he offered to fuck you on the bar.

You step away from the table, weaving through the crowded space as you pull out your phone. Your fingers tremble slightly—whether from the drinks or the anticipation, you can't tell. It doesn’t matter. The cab company confirms your ride is on its way, barely three minutes out.

When you return, Viktor is still lounging against the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his now-empty glass. He doesn’t look at you right away, but his body angles toward you the moment you step back into his space. You lean in just enough to let the scent of him—wine, sweet sweat and washing powder—settle into your senses before speaking.

“We have three minutes,” you say casually, as if not stopping yourself from clenching your thighs.

Viktor gives a small, knowing nod and starts shuffling around for his cane and coat. His movements are unhurried, but there’s a quiet efficiency to them, a preparedness that has you smiling.

From across the table, Mel lets out a dramatic sigh. “You’re leaving already? I knew I shouldn’t have sat two workaholics together.”

Jayce snorts into his drink. “At least they lasted this long. I was expecting Viktor to slip out halfway through.”

Viktor hums in vague amusement, fastening the buttons of his coat. “And miss all your storytelling? Impossible.”

Mel rolls her eyes but grins. “Fine, fine. Go, be boring. Just don’t forget—” she waggles a finger at you—“you owe me a Hamlet.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Mel.”

With that, you feel Viktor’s hand brush lightly against the small of your back—an absentminded gesture, almost cautious, but it sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s raining again, and neither of you has an umbrella, so you huddle together under your purse until Viktor opens the door for you. You fall in with no grace whatsoever and slide your ass across the back seat to make space for him. He steps in slowly, throws his address to the driver, then slumps down beside you, looking at you expectantly.

For a moment, you freeze—until you realise everyone is waiting for your address. Mumbling out the street and number, you lean back, your shoulder blades pressing against his arm.

And oh. You know damn well you won’t be able to let this go beyond tonight—or that you shouldn’t be fucking around where you figuratively eat—but he smells good, and his eyes stay on you, dark and hungry. So you tip yourself into the crook of his shoulder, tilting your head up with an innocently pleading look.

Viktor chuckles, as if something has just been confirmed, and his slender hand finds its way between your thighs. His body shifts subtly, shielding you from the driver, who barely suppresses an eye roll in the rear-view mirror. His lips, burning with alcohol and want, close over yours. His tongue pushes inside, licking slow and deep along the row of your teeth. His fingers travel up your leg, stopping painfully close to where you ache for him most, and squeeze—just enough to brace himself as he leans in further.

You fumble with the buttons of his coat, slipping your hands beneath to tug his shirt free from his trousers. Another warm chuckle rumbles against your lips.

“So efficient,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to mouth at your ear. His breath is hot when he whispers, “Do you want to fuck here, or will you be a good girl and wait until we get home?”

A strangled moan escapes you, and your own hand flies up to clamp over your mouth. Viktor grins against your skin.

“Good. Quiet,” he purrs, before dragging his tongue in a slick trail down your neck, stopping halfway to suck a bruise into your flesh.

Breath stumbles in your lungs when he stops, lips flushed, wet and red with your smeared lipstick, his teeth barely grazing your skin before he leans back to look at you. His fingers remain firm between your thighs, a teasing pressure that makes your legs tense and tremble beneath his touch.

Whatever has led you to this moment is not your usual behaviour, but somehow, you can’t be bothered to announce it. Long ago—somewhere after shitty date number five, or fifteen—you swore off bad sex for the sake of no sex and peace of mind. You grew tired of partners who were more tease than do, and the ones who assumed you’d thrive on organising everything in bed, just as you do at work.

You crave someone to take that pressure off you. Someone who would simply allow you to be dumb, even just for a few moments. To fuck your brains out so that poor strongest muscle of yours can replenish and breathe before you have to step back into the saddle and lead the chaotic orchestra of theatre technicians, actors, directors, and founders toward whatever critics deem a successful season. To take all the decision-making away and praise you for it.

And you have no guarantee that Viktor will do exactly that—other than the way his roaming hand squeezes your leg so firmly or the way his tongue, insistent and wanting, doesn’t ask permission before invading your mouth. The way he has stared at you the entire night has left you hotter and more bothered than anyone’s scrutiny ever has. And even if this is a mistake, it’s one you are willing to make. Your thighs shake at the thought, and Viktor gasps softly against your lips.

"You're trembling," he murmurs, voice low as the vowels roll thickly off his tongue. His free hand reaches up, pushing your hair aside. He trails his knuckles along your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly against your parted lips. "Cold, or something else?"

You give a breathy laugh, rolling your hips ever so slightly into his palm, chasing that friction. Viktor hums, pleased, before his fingers slip higher—just barely ghosting over the hanging-there nylons shielding your underwear. Your breath catches.

The cab rattles over a pothole, jolting you both, but neither of you pulls away. If anything, it only makes Viktor bolder. He shifts to face you fully, pressing you back into the seat as he kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling languidly around yours. You taste wine and your own spit on him, and it makes you dizzy.

His hand abandons your thigh only to grab your wrist, dragging it to the front of his trousers, where he's already half-hard beneath the layers of fabric. "I want you," he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip before letting his forehead drop to yours.

You palm him through the material, pressing just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. The sound alone makes a fresh gush of lust bloom in your knickers.

Then—a pointed cough.

You both jolt as if caught doing something far more illicit than you already are.

"Islington," the cab driver announces dryly, eyes fixed firmly on the road.

Viktor huffs out a laugh, dragging his fingers through his already-mussed hair. "Do you want to come in?" he says, as if you hadn’t just been grinding against each other like reckless teenagers in the back of a cab.

You swallow, pulse still pounding in your ears. "Yes," you nod. "Yes."

“I suppose we will wrap up the ride here,” Viktor says reaching for his wallet and taking out one note too many to make up for whatever the poor man had to endure. “Yeah, mate, I figured. Have a great night.”

[puppysuke]

Hii! Could you please do if the tulpar crew was dating an autistic reader? Or someone with neurodivergent traits? (As in like would they understand it/know how to handle them.) So sorry if this is a difficult ask!

oh my GODS i love this one so much being someone neurodivergent. i am so excited for this, it's not difficult at all! i'll get to my other asks after this one, but i'm just super excited for this one :3 thank you for the ask anon!

notes: continue reading under the cut!

tulpar crew dating autistic reader.

꒰ curly .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 he really tries his best to understand everything ans make you as comfortable as possible.

𖦹 he honestly makes a lists of what your sensory needs are, like what you don't like to touch and when textures you're okay with.

𖦹 he doesn't fully understand what you feel, so he often asks you to explain how you feel.

𖦹 "what are you thinking?" curly asks, noticing you seem farther away from your mind than usual. "is something too loud? not feeling right?" he asks, talking in a soft and quiet voice.

𖦹 curly does a lot of research on what you have and how to customize things for your needs.

𖦹 he also asks you a lot about your opinions. like how you feel about things, how your brain works.

𖦹 he doesn't realize at first that autism is different for everyone, so he kinda gets you basic autism special interest things like dinosaurs things, especially.

𖦹 if that's not your special interest and you tell him and explain autism a little more to him, he panics a little.

𖦹 "i'm sorry, i swear i'm not ableist!" he says quickly, eyes wide. "i just wanna do this right!"

𖦹 he treats you like a normal person when you explain everything to him, because you are a normal person. and he knows that.

𖦹 loves to listen to you info dump and gets you things based on the things you ramble about, he loves seeing how excited you get.

꒰ jimmy .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 he actually knows a lot about different disabilities, including autism due to studying a lot about it.

𖦹 he hates that he sees a lot of himself in you, certain things you do and traits. he doesn't like it.

𖦹 but he loves you (vine boom sound effect), so he tries his very best to not do anything wrong.

𖦹 jimmy is honestly pretty chill about it, i think. he just tries to read you and figure you out without having to ask.

𖦹 he lets you ramble to him about your hyperfixations / special interests, but he doesn't particularly listen, it's in one ear and out the other.

𖦹 he doesn't push you to talk when you're nonverbal and enjoys just sitting in silence with you when you're not talking.

𖦹 he makes sure to wear things that have textures you don't mind if you have bad sensory issues. he doesn't wanna drive you away from touching him.

𖦹 he likes to lay on you like he's a weighted blanket tbh and gets you a weighted blanket for when he isn't around.

𖦹 overall, he understands and knows how to help you, he just has trouble adjusting to dating you.

꒰ daisuke .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 "woah, you're autistic!? i got a touch of the tism myself!"

𖦹 you guys share interests and stuff so yap sessions all the time.

𖦹 he definitely knows what he's doing when it comes down to comforting you, whether it's with over stimulation or lack of understanding social cues or something else.

𖦹 he literally learned sign language with you for when you're non verbal tbh.

𖦹 not really much to say about daisuke here i think, he's just also autistic/nd, i wish i could say more but he def just gets it.

꒰ anya .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 she didn't exactly study psychology or brain things, but she does just to learn more about how to care for you and help you out.

𖦹 it doesn't take long for her to get used to dating someone nd, she just makes sure to read up on it a lot.

𖦹 again, i feel like there isn't much to say about anya. she learns quickly and spends lots of time trying to figure everything out to help you.

