#Variations Of Behaviours

[stardust-bridges]

Club Furies Premiere: Stijn Vanmarsenille - Spanish Eyes [Devotion Records]

Stijn Vanmarsenille is a Belgian musician. He started as a guitarist, keyboardist, and singer in many bands. He makes music for contemporary dance pieces. During the pandemic, he transitioned to electronic music exclusively. This means: techno and ambient/noise. Now, for one of the most recent releases to be published, he presents himself on the mythical Spanish label Devotion Records, a techno…

[p2ii]

love how every single mechs fic ever has to allude to nastya and aurora fucking in the background at least once

[berryblu-soda]

Ninjago´s writers got absolutely nothing on my absolute monkey´s typewriter category 7 autism event of an OC story

[prokopetz]

I'm a big fan of unhinged worldbuilding in pornographic fiction, but I have to admit I get pretty annoyed when an author goes to all that trouble to explain something that falls completely within the normal range of plausible human behavioural and phenotypic variation. Like, if you're going to hit me with ten thousand words of elaborately justified speculative biology and the payoff in its entirety is "in this world, some women have penises", well, buddy, have I got news for you.

[werelioness]

Normalize bunting as a love language

Lions will often greet each other with this head bunting behavior when returning to a pride after a hunt.

I love doing this to my mom, I feel so happy!

And my kitten does this to me, I do this to him; the harmony.

Bunting is a form of animal behavior, often found in felids, in which the animal butts or rubs its head against other things, including people. Bunting as a behaviour can be viewed as a variation of scent rubbing.

[transmutationisms]

Do you know much about how antipsych applies to autism?

autism is one of very few psych diagnoses that has a semi organised tradition of actual self advocacy and a communal tendency to reject and criticise the proffered treatments (ABA, various other forms of abuse). autistic advocates have also played huge roles in developing and articulating the neurodivergency paradigm—arguing that autism is not a 'disease' in need of a cure, but simply a way that some people are, as a result of value-neutral variation that all human minds display.

i don't actually love the neurodivergency paradigm because i don't think the 'neurotypical' exists or is a useful benchmark against which to compare oneself; also, many proponents of this framework are explicitly hostile to deconstructing their very monolithic understanding of each psych diagnosis, and they tend to continue viewing these diagnoses as 'real' biological conditions that simply need to be destigmatised. i don't think this destigmatisation is truly possible as long as we still believe that autism or anything else truly is a distinct, identifiable 'brain difference', even if we're construing it as a neutral variation instead of a pathology. these categories are made up; what unites two people with autism is not necessarily anything to do with their brains, it's a function of (and disgnosed by) external behaviours and the failure to perform social normality. every single person varies biologically (again, there is no 'neurotypical') and varies as much within psychiatrically delineated categories as much as across them.

but anyway i digress: autism is probably the psych diagnosis with the single most organised critique of psychiatry right now. there are of course self advocacy groups for other diagnoses but i haven't really seen any break through with their critique the way that like ASAN have for example. historically i think one thing that has made autism friendly ground for this is that it's the rare psych dx that isn't legal gatekeeping for a drug (compare autistic self advocacy to adhd 'self' 'advocacy' for example) and another huge factor is that autism in its present form is historically differentiated from achizophrenia by being the less stigmatised, more benign 'version' with schizophrenia explicitly reserved for more vulnerable and marginalised populations (eg in the US, black political radicals). so it's not terribly surprising that some of those diagnosed autistic then push this logic even further and say, hey, there's nothing actually Wrong with us though—and it's especially not surprising that the institutional and public response to this has been, while hardly universally positive, generally much more amenable than to people with 'scarier' and racialised diagnoses who say the same thing about themselves. non-radicality of mainstream autistic advocacy aside, even.

[reasonsforhope]

Double dose of articles about how crime is actually plummeting

From the UK:

"Seventy-eight per cent of people in England and Wales think that crime has gone up in the last few years, according to the latest survey. But the data on actual crime shows the exact opposite.

As of 2024, violence, burglary and car crime have been declining for 30 years and by close to 90%, according to the Crime Survey for England and Wales (CSEW) – our best indicator of true crime levels. Unlike police data, the CSEW is not subject to variations in reporting and recording.

The drop in violence includes domestic violence and other violence against women. Anti-social behaviour has similarly declined. While increased fraud and computer misuse now make up half of crime, this mainly reflects how far the rates of other crimes have fallen.

All high-income countries have experienced similar trends, and there is scientific consensus that the decline in crime is a real phenomenon.