𖦹 she does pay attention when you talk about the things you like and tries to learn about those things too.

꒰ swansea .ᐟ ꒱

𖦹 honestly, i don't think he handles it all that well at first, saying some ableist shit like "oh we're all a little autistic."

𖦹 yeah, turns out he also is autistic, just refuses to acknowledge it!

𖦹 he finally decides to research a bit and ask you about your own experiences and starts to handle it better.

𖦹 he babies you a little at first but soon starts to realize that's not the thing to do and treats you normally.

𖦹 gets more well versed with neurodivergencies as time passes and figures everything out and is pretty good with it after a while!

i hope you enjoyed! if you liked this and have anything you'd like me to write from this fandom, or any other fandoms listen in my intro post, my requests are open! just ask me in my inbox and i'll write / make hc for you <3 thank you for reading!

[axtonorian]

I know I said I was nervous about word vomiting on here but I really NEED to talk about Eclipse. Specifically what's happening and leading up to his breakdown.

I wanna talk about everything leading up to it. Moving dimensions, the dead kids, Ruin showing up, the stuff with Lefty and Captain, The mimic, Puppet, Charlie. There's so much that's been going on in his life during the past...5-7 months? And I just have to talk about it.

The reason I bring up moving dimensions as contributing to the breakdown and stress is, change is hard. Moving is hard. Even if you want to move or go somewhere else it can still be overwhelming. Not only that but he had to meet all these new people that, at first, he hated and wanted nothing to do with them. Not only that but because of Sun and Moon he was basically forced to deal with his own trauma and get over it to help these two goobers who couldn't even communicate normally. He also had people constantly coming into the theater, which was supposed to be somewhat his space, and asking him for help and needing him to do things. Which had to have been stressful. Then the lab was supposed to be his space but everyone else found that too and went in without his knowledge.

Then the murders started happening. Everyone was stressed out all of the time, but he especially. I don't think that the situation was worse or easier for anyone involved but his upset was the most noticeable because it felt a bit out of character. We weren't really used to seeing him so vulnerable yet? Even with him helping Puppet and Earth it was still kinda weird. But the more it happened the more in character it felt. It was easy to tell he was not well. He's never really been well but he was doing a bit worse. I don't think anyone ever really addressed to each other how all the kids were affecting them. Eclipse, Sunlight, and Puppet are all THE WORST at doing this. I don't put Moonlight in this list because I actually think he's pretty good at talking about what upsets him and getting his emotions out, from what I've seen. But they should've talked about it. Especially Eclipse. He definitely felt useless during that time because he couldn't save some of those kids. And it's essentially happening again. His kids are in danger because of THE SAME MURDERER + another murderer and he feels useless.

There's so so soooo much grief and anger piling up that it's crushing him. The Mimic showing him what "could've been" if only he had tried to talk things out or hadn't been so "stupid". Losing Puppet, FC and Foxy leaving him behind to pick up the pieces of what happened. Trying to take care of Charlie and trying to get two of his kids back. He hasn't even finished Andrew, Jake, or Andy's bodies.

Now onto the breakdown itself. It started before that call, you could hear it in his voice. Then William gave him two weeks and Roxanne walked in at actually the perfect time. If she hadn't showed up he might not have gotten to let his emotions out the way he needed to. Then he started projecting on her HEAVILY and you cannot convince me otherwise.

"Is it in your nature to screw me over?" -This one might be pushing it but he's always been in his own way. Eclipse has always had an issue with getting out of his own way. Keeping himself from making good healthy relationships with people, putting up walls, overworking himself until he gets like this.

"You're such a failure." -Saying that to Roxy didn't make any sense. What would've made her a failure??? This one sounds A LOT like him telling that to himself just out loud.

"Got some more brain-dead ideas in there?" -This goes with the previous one. Eclipse has made a lot of plans in the past three years and they almost always fail or just get ignored. Specifically with Puppet and giving her a different alternative instead of dying or telling William that he can get him a different body and William saying he wants that body.

"Suddenly you care?" -This one is a big one for me. Eclipse said he doesn't understand why he cares so much. Like this man has spent the last 2-3 years "not caring" about anyone and doing whatever he wants. Killing and torturing whoever he wants or anyone who has wronged him in some way. Then he started getting close to people. The first being Earth. I think she was literally the first person (that he didn't make) to genuinely be nice to him and try to help him. Then there was Puppet followed by FC, Ballora and everyone from that dimension, excluding Lefty and Captain, our Monty and his kids. Even if it's been about a year since he helped Earth and started caring it still seems to be a foreign concept to him.

Then there's when he starts talking about how he's supposed to know what to do "be the best" and stuff. "I'm supposed to be good at this." "I'm supposed to be good at this stupid thing." "I'm supposed to find them." "I'm not supposed to struggle." "I'm supposed to be the guy who finds stuff, who gets it done, who kills, who gets stuff situated." this reminds me of Nexus. He felt like he was supposed to be what Old Moon was and more even if no one told him he had to he that way. I don't think anyone has told Eclipse he's supposed to be the best or anything except himself. Maybe that stems from when he was Moon. Just something that came with everything else. There's a lot of "I'm supposed to" going around.

And when he started talking about his Kids is when it seems like it starts to sink in for him. The way his voice sounds and the hesitation paired with forcing his voice to say what he needs to say. Then he goes back to "I'm supposed to be good at everything." He's so frustrated and so stressed out. Frustration is literally I think one of the worst feelings for me because it feels so infuriating and it can happen so often. Even just the build up of small things inconveniencing me can make me break as badly as he did. Being frustrated sucks. Especially when it's something as big as his kids.

Another thing I want to point out is that he says "If I can't find them, who can?"

He doesn't realize there are people who CAN help him and are probably willing to help. Like Monty or Ruin. Both are smart enough and could help. And if not anyone from the dimension he's in, maybe someone from the main dimension. Genuinely I think I would go insane if he actually asked for help from someone in the main dimension. The first option is definitely Monty since those two get along. Solar is a BIG maybe but I bet he would understand especially with everything that just happened with Jack. Might not be willing to help all the way but could give hims some outside ideas. Personally I think it would be huge if he asked Moon. It probably will literally never happen but Moon is EXTREMELY intelligent and idk that's just something that would show a lot of growth for the both of them. Again it's like literally the least likely to happen.

But he's putting so much pressure on himself when there IS OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE AS SMART AS HE IS. MAYBE SMARTER??? That can help.

Not only that but he is terrified that Andy and Jake are going through what he went through when he was stuck in his head during the Mimic situation.

"They're stuck in their heads. Their body just being used like a tool."

Eclipse was a tool. He was stuck in his head and was a tool for someone else who would've just killed him eventually or toyed with him until he snapped. Thinking that someone else might be going through that sucks and even worse thinking your own kids are going through that? Without knowing how to help?

Now the part I wanted to talk about THE MOST.

"I'm not a dad. I can't ever be a dad. I can barely take care of myself."

Oh boy. This. This hit hard.

Taking care of yourself is hard. Keeping yourself healthy and alive and well is difficult. The world feels like it's against everyone. Pair that with suddenly having to take care of other people? Small people who are more vulnerable to getting hurt or lost than you are? That's terrifying. That's really really scary. It's even worse when you believe that you can't do it or don't deserve it. Now times that by four. This mf really is a single dad who just got four kids dropped at his doorstep with absolutely no instructions or any idea on how to take care of them. Not only that but he's extremely bad at taking care of himself. Thank god he's an animatronic cause I think if he was human he would be dead.

I think he wants to be their dad. He wants to hang out with them and teach them and help them be healthy people.

He can also kinda connect to them in a way that's like...his life was basically taken from him. He never got the chance to be someone on his own. He was just a killcode that went rogue. All his kids also had their lives taken from them. All of them were robbed of a childhood. Both Andrew and Andy were murdered in probably horrific ways. Jake died from cancer at a young age and Charlie was taken from her life and put in an environment that literally poisoned her and eventually killed her.

But he does want to be their dad. He just doesn't think he can be. Parenting is one of the hardest things anyone can do. You are responsible for this person until they are an adult and can take care of themselves. You are responsible for making sure they can take care of themselves. You're responsible for making sure to teach them how to be a good person and what empathy is. Teach them what kindness is and help them become someone who helps others. Help them become someone that can be special to someone else. How you treat them can affect how they treat EVERYONE they will ever meet or ever have any kind of relationship with whether that be romantic, platonic, familial, etc.

He already feels bad about how he's taking care of Charlie. He doesn't have time to help her but at the same time parenting is about making time for all of your kids. Even then it's still hard. Eclipse has so many examples of himself failing to do things and its taking its toll. If you feel like you failed at everything else what's going to make this time different?

Everything, all of it, is sinking in. To him the whole world is on his shoulders. He has to fix everything and he doesn't understand that he can't. That there are other people who can help. And he's scared. There's a deadline. That deadline isn't like failing a class or getting fired. That deadline determines whether or not someone gets to live or dies in a horrific or gruesome way.

The fact that it took him THIS LONG to have a full on breakdown is insane. It takes so much strength to make it that far while holding it in. He's changed so much and has grown so much and oh my god the amount of stuff going on is crazy.