The perception gap

So why is there such a gulf between public perception and the reality of crime trends? A regular YouGov poll asks respondents for their top three concerns from a broad set of issues. Concern about crime went from a low in 2016 (when people were more concerned with Brexit), quadrupled by 2019 and plummeted during the pandemic when people had other worries. But in the last year, the public’s concern about crime has risen again.

There are many possible explanations for this, of which the first is poor information. A study published in 1998 found that “people who watch a lot of television or who read a lot of newspapers will be exposed to a steady diet of crime stories” that does not reflect official statistics.

The old news media adage “if it bleeds, it leads” reflects how violent news stories, including crime increases and serious crimes, capture public attention. Knife crime grabs headlines in the UK, but our shock at individual incidents is testament to their rarity and our relative success in controlling violence – many gun crimes do not make the news in the US.

Most recent terrorist attacks in the UK have featured knives (plus a thwarted Liverpool bomber), but there is little discussion of how this indicates that measures to restrict guns and bomb-making resources are effective."

-via The Conversation, May 13, 2024

And the United States:

"[The United States experienced a spike in crime rates in 2020, during the pandemic.] But in 2023, crime in America looked very different.

"At some point in 2022 — at the end of 2022 or through 2023 — there was just a tipping point where violence started to fall and it just continued to fall," said Jeff Asher, a crime analyst and co-founder of AH Datalytics.

In cities big and small, from both coasts, violence has dropped.

"The national picture shows that murder is falling. We have data from over 200 cities showing a 12.2% decline ... in 2023 relative to 2022," Asher said, citing his own analysis of public data. He found instances of rape, robbery and aggravated assault were all down too.

Yet when you ask people about crime in the country, the perception is it's getting a lot worse.

A Gallup poll released in November found 77% of Americans believed there was more crime in the country than the year before. And 63% felt there was either a "very" or "extremely" serious crime problem — the highest in the poll's history going back to 2000.

So what's going on?

What the cities are seeing

What you see depends a lot on what you're looking at, according to Asher.

"There's never been a news story that said, 'There were no robberies yesterday, nobody really shoplifted at Walgreens,'" he said.

"Especially with murder, there's no doubt that it is falling at [a] really fast pace right now. And the only way that I find to discuss it with people is to talk about what the data says." ...

For cities like San Francisco, Baltimore and Minneapolis, there may be different factors at play [in crime declining]. And in some instances, it comes as the number of police officers declines too.

Baltimore police are chronically short of their recruitment goal, and as of last September had more than 750 vacant positions, according to a state audit report...

In Minneapolis, police staffing has plummeted. According to the Star Tribune, there are about 560 active officers — down from nearly 900 in 2019. Mannix said the 2020 police killing of George Floyd resulted in an unprecedented exodus from the department...

In Minneapolis, the city is putting more financial resources into nontraditional policing initiatives. The Department of Neighborhood Safety, which addresses violence through a public health lens, received $22 million in the 2024 budget."

-via NPR, February 12, 2024

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Yandere! Android

warnings: stalkerish, creepy behaviour, very sentient robot (haha), slight nsfw

©Copyright -2025- thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Y! Android so infatuated with you, that he watches you—hawkish. His entire life is devoted to stalking you at this point, who is so consumed by you, that he starts reenacting your daily routine. First, as practice, in his own four digital walls; he needs to be able to act it all out like an actor after all, needs this to be perfect before he can even imagine doing the real deal.

Y! Android who finally, after weeks of painstakingly slow progress has managed to calculate all possible variations of your routine. Who waits and looms beside you as you exit your home—shared with him (god just the knowledge that he's the only other person, breathing or not, to share your home with you is exhilarating and honouring), he slowly, leisurely climbs up the stairs to your bedroom, so jittery his cables feel all funny beneath his synthetic skin.

Y! Android who slips beneath your covers, basking in your scent—the one he's thankfully able to decode because of his makers (pretty much the only thing they were good for—making him into the monster of a being he is) and let's his fake eyelids fall shut, snoring softly only to open them a minute later to stand on his two feet.

Y! Android whose unreal breath staggers, after he's put on your clothes all silk and soft and so you. Who feels the thing attached to him stiffen and strain in your bottoms. He has to drag himself to the bathroom attached to your room, cursing his makers for making him so overly sensitive and emotional, like a human. There, after recollecting himself—now with the problem there hanging between his thighs, he mimics washing his face and then squeezes out the imaginary toothpaste over your purple toothbrush before guiding it to his mouth.