ANYWHIZZLEE...that's my rant. Wow that is a lot. I genuinely love this character with my soul. I love the way he developed, I love how complex he is, it's just amazing to me. I love most of the characters Davis plays and I love the whole story as a whole. Does any of this even make sense??? 😭😭😭

[im-da-bronx]

I agree up to a certain point. There are certainly a lot of things that have been invented and then mass produced that should not have been mass produced. And there will be plenty more that will be mass produced and sold that should probably not be.

But inventing for inventing’s sake is what a lot of science IS. Experimenting and finding out just to see if you CAN. And that’s wonderful! Human brains are always looking for solutions to problems that we didn’t even know existed!

But the difference is: once you’ve invented it, you publish your findings to the scientific community, and your work joins the global library of scientific knowledge. AND, WHILE you’re inventing your thing, you DONT ignore previous scientific trials and scientists who found out shit the hard way. If previous scientists say “you’ve gotta dig a flame deflector trench or else the blast from the rockets will damage the launchpad and the rocket,” YOU FUCKING LISTEN TO THEM BECAUSE THIS PARTICULAR EXPERIMENT IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE TESTING THE EFFECTIVENESS OF A FLAME DEFLECTOR TRENCH AND YOURE INTRODUCING FLAWED DATA INTO YOUR EXPERIMENT.

Also, on a different note, I agree that yes we have too many things, and too many gadgets that are highly specialized that most people don’t necessarily need. However, a lot of what people think of as “useless junk”, like those as-seen-on-tv things like Snuggies and Easy Feet (a shower shoe that cleans your feet without you having to bend over) are NOT in fact invented for lazy people. They’re accessibility tools for disabled people. Are you in a wheelchair and have trouble putting on jackets because they go behind your back? Snuggie. Do you have trouble keeping up with your foot hygiene because you have limited mobility and you can’t bend over? EasyFeet.

A lot of shit is stuff that nobody really needs, but the ones that seem specifically marketed towards lazy people are usually accessibility tools, and in those specific instances are marketed towards the general public so that they are more widely available to disabled people.

look not to sound too “durr hburr technology is bad, fire is scary, and thomas edison was a witch” but i think unless it’s lifesaving in some way, we should just stop inventing. we have enough stuff. elon musk is a wretched little man who must be stomped on like a medium sized bug.

[sdmnpact]

Hello I don’t know if you’re takeing requests right now but I was wondering if you can write a George Clarke doc x reader where it’s based off the song toxic by Britney Spears thank you

Toxic.

George Clarke x Reader ff, suggestive

♪ Now Playing: Toxic by Britney Spears ♪

[] George is a player who sleeps around with girls. You are the naive girl who fell in love with the player. You know how he is but you just want him so badly, you don't care. He's toxic but yet so addictive.

[] au because its George Clarke.