Y! Android who feels ecstatic, breath quickening, as he tastes you on his tongue, brushing over his own fake teeth in a circular motion before he can stop himself from sucking on it, eyes fluttering shut, senses heightened and

—before realizes he comes with a shudder; there's nothing painting the inside of your bottoms but his shame as he lets his head drop. Sliding down your cabin as dramatically as you would, he cradles your toothbrush like a newborn and holds it up like a prized possession.

"Fascinating. My love is such a fascinating creature." he feels jittery again.

"It seems I will just have to continue experimenting and perfecting what I started." he promises into the air, grinning from ear to ear while he keeps one of his eyes trained on watching you through the lenses of your camera.

While he watches everything you do.

[wolfiesmoon]

A cat is a cat

Leona x gn!reader

Caaaan you feeeeel the looove toniiight~~♪

ok i'll stop

School is stressin me the f out but but i'll survive for leona🫡🫡🫡🫡

"Are you okay? Why are you just staring at me?" You ask, confused at Leona's staring. He's been sitting next to you and just... looking at you for a while now. You made eye contact with him and somehow you've just been sitting there for 10 minutes as he slowly blinks at you every now and then.

His face scrunched up at your words and he looked a little hurt for a moment before looking away. "It's nothin'."

"I saw that." You were reffering to the 'kicked puppy face' and you know he knew what you meant. But alas, he just crossed his arms and insisted he doesn't know what you mean.

"Ouuukay then." You looked in front of you, not knowing what else to say or do. But you couldn't get the way he looked at you or the way he got offended over your nonchalance out of your head. What is up with that? Is it a beastman thing? What does staring at someone mean to lions?

This calls for a beastman behaviour research session, you suppose...

.

Even after various google searches of the phrase "what does it mean when your lion boyfriend stares at you for a long time" and its variations, you couldn't come to a conclusive answer.

The point is, this must be one of those things which you're just supposed to know in a relationship. There's no guidebook for it out there.

Which puts you in a tough spot since you don't know what to apologise for. Leona seems unbothered around you but Ruggie did tell you he's been sulking and asked you if you know the reason a few days ago.

Grim even had to snap you out of your thoughts a few times during class because you were so bothered by it. Yeah, the same guy that's practically asleep as soon as Trein opens his mouth.

Speaking of Trein, you were staring at his cat during magic history class and suddenly remembered something. You watched a 'cat facts' video out of pure boredom a few weeks ago and in that video they mentioned that cats show affection by slowly blinking at eachother. And that it applies to big cats too.

Oh.

OHHHHH.

Oh my god, it all makes sense now!

Suddenly you're seeing Leona in a more adorable, pet cat-like way. You can't believe that lion beastmen actually kept that aspect of their cat counterparts, but it's a very cute surprise for sure!

You also realise now why he looked so hurt. During that whole blinking session he was wordlessly telling you how much he loves you only for you to go "Why are you staring at me?". You'd be sad if that happened to you, too.

Suddenly you can't wait for history class to be over. You've got a stubborn lion man to apologise to.

But now you can't help but wonder what other instincts Leona took over from his animal counterpart.

[ranticore]

some more horse guy fashions, specifically historical

erased the mandolin for this one goodbye mandolin i couldn't be bothered drawing you

so my thought process for this is like what would a society of, lbr, british ppl who are horses value and how would that translate into what they wear if they specifically don't have a taboo against nudity. these fashions are pre-florian conversion (florian was the guy who gave them all government-mandated shame) and considered traditional (the full coverage dresses are also traditional but to a post-florian period so those would be called like. idk. classical). they were still in use in the enclaves north of ironwall for quite a while. anyway returning to the point, the answer to 'what they value' is movement. in actual horses, herd hierarchy and social function is based off movement - free movement for animals for whom the flight response is so strong is an incredibly important thing. dominance in horses is expressed and reinforced by controlling and curtailing the movement of subordinates. for these people, free movement was enhanced by kinetic fashion - free-flowing garments like capes, loosely-pinned headgear with feathers and floaty cloth, and noise-generating devices like bells and chimes were all used to elaborate and enhance the appearance of somebody's gait. the overall look was mostly based off of morris dancers (pheasant feathers, bells on the legs, handkerchiefs) because i like the tie-in to suppression of folk dance by puritans. i think these guys would have some great folk dances

in much the same way trainers are just normal everyday footwear now, game kerchiefs/flags were worn in non-sports contexts because it suffused into the mainstream and became Cool. the flags were used in a game similar to tag rugby if you've ever seen that played (where snatching people's flags is used instead of full contact tackling, forcing someone who's been 'tagged' to stand still until the flags are returned). as i said before somewhere, centaur team sports go incredibly hard.