[] Warning: over the pants stuff

With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride You're toxic, I'm slippin' under With a taste of a poison paradise I'm addicted to you Don't you know that you're toxic? And I love what you do Don't you know that you're toxic?

~~~

"Three shots of vodka please!" Stacy told the bar tender as they nodded putting three shots in from of us.

I was at the club with my best friends Stacy and Margaret, and we had planned on getting very pissed. Stacy wanted to celebrate her promotion at work with a little girls night. She really wanted us to go all out. Her boyfriend said he would pick us up later so we were set to drink like it was nothing.

"Cheers." She said as the three of us rose the shot glasses in the air and downed it. The strong alcohol hitting the back of my throat causing a burning sensation.

"Okay, lets dance!" Stacy said walking towards the dance floor pulling on our arms. We made our way, the rhythm taking control of my body as I began swaying to the music.

>>>

After an hour, we were pretty buzzed and having such an amazing time. That was until I saw him. George Clarke.

The man that was suppose to be a simple fling. Just a one time thing, no big deal. Well, I kept going back like an idiot. Every time I would see him or get needy, he was the one I called. It's really stupid because, I know he sleeps around, he has a new girl basically every week. But, I literally can't get him out of my head. He's irresistible, he makes me feel so special. He treats me like a queen and I've never been able to find someone else like that. That's probably how he pulls so many girls.

I was deep in my thoughts, swaying to the music and I guess I kept staring at him because his eyes met mine. Piercing blue orbs staring into mine as he made his way towards me. I shouldn't do this, but I want to so badly. It would be a mistake to do anything with him again.

"Hey lovely." That familiar sweet voice spoke above the music. "Hey, how've you been?" I responded back hoping he came just to say hello. He leaned closer into my ear. "Not as good since I've last been with you." His voice spoke as softly as it could over the music. I trembled slightly at his words. "I can't." I said looking over towards Stacy and Mar.

"Oh come on darling, just a taste is all. It won't kill you." His words made my brain fog and the next thing I knew, I was being led towards his car. It's not like I was blackout drunk or anything either. I knew what I was doing and I still couldn't resist. '-just a taste', I need him so bad.

We got inside his car and I felt myself immediately latch onto him like he was the fix I needed after days without it. I placed my lips on his soft, plump ones. The ones I craved so badly, the ones that made my legs go weak, the ones that made me lose all of my common sense.

He pulled me on top of him so I was straddling him as we kissed roughly, both desperate for more of each other. His hands were on my lower back, slowly making their way underneath my shirt. I gasped at the cold sensation of his hands as they made contact with my skin. He used this opportunity to slip his tongue in my mouth trying to explore more of me.

My hands moved to the back of his neck, bringing him closer to me, our bodies molding together as our kiss became more intense. I felt the growing tent in his pants beneath me, letting me know he wanted more. I slowly started grinding against him.

He grunted against the kiss struggling to keep dominance allowing me to take over. I increased my pace as his grunts turned into loud moans.

His hands pierced into my hips as he wanted to be inside me desperately. I kept grinding against him, his head tilting back as I could tell he was about close.

My hips bucked as I feel warmth beneath me. "Fuck, Y/n, you always know just what I need." He laugh breathing heavily. "Im gonna have to go home now and clean up this mess... unless you wanna clean it?" He said as I crawled off him, sitting next to him.

Now, I know I shouldn't go with him but I can't help myself. "Sure." I said as he leaned in to kiss my lips.

"Let's go then baby."

[lilcowzia]

It's really hot that you literally couldn't stop at this point, even if you wanted to.

Like, you're just a big, lazy ball of lard at this point who's only purpose in life is eating non-stop. Any other value you have as a person has diminished as you've eaten your way deeper and deeper into morbid obesity. And let's be real, you're not going to lose any of these pounds of soft, jiggling fat.

You're not even going to try.

You know it's pointless. The hunger pangs would make your resolve crumble within a matter of hours. Your feeder would constantly be offering you treats, tasty meals, even a trip out to a buffet where you can stuff yourself as full as possible for them... Your feedee brain is so conditioned to love being treated like a fat, dumb cow that your conscious mind can't even compete with it any more. You *can't* diet, you *can't* exercise, you *can't* go back. It was a choice before, sometime in the distant past. But now, it's all out of your control.

And you know your impending immobility will just cement that fact even more firmly in your mind, when your feeder is in complete control of what you do and what you don't do. Any thought of rebellion, of slowing down your gain, of backing out of the inevitable mortality caused by your overeating... You'll stop even considering it an option.

And doesn't that just make you so fucking wet?

💀 yh . yknow i rlly thought that it was my choice, but now... idk, my confidence has been shaken lol im eating myself too big to function and almost all i can think abt is how good it feels, how i need to get fatter, how hungry, how helpless. its so much louder than reason

[luna-loveboop]

So in my last dream 💤 I shared with yall, Wars punched Wild, right? The night terrors villainising Warriors have not stopped. I don't even LIKE it when fics and stuff hate on Wars, I don't know why my brain is doing this to me. I have dreamed about Wars attacking Wild twice more since then.

In one Wars attempted to punch Wild but he slipped away to find Time instead, they all thought he was possessed but he was actually just being mean? ....??? Then Wars stormed off to leave the dungeon, and the shadow showed up with a creepy gloating voice going around them, so everyone was worried he had gotten ahold of Wars, and the dream ended before they found out what happened to him (RUDE, I was worried too.)

And Lo and Behold! In between the dreams featuring brawls, I had one dream where they hugged instead. Wars started yelling at Twilight for some reason I don't remember but he was almost crying and then Wild grabbed him and turned him around and hugged him instead, and said he was sorry they scared him, and that one was more fluffy and nice I liked it when they hugged it out TT

Then the next night I dreamed once again of Wars punching Wild in the freaking face, and I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS HAPPENING, but I have a vivid image in my mind of it happening, and I remember no other details other than knowing it happened, and I woke up %100 certain that Wars had decked Wild again that night.

Yeah so if they fight I want the apollo's dodgeball meme freaking everywhere bc I am so sick of these dreams, so maybe they're prophetic? I don't know, it just. keeps. happening.

Anyhoo, if you have any fics or art of these two hugging and being frens... I think I really need to see it. Or even of them fighting maybe? Maybe Wars and Wild content will help my brain figure it out.

[muttsupreme]

omg you did my request tysm 🥹🥹 you write roman's dialogue so well

another request maybe,, idk what your inbox is like but,,,, maybe more sub romey? perhaps using a vibe or toys on him if thats something youre ok with writing,,

don’t worry i love procrastinating so my inbox is like rarely ever a problem lol it just gives me reasons to avoid actually writing wips😭

ALSO sorry this is late. and sorry to everyone ever that i’m always on pseudo-hiatus. don’t fear, i still adore roman in insane ways that im too horrified to post about and i’m open to the craziest vilest inbox discussions. if i don’t get back to you, don’t worry, im probably just putting it on the back burner for the time being🤍

wow, look at that oscar winner. still buzzing for him! (pun intended)

I’m thinking a vibrator though. And it’s probably his fault anyway, he’s all curious and nosey, you call him your little Curious George as he rummages through your stuff. He sticks his hand inside your thigh-high socks just to feel the insides where your bare skin has touched, thinking of ways he can bring up why you brought thigh-high socks to an international fucking meeting thing in Sweden with just you, him, his dad, the team of his dad’s goons, and Hotty McHotterson Matsson. Are you trying to give the Ikea guy a thighjob, or give his dad a heart attack, maybe let Frank eat you out — what is the reason for this?

He finds a little baggie that he’s seen before; he thinks you keep like, your razors and shit in it, probably just a toiletries bag. He doesn’t really understand the implications of there being little kittens on the bag, but okay. Inside of the bag is just regular shit like he expected, panties mostly (but unworn, so, y’know, kind of useless to him for the most part). But oh, he doesn’t recognize this fabric, the fuck is this lacey thing?

It’s a little baggie, and it’s sort of cute that it looks like lace panties, but it’s sheer enough for the cuteness to disa-fucking-ppear real quick and in a hurry. Pink, rubbery, with a rose gold cap where the charging port is, a fucking vibrator.

He takes it out, sniffs it real quick, trying to catch a whiff of your pussy. Presses the button to figure out how to turn it off and on, the settings, the vibration patterns. He wonders if you like the pattern where it does those little staccato beats. Maybe he could match his typically-stuttering thrusts to it. Maybe you’d cry a little, wriggle around. You’d probably cream the nicest on just the lowest setting pressed to your clit, go all gooey-brained for him.

When you walk in, it’s a standoff. Roman holds up the toy, finally turned off, like a fuckin’ mob boss in the dim-lit hotel room that you’re secretly sharing.

“Are you trying to star in a porno? What is this shit?” he says, also raising your thigh-highs before dropping the fabric on the nightstand. He’s not actually pissed, just sort of like a spoiled brat who’s upset that his mommy is dividing her attention with someone else. “You planning to use this tonight, right beside me? Infidelity is calling, and holy shit, you are picking up!”

“Umm, no. It’s a vibe, not a fucking dildo,” you mention, remembering the whole conversation he’s secretly referring to. You know, the one where he almost cried because you made a mean joke about buying a dildo and he told you that you can only use a dildo if it’s just like his cock. And preferably solid gold.

“It’s just for emergencies, if i just — need it, y'know?” Because sometimes you do just need it. You’ll see Roman do something fucking insanely hot and you just don’t wanna bother him, so you go back to your room and get under a blanket with a pillow between your legs to muffle the noise, and use your vibrator. A few times, maybe, all depends on what it is. Roman feels a little bit like shit hearing that it's 'in case of emergencies' even if it's meant as a joke; he's supposed to be there in case of emergencies, that's how a normal relationship works, where two people get each other off whenever they need to be gotten off and then kiss and chat and cuddle afterwards or whatever.

“Oh — emergencies, yeah. And what constitutes an emergency, seeing Kendall do a line of coke, getting a little too bored scrolling on Twitter?” he can’t meet your eyes. He just flaps his hand, signaling for you to come closer, and you do. “Here, come here,” he demands. What a brat.

As soon as you get close enough, he drops the vibe, leans up, and kisses you, all tongue and teeth and excitability. It’s almost forced.

“Mm — mhh,” you make some noise to signal that this is clearly about more than just him being horny. You pull away.