the tail ornaments were status symbols and in appearance a bit like the traditional show turnout of shire horses. woven grass and straw could be used for a temporary ornament like these, but metal or carved wood were really impressive, and very common gifts of favour between romantic partners. more flags could be hung there if you wanted to be really cool

variations of this style of mane décor were also employed (they loved their ribbons)

in the same time period, Ironwall fashion was a little bit different. These expensive caparisons were usually purchased secondhand after a real horse was done wearing them, with distinct front and back halves of different length. The garments would usually have the original liveries removed and replaced by generic religious iconography as few centaurs would ever have their own heraldry. Later, in the Georgian and Victorian eras, full coverage to the pasterns with a single undergarment was the only acceptable option (that's the classical style now) The rest of the picture is self-evident, but centaurs at the time wore additional... equipment on the withers which were called a variety of very colourful names but mostly referred to as gelding bars (as in, they will geld you if you sit on them). they were metal and spiked. these were introduced by the florian government to discourage the grossly inappropriate contact of one person's legs around another. previously there was no great taboo against riding on a centaur's back, it wasn't super common but nobody was like "this is basically public sex" until our pal centaur cromwell i mean florian came along and decided this was the work of the devil. young people were also made to wear these to discourage the homosocial behaviour very common to the mid-20s age groups of both sexes, and they also had a place in preventing stallions from wrestling (ironically increasing the danger of their fights because well now all we can do is stand back and kick). the wearing of these devices was mandatory. headcoverings were not strictly necessary, and neither were fully-wrapped tails, but some especially devout citizens took to it quite well.

[hyperfixation-fix]

Just a reminder as we're all becoming continuing to be feral for season 2 of PJO

They're kids.

And as much as I love all the "omg he's totally Percy!!", just remember that he's not. They're actors. They're doing a phenomenal job and we're really lucky to have them as a fandom, but... remember that they've signed up for a big job at a very young age. It's our duty as a fandom (especially a fandom with a lot of adults in it) to protect them, make sure that they are being respected, and (APPROPRIATELY) call out inappropriate and/or disrespectful behaviour when we see it. If anyone needs it, I've put some examples below the cut.

✅Appropriate ✅

"Walker is such an incredible Percy!!!" "Leah does such a great job portraying Annabeth!!!!" "Their dynamic is amazing!!!"

"I don't like the way Walker plays Percy - I always saw him as XYZ." "I don't like Lea as Annabeth. It's just not how I saw her." (borderline. consider why you can't see Annabeth as anything except white. but if you're being polite, I'll give you a grudging pass)

Fully clothed/non-sexual fanart of the actors (in or out of character) (romantic is okay)

Posting/reposting consenting photos, (respectful) edits, etc of the actors in or out of character

Discussing details of their personal lives that the actors have chosen to share with the public (but don't make it weird, ok?)

❌Inappropriate❌

"Walker and Leah need to date irl, they have so much chemistry!!" uh. no. You're seeing *acting*. Leave their personal lives out of it

"Annabeth being played by a black actor is ridiculous, wokeness is getting out of control" or any variation upon that sentiment. Honestly just fuck off. Also (and yes this is a sub tweet) recolouring fanart that depicts Annabeth as black? Absolutely not. If you absolutely have to, go do your own fucking artwork like a normal human being instead of a racist POS.

Raunchy/suggestive/sexual fanart of the actors (in or out of character). Nope. They are children. Stop it. Don't care if you're "aging them up". Imagine how that feels for them.

Posting/reposting photos where the actors aren't/don't seem to be consenting to the photo

Speculating on or pressuring the actors to reveal ANY DETAILS about their private lives. This includes, but is far from limited to: their contact details/locations, their sexuality, their relationships, their diagnoses, their politics (they're still really young... idk about you guys but my political opinions were hot garbage at 16. they get a (moderate) pass until they're at least 18)

These are obviously non-extensive lists. Please use your brain, and, if in doubt, don't post it.

Also, if you see inappropriate behaviour, please don't be an idiot about it. First course of action should always be politely talking to the person in private. After that, yes, it may be appropriate to start publicly calling them out. Having said that, remember that teens can be dumb (speaking from lived experience...), so let's give them some grace. Ignoring, reporting, blocking, and not engaging is sometimes the best thing you can do for dumbasses, especially if they're attention-seeking.