“Fuck, what? What?” he sounds fussy.

“Roman, you don’t have to — whatever it is you think you’re doing.” It feels forced, and with Roman, you don’t like the idea of him doing something because he feels shitty. That’s kind of your job. “Chill out, just calm down, okay? It’s okay.”

“I know it’s okay, why the fuck wouldn’t it be okay?” he snaps, then makes some weird noise between a groan and a sigh. He grabs you by the waist and tugs you to straddle his lap on the bed, all playful how he normally is, burying his face in your clavicle and resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. “Sorry, Jesus. Sorry. I don’t know what the fuck came over me. Guess I got jealous thinking about you using your little fucktoy without me.” He spits out the words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth.

“I mean — you know you can just use me instead. I might be the wordy but I’m, like, usable. You can stick the vibrator on my thigh or something,” he huffs, placing a quick peck to the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. He’s still rambling, doesn’t give you the chance to respond.

“I mean really, a vibrator? Over me? I see how it is. It buzzes a little and you’re sold. Not like I’ve got fingers, a tongue…other things. No, you’d rather have some piece of fucking gross plastic that doesn’t give a shit.” The hurt is evident in his voice through his exaggerated, whiny approach.

“Oh my fucking god,” you chuckle, like it’s some kind of joke. “So what you’re saying is, you give a shit?”

“Well, I’d at least like to be there. I wanna be here instead of a piece of pink plastic, I can fucking hold you afterwards,” he doesn’t realize how humiliating the shit he’s saying is until it’s already out. There’s an awkward pause, like he’s waiting for a response but can’t imagine one that wouldn’t humiliate him. “Can you just call me a slut or something? I don’t know, might help.”

“Baby, you wanna hold me afterwards?” you melt. He visibly tenses. “Romeo, gimme the vibe. M’kay? Lemme make it up to you.” Your voice is all saccharine, like you could write love songs and poetry for the way he twitches and his littlest tics. How he follows you like a puppy into your room, even on business trips, even when you’re only a few doors down. You’d ride him until he jizzed in you a million times.

“Whatever, I wanna hold you, big whoop. Breaking news, a Roy actually expresses emotions — oh em gee! Can you just be normal? Because I am. I’m a normal, manly man. I’ll pass on being the subject of your next emo Tumblr lovecore post.”

You giggle a little, lean down. You grab the vibrator from where it sits on the bed, on top of the fancy comforter. Leaning down, it’s one of those moments where he’s just quiet for once, almost struck by you, almost scared, in that nice jittery way, impatiently waiting for what you’ll do next. You kiss him, a small peck that he doesn’t further, knowing you too well, almost certain that you have your own plans and your own way to go about them.

“Take your pants off, briefs too,” you speak quietly. “And I can show you. Okay? We can share.”

He obeys. Mumbles complaints as he unbuckles and unbuttons, lips curling up in a sneer at his own clumsiness. When you offer help, he snips little defensive remarks at you that just make you grin.

“Okay, here, fuck,” he huffs. No witty remark, he can’t even think of one. The situation is conflicting because yeah, your intent is to show him that you can use a vibrator that doesn’t resemble him at all while still thinking of him, and yay, how exciting to have the pink vibrating nub you grind your clit against on his tip, but also it isn’t your pussy? So he’s a little extra excited about the new unexpected shit, while less excited because it isn’t technically you, so — it equals out.

He yanks his pants off real fuckin’ quick but is reluctant with his briefs and shirt. Slowly he unbuttons his shirt but keeps it together, doesn’t take it off or spread it open — like he’s shy. He awkwardly fumbles with his too-tight Calvin Kleins, cock hitting his tummy as he kicks the fabric off his ankle onto the floor, lying on the bed. He lays straight, like you’re about to kill him rather than get him off. Shrugs his shoulders, arms raised a little with an expression that says all the demanding shit he can’t think to voice.

You don’t turn on the vibrator yet, you just crawl over to straddle him and kiss him, his scruff tickling your face. Holding the pink plastic in your left, your right hand encircles the meaty middle of his dick, and you aren’t just doing it for him, that’s apparent. His dick jumps in your hold and he lets out a little sigh, a whimpery one.

“Haven’t — you know it, it’s um, it has…been, like, a while. Like, a while a while.” His hands feel like they’re bruising your thighs with his grip on them. Feels like he’s floating away.

“I know. That’s why I wanna treat you well. I have manners,” you claim, a fucking bold claim in his opinion.

“Hhyeah,” he makes a sarcastic noise.

“I do! I’ll show that I do, okay?”

He’s a little put-off by how you’re so okay with it. He’s kind of not? Horrified now as he watches you reach for the vibrator, that pink fucking rubber is making him feel all tipsy-topsy-turvy and the second you turn around, and it’s a knee-jerk reaction, he kisses you. You can’t not be a little shocked. It’s all sudden and teeth clacking and his tongue forcing itself in your mouth, his hands grabbing your face.

You giggle and he makes a little “mmfh” noise when he pulls away, plopping back against the pillows. “Don’t — laugh at me, fuck, I’m trying to make this at least a little romantic.”

“Yeah, well you put the ‘Roman’ in romantic, don’t you?” you tease.

“You — oh, can we, uumm—,” he’s twitchy and almost scared. It’s hard to actually believe this is happening, he feels lightheaded.

“Shhh-sh-sh. Stay down,” you push him down, keep him still. “Good boy,” you say sweetly, almost taunting him, inching his briefs down as he instinctively lifts his hips up. His tip is leaky and he’s half-hard and fuck, it makes you feel like a drooling perv just looking at him, his soft tummy revealed from his shirt hiking up, his pretty dick, his balls on display. You press the tip of the vibrator to the base of his dick.

“Be good for me,” you say and he just nods, eyes closed like he’s scared to get a shot instead of — this.

It starts slow and low and he bucks his hips. You run the vibrator up and down his cock before circling it on his tip; he’s fully hard in no time.

“I’m — stop, stop it,” he demands, fucking up into the vibrator.

“You wanna tell me what you’re thinkin’ about?” you continue circling his tip, pressing it against the sensitive ridge on the underside, the vibrator still on the lowest setting.

“Fucking — fucking you into oblivion,” he threatens through a swallowed whimper. “Fuck! You — you, okay? I get it, I get it, you can stop now, I can’t keep—,” his cock jerks and oh, he’s so close.

“Keep on. Be detailed, tell me more. Prove it to me.”

“Oh — yeah, o-okay, fuck,” he gasps, holding onto your wrist and fucking up into the air, bucking his hips to slide his dick against the vibrator. “You, you’re pussy, it’s used this and been against it or whatever, so — my…dick, is against where your pussy, has been, kinda?”

“Uh-huh? That’s nice,” you coo, your other hand grabbing his dick and slowly jerking him off at the base of his dick. He jolts. “Keep talking to me.”

“Can’t — can’t, can’t, I’m gonna fuckin’ blow my load all over that thing if you don’t stop, now,” he threatens, thighs twitching visibly beneath you.

“Go ahead, honey. Do what you gotta do,” you kiss the tip of his nose and it’s chaste, but it’s the last fucking straw for him. He cums in thin spurts, staining your shirt at the tummy, and his button-up, but most of it landing on the vibrator that keeps on buzzing.

“Okay, you proved your point, Jesus fuck — let me—,”

“Uhn-uhn. Just ‘cause you cum doesn’t mean I’m done with you,” you say, clicking the button to harshen the vibrations against his red and cum-slick tip. He melts.

“Don’t, I’m gonna — I’m not fucking — made for this shit! Blow-up Roman-doll is gonna deflate, I’m not—,” he makes a silly, garbled noise of frustration that makes you giggle. “Oh — fuck, I’m so glad you think this is funny. Nice.”

You press the vibrator to his balls for a moment and his dick jerks like a live wire as you cup them, holding them in place with the hand that was once on his cock. You bounce on his lap with his thrusts against fucking nothing.

“Please, can you just give me your, I don’t — mouth? Pussy? Ass? Fuckin’ pinkie toe?”

“You gotta learn to love the vibe. ‘S yours now, too, y’know,” you say, moving it back up to his dick once you get all your eye-candy in of his cock bobbing. His eyes roll back.

“Again, gonna—,”

“Good boy,” you drawl. Your hand moves to his tip, holding the vibe to his shaft as you milk the cum from him.

He lets out some pathetic noise that’s almost cute, like he’s truly as desperate as he looks with his hips twitching and hands gripping the skin of your thighs for dear life, eyes taking pitiful glances at your own eyes when they can stay open despite how misty they’ve gotten. He spurts a nice little dribble of cum, pathetic and milked dry, just running on empty today. It’s sort of hot, in the most piteous way.

“That good, do you think?” you pull the vibrator away and turn it off, holding it up.

“Good, good. ‘M good, yeah,” you chuckle at his drowsiness and drop the vibrator on the bed, but your hand doesn’t stop milking him.

“One more. Just us this time, right? That’s what you wanted?”

“Mmmhm, mnn,” he nods and fucks into your fist lazily.

“Fuck it for me. Can you do that?”

He nods excitedly, leaning into your touch as you run your hands through his hair, down his face.

His hips hump the hole you’ve made with your hand, cocktip poking through with nearly every thrust, leaking onto you.

“Already?” you ask in response to his cock twitching in your hold.

He nods his head sheepishly, “Uh-huh, I gotta.”

“Go ahead then, come on. Gimme a good one and next time we’ll get you a fleshlight. Can pretend it’s me when—,” he cums before you can even finish your sentence, his thighs shaking and hips bucking, dick fucking your fist nice and deep, like he’s in your pussy trying to fuck his cum as deep as possible, rut against your cervix. “…I was gonna say you can pretend your fleshlight’s me when we’re away on these things, but okay.”

“Yeah, I connected the…dots,” he says breathily, putting his fingers together to symbolize the ‘dots’ being ‘connected’. “Fuck. Gross. Three trips to splooge city enough, ball-drainer?” His cum is nice and thick this last time, came real hard. “Or you want me to let you hump my thigh? Come on, sit on your daddy’s knee,” he drawls lazily and giggles, tugging you on top of him, not a thought spared for your clothes being coated in his cum or your immediate cringe.

“Sleep. Sleeeeep, now, shut up, shut the fuck up, no — nope, none of the whole thing, just sleep, all I want. Be my weighted blanket.” He holds you like a teddy bear on top of him. He’s snoring, nice and tuckered out, in minutes, cum drying on both of your clothes and your hand, vibrator lying on the bed beside you both.

[novaursa]

Can I request a Cregan Stark x Reader fic? I really want to see more Dark!Cregan themes so with that in mind here’s my idea sorry if it’s long!

The reader is Jaces twin sister and has always taken to charity work, specifically tending to the ill and injured. She enjoys creating new medicines as well as different procedures/treatments to injuries, most of them tend to lean towards women thought as that’s where there is so much more to discover. It’s been said had she been born a man she may have been a maester, however the life of a septa was not for her either for she was nothing if not the blood of the dragon. She has the temper and tongue to go with it to the point of need to keep her practicing small and quiet as she’s clashed with the faith and their beliefs of a lady learning such things (thought it’s more then likely that she incurred such wrath for simply being better at it then them). Enter the betrothal, Rickon is about 2-3 years old needing a mother the Warden of the North a new wife, Rhaenyra seeing a good opportunity to gain an ally through blood jumps at the chance to join the houses much to her daughter’s dismay. Reader is super rude and standoffish with him within the confines of propriety, she practically a master with cutting remarks. However she LOVES Rickon as he’s her salvation (believing it’s a lost cause to try for children when he already has an heir) and it drives Cregan NUTS he is after all just man and man that has been with out the feel of woman for years now. Reader is practically perfect if it weren’t for how much she dislikes him, his son loves her, his staff love her, his people love her. Hell even his banner men even do since she has so many of their wives ears. Here’s where the dark 18+ stuff starts, reader has actively started to get on his nerves with the disrespect so Cregan starts tracking her moonblood with the intention of ‘putting a babe in her to calm her’ (classic sexiest era man brain but stick with me) he knows the reader is attracted to him whether or not she wants to admit it. He’s seen her get hot and bothered looking at him during training. All of it comes to head though when she throws the insults of savage northerner at him and he snaps, “I can show you savage princess” with a small display of strength, ripping the front of her dress and grabbing her neck to push her shocked face up to his (very dub-con vibes) he ends up just keeping her in his chambers for the whole of her fertile week, doing everything from licking, to fingers to his cock. He ends up getting her pregnant with Westeros first successful triplet birth. By the time Luke’s petition rolls around and they go to support him, the triplets are a few months old and she’s already pregnant again. Haven’t fallen completely for him (All due to his slight manipulations)

You can pick if reader is a dragon rider and if they’re Valyrian features are more prominent or they look more like a bastard or have bits of both!

This feels like so much and I’m sorry if it’s too long I just wanted to make sure I gave like a good description of characterizations. Your writing is so amazing and well detailed! Please delete this if you are uncomfortable with anything I requested! I was so happy when I saw you had your requests opened for my birthday month I took it as my own little sign. 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Hope this finds you well and in good health!

Requests are still fucking closed!

Did you read what is posted?!

Did you!?

This just tells me how a lot of you are ignoring everything on purpose.

If I see this request again, or something similar in my inbox when requests are open, it will be deleted.

You are not getting a head start before others. You wanna play in my backyard, you'll play by my fucking rules.

Get in the line!

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Quiet Brain Corner

Hi!! I love your writing so much! I have a request for you, if you’re interested! I think the headcanon that Patton raised the light sides and Janus raised the dark sides makes a lot of sense— I can definitely see them wanting to exert control over the other sides for different reasons. Janus is surprisingly a good parent, but Patton is arguably not. The upside of this is that Logan and Roman grow very close, and they become a guaranteed safe space for each other. The downside is that sometimes they’ll talk to the other sides and be like, “yeah, you know, the [insert bad parenting tactic here].” And Janus, Remus, and Virgil are collectively like “??? No???” Anyways. I hope you’re having a good day/night - anon

Read on Ao3

Pairings: none

Warnings: child abuse

Word Count: 2857

It starts like a normal conversation. It really does start as a normal, everyday, we're-just-talking-about-things conversation. Remus and Roman were talking about projects they'd worked on when they were younger, how they might do them differently now, how they had always been a little more similar than everyone—including them, sometimes—had liked to admit, and then Roman had mentioned the Quiet Brain Corner.

"What the fuck is that?"

Roman waves his hand. "You know, the thing where Patton takes my notebooks and stuff and I'm not allowed to Create for a bit. But I think that having the Disney movies right around—"

"No, no, no, we're not fucking moving past that," Remus barks, slapping his hand down on the table, "what the fuck do you mean?"

Roman frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? What are you talking about? What do you mean, Patton takes away your shit and you're not allowed to Create?"

Across the room, there's a low snap as Janus shuts his book. Even Virgil looks up from his phone. Roman rolls his eyes. "Is this you trying to make a show of how much better behaved you were as a kid? 'Cause it's not gonna work, Re."

"First of all, how dare you accuse me of being well behaved—" Janus snorts— "and second, how the fuck is that what you got out of me being concerned about you?"

"Concerned—Re, why are you being concerned about me?"

"Oh, gee, I dunno, maybe because you just told me that your parental figure was taking away your ability to do your function?"

"You're making a bigger deal out of this than it was, Re."

"It doesn't sound like that to me! Sounds like you're not making nearly as big of a deal out of this as you need to be!"

"Okay, you once threw a tantrum because the slime in Ollie's pond was, and I quote, '3% less viscous than it should be,' so I'm not sure if you—"

"Tell me you don't give a shit about Ollie's health another time, Ro—"

"Oh, fuck, Re, no, that wasn't what I meant at all, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Virgil says quickly as Remus mutters a curse and throws his arms around Roman, "easy, let's just—let's take a second, okay?"

Roman wraps his arms around his brother muttering another apology. Remus just shakes his head and buries his face in the crook of Roman's neck. Over his shoulder, he makes eye contact with Janus, watching them with a wrinkle between his brows. Roman swallows heavily and pats Remus's shoulder. Remus just holds on tighter.

"Uh, Princey?"

"Yeah?"

Virgil tugs on the strings of his hoodie. "Can you…can you explain a little bit more about what the Quiet Brain Corner was? I think we're—I think we're a little confused."

"You guys didn't have something like this?"

"We had No-Stim time where if one of us got really overwhelmed, we'd have, like, a semi-time-out thing, but that sounds like it was a different sort of thing."

"The Quiet Brain Corner is where distractions go when we can't focus."

Something works at the corner of Virgil's mouth. "What does that mean?"

"You know, how phones and computers get taken away if homework isn't done, or whatever. If we didn't do our chores or pay attention during dinner or family time, or if we weren't spending enough quality time with each other. They go in the Quiet Brain Corner until we've proven we can use them responsibly."

Virgil's face is getting paler and paler. Remus is still refusing to let go of him. Roman frowns, trying to figure out why they're all getting so upset. He looks at Janus, who carefully sets his book aside.

"What sorts of things went in the Quiet Brain Corner?"

"Uh, my notebooks, my sketchbooks, some of my, like, other projects? Why are—"

"Please, sweetie, just humor me?"

Roman sighs, resigning himself to having a limpet for a brother for a little while. "Yeah, those…uh, sometimes my Imagination Key would go in there too, I—ack! Remus!"

"He took your key?"

Roman's head snaps back at the tone of Janus's voice. Janus is glaring at him. He—oh, god, did Janus not know? Did Patton not tell him?

Fuck, does Roman have to tell him?

Without realizing it, he curls into Remus's arms, trying to hide behind his brother, before he realizes what he's doing and snaps himself out of it. Straight shoulders, straight spine, chin up, voice even. He remembers this.

"Yes," he says, impressed with how steady his voice is, "I…thought Patton would have told you. When I was unable to confine my Imagining to what was…what was right, I wouldn't be allowed in until I could prove that I learned my lesson. I'm sorry, I thought Patton would have told you."

"Told me what?"

Roman shrinks in on himself again. "How…how hard I was to raise."

Remus growls in his ear. Something terribly dark flickers across Janus's expression before he forces it neutral. He takes a deep breath, one hand retreating into his cloak for a moment, then folding them calmly in his lap.

"What else gave you the impression that you were difficult to raise?"

A laugh chokes its way out of him. "What, you mean aside from the everything about me?"

No one else laughs. Janus just looks at him expectantly. Roman swallows.

"I, um, well, it's no secret that I'm…you know, loud. And I don't always—I didn't always know when the right time to be loud was so I'd—I'd make noise when I wasn't supposed to. And I'm not—I focus on stuff that I think is important but I'm not so great at knowing what is important and I don't—I'm not that smart, you know? So I gotta—I needed a lot of—they had to take a lot of time teaching me how to—"

"Who's they, Ro?"

"Huh?"

Remus pulls back and Roman stares at the tears on his brother's cheeks. "Who's they, Roman?"

"Re, Re, you're crying—"

"Don't give a shit." His brother glares at him. "Who is 'they?'"

"…Patton and Logan, Remus, why are you—"

Remus sticks out his hand and summons Logan. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?"

"Re!"

"Why are you calling my brother stupid?"

Logan blinks. "Hello, Remus. I do not believe I'm calling Roman stupid, but—"

"That's not what he just said!"

"Oh for—Remus, no. I said that Patton and Logan had to teach me a lot more than they should have, not that they were calling me stupid." He glances at Logan. "I'm sorry, I don't know why they're so upset, we were just talking about things."

"It's quite alright, I wasn't doing anything terribly important. And—Roman, you know that I—"

"Of course I know, Specs. You too."

Logan smiles, reaching over to ruffle Roman's hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm really confused right now, but yeah, I'm fine." He sighs. "Maybe you can do a better job of explaining things 'cause the way I'm doing it seems wrong."

"Certainly. What are we talking about?"

"This bullshit that you call the Quiet Brain Corner?"

Something flickers across Logan's face before he sighs, adjusting his glasses. "Ah, yes. It's been a while since I was in there."

"Since you were in there?" Virgil gets up off the couch. "The hell does that mean? Princey said only 'distractions' or whatever go in there!"

Logan blinks. "There you are, then."

"It was easier when he put both of us there at the same time," Roman mumbles, more thinking out loud than realizing what he's saying, "'cause then we could, like, hold hands and wait together. I use the same code with some of the Imagination creatures now."

"Oh, really? Which ones?"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on—" Virgil holds his hands up in an 'X'— "what do you mean, 'code?'"

"You're familiar with Morse Code, aren't you?"

"Yeah, what the fuck does that have to do with…" Virgil trails off, mouth hanging open. "Wait, you couldn't talk while you were…?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't be very effective against distractions if the distractions could keep being distracting, now, would it?"

The living room goes silent. Roman tries to disentangle himself from Remus, but Remus just clenches his jaw and pulls Logan in as well, leaving them awkwardly smushing shoulders together until Logan puts his arm around Roman's shoulders, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Roman's neck with a wink. He taps his finger against his scalp: one long tap, two short taps, one long tap. Their code for you okay? Roman nods back and Logan smiles.

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Janus says lowly, "Patton would take your things—things that you used to be your functions, or at the very least, things that were your coping mechanisms or interests, and keep them away from you until you behaved in a way that was acceptable to him, and when you were 'distracting,' would put you in there as well with instructions to be silent until he let you out?"

"We would have to prove that we learned our lesson in order for things to come back from the Quiet Brain Corner, but yes, that is the gist."

"And how would you prove such a thing?"

Roman can't help the way he shrinks in on himself again, Logan stepping closer out of habit. "We would explain what we did wrong, apologize for it, and suggest an alternative behavior for going forward. If it was enough, then—"

"If?" Virgil's hands ball into fists. "What the hell do you mean, 'if?'"

Roman chokes out a laugh. "Come on, shadow-ling, you know I'm not always great at apologies. And it's not like I'm…"

Logan rubs his back when he can't finish. "Sometimes we wouldn't get it right the first time, so we'd try again the next day."

"Don't lump yourself in with me, Specs, you always got it quicker than I did."

"Not always," Logan says quietly and now it's Roman's turn to put his hand on Logan's shoulder, squeeze him closer, hum something the way he always does to remind them both that they can speak, they can make noise, it's okay, they're not in there. "Thank you."

"Sure. We both know that most of the time it was my fault you ended up in there, so…"

Logan chuckles, resting their foreheads together. "Noisemaker and Chatterbox."

"The best duo since peanut butter and chocolate."

"It's peanut butter and jelly, Roman."

"Sorry, I can't hear you over how good peanut butter and chocolate is."

And they probably would've continued to argue about it had they not been interrupted by the sudden impact of someone else abruptly joining their group hug. Remus grumbles slightly as Virgil jams his head into the crook of Roman's shoulder, his arms so tightly around all of them that Logan grunts in protest, freeing his hands enough to wrap them around the twins.

"Virgil, what—"

"Where the fuck is this corner?"

"What?"

"This punishment corner, where the fuck is it, I want to burn it."

"Not without me," Remus growls, "and not without Janny."

"I really think you guys are overreacting—"

"It's not that big of a—"

Both of them cut off as Janus stands up. In an instant, Roman's two feet tall again, his notebook clutched in sweaty hands, Logan's arm through his as they stare up, shrinking under a shadow, words already dying and drying on their tongues, the musty smell of unclean carpet and old paint burning their noses—

"—tie, sweetie, look at me, it's only me, it's just Janus, it's okay, sweetie, I promise."

Roman blinks. He reaches for Logan—one long squeeze, one short squeeze, two long squeezes—Logan's hand wraps around his and doesn't let go, there's something on his face, things around him, he's being coaxed to the floor, he's holding onto Logan so tightly—

"Shh, shh, it's okay—boys, go get the good blankets and pillows—that's it, my dears, just look at me, focus on me…"

No noise, Roman thinks hysterically as he feels tears start to slip down his cheeks, no noise, no noise.

"Oh, you poor things…come here, come here, that's it, that's right." He's pulled into something dark and sweet-smelling, Logan's hand in his still as something starts to rub soothing circles into his back. "I've got you now, I'll look after you, it's all going to be alright."

Logan squeezes his hand—two short, two long—and Roman tries to blink away enough of the tears to see what's going on. Janus's face swims into view, concern written plainly across every feature, all six hands fussing over the two of them as Virgil and Remus come back with their arms piled high with blankets and pillows.

"J-Janus?"

"Yes, sweetie, it's me, I'm here, alright? Oh, look at you, my little prince…" A gloved thumb carefully brushes away a few tears. "You cry as much as you need to, okay? We'll make a little nest right here and you can get all of it out."

"I can cry?"

"Oh, baby, of course you can cry, it's alright, you're allowed to do that." Janus cups his cheek in his hand. "Would you like some cuddles while you cry? I know Remus wants to squish you into next week."

Roman blindly opens his arms and is rewarded with a heavy Remus-sized weighted pillow flopping onto his chest, his other hand still wrapped around Logan's. He glances over and sees Virgil crouching next to Logan, murmuring softly into his ear and squeezing his other hand. Janus pulls blankets and pillows closer around them, keeping up a steady murmur of his own. Then a sob chokes out of Logan and the dam in Roman's chest breaks and they're sobbing together, each wrapped up in someone else's arms, clinging to their hands like a lifeline, and they can make noise and everything's fine and they're not in trouble and no one's angry at them and they—they—

"Hey, what's going on?"

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Well, from Logan and Roman, anyway. They both damn near stop breathing.

"Patton," comes Janus's voice, cold and dark from miles away, "you and I are going to have a little conversation."

"It's okay," Remus mumbles into Roman's ear, "it's okay, Roro, nothing's gonna happen to you. Nothing at all. I'm right here, Virgil's right there, Janus is going to take care of it, okay? Nothing's gonna happen ever again."

Roman can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't make a single goddamn noise. Logan's stiff as a board next to him, even as Virgil tries to coax him into relaxing again, because they can't make a noise, they can't be distracting, they can't be—they can't—

Splash!

Roman splutters, flailing around—Logan, where's Logan—there's Logan, also flailing in the shallow pool they suddenly appeared in—Remus must've sunk them into the Imagination, yes, that's—

They're in one of the shallow pools near the glowstone caverns at the top of the falls. The water is warm, the sky a light purple as the pale pink clouds drift across the horizon. They're—they're safe. They're in the Imagination. No one can touch them in here. They…

Oh, God.

"Hey, c'mere," Remus coaxes, tugging him over to the rocks, "c'mere and just lay out here and dry off, it's okay. We're here now. It's gonna be alright."

"Logan? Logan—Logan, I—"

"I'm here, I'm right here, it's—are we—?"

Roman swallows, water mixing with the tears still on his cheeks. "I think we're okay."

The Imagination can only do so much out of the confines of its doors. Inside, of course, it can do things like warm water until it is pleasant to sit in, send gentle breezes to dry clothes and tousle hair, craft dazzling skies and brilliant stars to soothe its darlings to sleep, and barricade said doors to anyone who would dare disturb them.

Outside, however, well…it can only do something so small as slight rearrangements. Say, making sure a certain corner disappears entirely, never to be seen again.

(Let someone try to keep Creativity from it again. Let them try.)

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography@princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl@raven1508

[neverpathia]

Intro/About Me Post

I offer the humblest salutations from one who has never been humble.

So here I am. The StP and perhaps ASoIaF communities might've seen Nev around from time to time, but here I am in the flesh (pun intended, heh). I ramble. I doodle. Nothing much to see here.

You may call me Nev, Nevvey, or Neville, or really any other derivative nickname so long as it's not too feminine. Truth be told, I don't give half a damn.

I'm a losermale and a simp, though hopefully not in the incel way. Gods forbid.

Other Socials:

Reddit - u/FyreSkar

Discord - @neverpathia

AO3 - Nevverything

Scratch - Neverpathos

I'm pretty lackluster elsewhere, and the bulk of my (consumable) content's up in my Tumblr anyway.

My reblog dumpster's at @neverpasta

Fun fact. My sona's a gargoyle sentinel. He's also a little undead.

So I'm ethnically Chinese, though I don't speak too much of my mother tongue. My nationality's Malaysian.

Also, I'm FtM trans and gynosexual (attracted to feminine attributes). Bit of an oxymoron, go figure.

Tags:

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What did you expect? I haven't organised my blog just yet, pardon me.

Sorry if I haven't answered your ask. I do apologise, sincere and true. I just have a shitty work ethic and a shittier brain.

No empty promises or guarantees: if I'm not getting to it there's a pretty solid chance I never will. But I do read it! Feel free to leave stuff in my asks anytime-- even if I don't necessarily respond, I do love seeing what everyone has to say to me, and it always gets a much-needed smile on my face.

Also, my DMs are open, though if you're gonna chat me up then I'd rather you do it on Discord instead. I do like talking, though. This one's a shameless extrovert.

The Other-People-Promotion Section (please check them all out, I beg of you, amazing stuff out there):

@everestgale - They have a pretty distinctive artstyle and their lineart is clean as hell. And two whole sets of voice designs somehow. And Opportunist brainrot. Also, they run the (absolutely horrendously utterly indescribably) chaotic Yap Central Station on Discord. I repeat, really good art, but they're also a very chill person and pretty dang nice in general. And they were one of my first friends coming into the fandom, plus they helped me out a lot so I truly do thank them.

@hello-universe-lovers - Holy shit her ideas. Holy shit, her ideas. She has a fuck ton of AUs and they way she does characterisation is just [careens out a window vigorously explosively.] I'm going to have to compliment her designs too, particularly her Opportunist, whose rehabilitation's probably universally acknowledged throughout the fandom by now but he's hot. She's helped me out a lot too. Best buddy to yap about traumatizing my voices with.

@miyuka1709 - JAW DROPPING ART WITH HOT GIRLS. Another one with smoking hot character designs, and the rendering, and the composition and the. The. And this is another one who gladly endures my ramblings in my Discord thread and actually compliments my incoherencies. Also, pretty art. Lovely artstyle, I must stress. And she animated my Opportunist that one time and I'm still not over it. She has mastered the illegible sorceries of Live2D somehow.

I don't have as much to say about the rest of you but just know that you're very appreciated.

@pareidolla @phantasmatoucan @lavb-b @writingdevil @orcatnip @salty-an-disco @acethekenku @sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now

and pretty much everyone else in this community, but alas, I can only annoy so many people.

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Mod Rae here! Tumblr doesn't let me nicely and neatly edit Admin's posts to add in commentary because [rambling rant about the back end of shared accounts and the way page membership works] Functional Webbed Site, so!

Sonic CD question:

Rae: I've never actually listened to either because I am a Fake Ass Sonic Fan, but I concur that having MORE Sonic CD music always sounds good to me!

Console family question:

Rae: Hmmm, that's a tough one. Playstation is the console family I have the most history with and has a lot of games I am Very Attached To (especially with my getting into weird PS2 games) but I do love my DS and Switch..... Playstation, maybe?

Yoko Shimomura thoughts:

Rae: Absolute queen and icon of gaming music, I was actually mostly only familiar with her KH stuff and knowing she had an illustrious career well before that prior to this blog, so seeing more things she's worked on has been great!

Fave FFXIV Villain:

Rae: Ough..... I'm wracking through my brain going "is there anyone who beats the obvious basic bitch answer......" but I think I have to concede that I am an EXTREMELY basic bitch and I think nobody does it quite like Emet-Selch. He's a tired old man, he's a theatre kid, he's deeply traumatised, he's genocidal, he spends half of Shadowbringers just hanging around with you for funsies, he shoots a wizard with a gun (he is also a wizard)... Character of all time.

Nerdcore videogame songs:

Rae: I don't get the final say on submissions, ofc, but I err on the side of "submissions need to be songs from videogames or else an arrangement thereof", whereas the Miracle of Sound et al songs I've heard tend towards wholly original "fansongs". I think there are some cool songs within the genre, though I rarely deliberately look for them!

Blog-related fulfilment:

Rae: I feel like this one was aimed more at Admin, since I mostly jumped on as a Devoted Fan Who Wanted To Do His Part! I've been getting a lot of joy out of learning more about music in various games and the people who make it, though. I think ULTRAKILL has been the standout for "game I knew basically nothing about to Oh Fuck Hello??" from this blog, although special mention to #626, Dark Riders from Star Stable Online because I'm still not over it WHAT THE FUCK????

Favourite kind of bread:

Rae: The sappy answer is "my housemate makes bread and it's really nice, I really like it :)" but more generally, I'm a slut for brioche.

Least favourite song:

Rae: Oh man that's a great question, I'm actually having to think on it. Easy answer is "also Ao Oni Chase Theme" but I already knew that one, it's like evil nostalgia. I'm sure there's something but alas, I have a memory like a sieve. I tend to find if I dislike something it's for weirdly nitpicky things like flat vocals or timing feeling off?

Discovering music:

Rae: I'm about the same as Admin, I've heard shockingly little of the music submitted! Especially so for series a lot of people know, like Kirby or various Mario games or, like, Minecraft!

Penis + Interesting results:

Rae: Penis poll is one of my favourite Tumblr terms, it delights me every time. True penis music honestly. Honestly, I always find it interesting when there's a very close and extreme split between two results -- #218, 666 Kill Chop Deluxe from LISA: The Joyful is the most notable example, but there are a few and I always like seeing them.

Submission more people should know:

Rae: Concurring with NieR, especially Replicant my beloved. It has Kaine!! Do it for her!! Independently, I could say I'm disappointed by how low recognition numbers were for #441, Giselle or #845, Cicio from The House in Fata Morgana but in truth I'm just happy to be here. Maybe with enough rizz (going PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE in notes) I can get that Like and Know up to double digits one day......

Expected more requests:

Rae: I'm possibly a little biased in my viewpoint but I'm surprised by the fact that the Fate series has so few submissions. Fewer than comparable VN series I thought were less popular in the West/on Tumblr-- okay actually, I need to comment on this because it keeps making me laugh, WHO SUBMITTED ALL THESE TRACKS FROM RANCE??? Don't actually answer that, I'm just delighted and bewildered by the fact we've apparently attracted like all ten Rance stans on Tumblr??? Anyway, there's barely any Fate here and that's wild to me.

Favourite non-VGM music:

Rae: God, choosing an individual piece is quite difficult but I think my gut choice for my favourite song is "Unknown Mother Goose" by wowaka, both the original Miku version and the hitorie version. It's either that or something by The Hoosiers, I think.

Ask Masterpost #7 (Admin Asks) -- 3/15/2025

Maybe I should change the posting date of these to Sunday so I stop procrastinating them on Saturdays, LOL.

Anyways, this is the first edition of non-blog focused asks (fun questions, personal questions, etc), so I'm not going to write up a summary since none of this is essential information for submissions or anything like that :).

Since I'm writing it up so late in the day I'm going to post it with my answers, but Mod Rae may update it with their answers so feel free to check back! In the future hopefully I'll be able to write it up in enough time to give them a chance :').

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@foulwinter asked: Ever heard of either of Sonic CD's soundtracks? I grew up with the US soundtrack but I love both of them. I think the war between which soundtrack is silly when you look at it from the perspective of having MORE Sonic CD music

Admin: I have never been a big sonic fan, so I have no horse in this race :'). But I do agree that it's nice to have more soundtrack per soundtrack!

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@pearlhoardingdragon asked: If you had to stick with one family of consoles for the rest of your life, would it be playstation, nintendo, or xbox?

Admin: PC 4 Lyfe (I never had enough money for consoles growing up </3). I'd probably pick Nintendo though, since I like the switch and DS.

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Thoughts on Yoko Shimomura?

Admin: LOVE HER!!! I haven't played a lot of the games she has worked on but from what I've heard from her she is 🔥🔥🔥🔥

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who's your favourite villain in ffxiv?

Admin: The only Final Fantasy villain I know is Sephiroth... and I think he's cute and silly 💔

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stance on Nerdcore video game songs? (Miracle of Sound, Aviators, JT Music, etc) both as submissions and just in general.

Admin: I don't think I have a strong/opinion-worthy stance on any genre of music, because all music that I like regardless of genre is good music. Simple as.

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Would you say you've gotten fulfillment out of starting this project? I remember you have it posted somewhere that you started this blog because you wanted to listen to new music, so what's it been like? Any favorites that stand out?

Admin: Yes!! This has been really fun and ESPECIALLY so since I finally figured out some things to help me maintain it without messing with my insane schedule within the last few months. I definitely need to make a proper list of my favorites but I think my most favorite song that I discovered 100% from submissions alone is #212, Tenebre Rosso Sangue from ULTRAKILL. (this wasn't an anon ask, but I forgot to write the blog name before deleting the ask to clear it from my inbox... </3)

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what is your favourite kind of bread, actually?

Admin: Any flatbread!!!!!! Pita bread, naan, roti, and especially tortillas <-- put it in my mouth

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out of every song posted, do you have a least favourite? if so, what?

Admin: The Ao Oni chase theme (#125) because it scared me.

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thank you for all your hard work hosting this blog. question: has it been fun to discover so many songs through the blog? the level of variety is really cool. out of curiosity, how much of the music would you say you have personally already known before they were submitted?

Admin: I'd say I've probably only heard 5-10% of the songs submitted here before :'). But that just means that this blog is highly effective at helping me find new music!

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my favourite kind of results are what i like to call the penis results. it usually happens when "like it/first time hearing it" gets the lead while "like/sounds familiar" and "don't feel strongly" take like 10-12% each. are there any specific poll results that you've found particularly interesting for any reason

Admin: 1. I'm calling that phenomena penis results now and 2. #689, which has the highest 'Like and Familiar' result of any song at 49.60%. The average % for this category is 19.19%.

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Have you ever gotten a submission on this blog that you’re disappointed more people don’t know?

Admin: EVERY NIER SONG EVER!!!!!!!! GO PLAY NIER REPLICANT RIGHT NOW IT IS 60% OFF UNTIL MARCH 20TH.

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Do you have a series you expected to get a lot of requests for, but haven't?

Admin: There's surprisingly few Persona requests, which I expected to be more popular. There's also one song in particular (not from persona) that I'm surprised I haven't seen yet (not naming it, I don't want to invite inorganic submissions!)

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what is your favorite piece of music outside videogames?

Admin: This is hard because my favorites are pretty much always changing (other than the one song I listen to obsessively multiple times a day, of course) and I can never pick just one anyways... I think I'd have to go with (as of writing this) 'With All Its Complexities' by Kyoumeni from her album 'And Then I Woke Up.'

[solanj]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[lightnersdream-archive]

i've been thinking about exactly why people portraying one of the other crew members successfully killing Jimmy as a "for what you did to Anya" kind of thing rubs me the wrong way a bit and it's because like..... this is just another form of taking agency away from Anya, in a way. it's kind of framing her as some meek, shivery woman-thing who's entirely at the mercy of the men around her, either to hurt her or save her.

(i understand these are mostly for wish fulfillment on the audience's behalf because everyone would like to see Jimmy pay for his crimes. whether or not this is the intention of the person writing it isn't really relevant, characterization happens with or without intent. i feel like it misses the point by portraying it as an 'ideal ending'.)

because... Anya is a capable person. she takes things into her own hands when she can. it was partially(?) her idea to get into the cargo,

(before he interrupts her.. remember when she interrupted Curly in the dead pixel segment?)

it was her idea to get the code scanner from the cockpit,

it was her idea to get the medication from behind the foam.

(the chance to do these things herself is not given to her.)

she'd been keeping Curly alive for months in a critical state somehow, her psych evaluations at the start are only so useless because Jimmy refuses to take it/her seriously and Curly is obviously biased when he puts it into his own hands. he's known him a long time, like he said. "I'll just put good for that one."

there's not a lot of material to work with because of how the game is framed, but it's there. we are working with two very biased perspectives and neither one lends Anya what she deserves

there's significant changes in how she speaks post- and pre- crash, and depending on who she happens to be talking to. i recommend re-reading her dialogue, because the difference is drastic

she acts the way she does around Jimmy because he has tangibly done horrible things to her, is actively hostile, and physically could not escape him by any means. she can't take away Curly's agency herself, in my eyes. you have to remember that Especially in the post-crash segments of the game, it's entirely from Jimmy's POV, and he obviously does not (and has never) thought very highly of her or treated her with a shred of respect

i've seen a general idea that she can't bear to hurt other people for any reason, but that doesn't really track to me. this is the real point of the post by the way

it seems based on the parts where she says she struggles to give Curly medication. "It just hurts him so much, I can't stand the noise." "It makes me nauseous."

it's not really the same thing as, say, hurting someone in self defense

this sounds like she did want the gun itself. this never felt worded like someone who would refuse to, at very least, threaten Jimmy with a gun, with violence. if she had been given the agency to make that decision on her own. she wasn't though

she still tries to reclaim some of it even as she's denied it

by the end she's still trying to keep that gun out of his hands

i think some people overly soften her, for similar reasons the game itself is trying to comment on. she's not a tender victim who couldn't cause pain to another out of the softness of her soul, she's a person who's had every last bit of agency ripped from her repeatedly until she couldn't take it anymore. that's the point. that's why framing her that way, "needing" someone to save her, is odd to me

she didn't need Curly to save her, she needed him to take responsibility

she didn't want to escalate things, but she's not an idiot. self defense was absolutely on her mind

but who knows im just saying shit *smiles serenely*