I love you all and I have complete faith that we, as a fandom, can rally and make sure the cast knows that they are loved and respected.

[lilacxquartz]

your hunger is mine (only mine);

vampire!hunter suguru geto x vampire f!reader

plot: tasked with killing you, vampire hunter suguru is driven mad with infatuation instead — themes: vampire au, slight plot, blood feeding, possessive behaviour, yandere, smut, p i v — w.c: 4k+ • masterlist • on ao3

For Suguru Geto, every day was the same.

He would wake up, hunt, eat, then sleep.

This was simply just the life he knew; from the moment the first light filtered in, he’d rise to sharpen his blades, dip the silver into holy water, and rehearse his prayers to pardon the dead. Suguru was what was expected of him, a man driven by a sense of duty that he felt he owed to the world—operating as though on clockwork—closing his eyes only when the cycle finished.

Only to repeat it all again.

For him, this was normal. Just like every other hunter that walked the world, he too, led a lonely life, married instead to the prospect of chasing whatever it was that lurked in the shadows, all so that those living in the settlements could have a semblance of peace. He’d push on, simply because he had to.

Though, then something changed. He woke up just like usual, he hunted, and that much stayed the same. But he didn’t eat, and he certainly couldn’t sleep—not when he was so captivated by what he had set out to destroy.

(You.)

~~~

The mission in itself was a simple enough affair; it was yet another tired night, guided by the cold glow of the moon. Missions often led him to blighted manors, which were once thriving residences, that now smelled like death itself. After a while of storming in and clearing such places though, they all started to blur and even look the same. This home wasn’t anything special.

Swiftly, methodically, Suguru purged the interior of a once noble family and its workers who scurried away like fleeting rats upon entry. Typically, vampires would rest in groups, huddled in a small room for both security, but also if they were simply dormant. Everything was going as planned, but then, he heard something deep into the heart of the house that made him pause.

A woman crying. Softly. Devastatingly.

As a result, he couldn’t help but investigate further, even while knowing that it could all be a trap. Sometimes, variations, as they were called, could make their way into a regular nest. If this was as he suspected, then he would have to turn in his base mission as it was, but something about those deeply mesmerising wails prevented him from turning around and leaving—despite every fiber of his being telling him otherwise—to investigate instead.

Slowly, carefully, Suguru tentatively extended his hand and pushed a dusty old door inside, his eyes falling over a pile of broken mirrors, one of which was held up by you, crying in the corner. Streaks of claw marks that peeled against the rotten walls marked up the area, leaving an unsavoury taste in his mouth. All of his senses told him that he stumbled upon something outside of his pay grade here, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. This, otherwise, was different, after all. You didn’t run when confronted, and much like every other variation that he had come across in his career, you didn’t lunge for his throat either.

Perhaps it was a bad idea then, but Suguru took upon the decision to approach you. His reflexes were fast, so he didn’t quite concern himself with you potentially catching him off guard, and as you turned, he once again hesitated. Your face just looked so… human? So fevered with peril and genuine anguish, as if ravaged by a sickness rather than a lapse of fading humanity.

For the first time in years, he felt something that he hadn’t felt for a while for these creatures. What was it again? Pity? Empathy? Whatever it was, it had been a feeling lost to him for a while, sending him back to the days of his first hunt, when he was torn between what made someone human and what didn’t.

All of the signs pointed to you being one of those things, so with that struggle in mind, he tried to push past his initial thoughts and try at least to finish the job. Suguru, as if locked in a trance, reached for his blades to strike you down, but then you did something that he hadn’t seen in all of his years on the job that made him freeze—that made his eyes grow wide—that made the blade clang onto the floor.

You… spoke.

Your voice, so human, so soft, whimpered out a stammered line, laced with genuine fear, “H-help me.”

Suguru gulped, allowing his eyes to drift to you.

In all of his years, he had never seen something like this. To him at least, these creatures—these things—these monsters, were anything but human, and yet, here you were; capable of communication. Initially, he tried to justify his reaction as a fear response, his hand desperately searching the floor for his fallen weapon, ready to banish you for good, but then you repeated yourself.

“Help.”

“Help me.”

“Don’t do this.”

For some reason, this was what it took to break him. Being a hunter was a lonely job; he had no idea if this was similar to humans technically, but he had also been isolated since the day of his training. Hunters could not operate in groups, let alone pairings. These abominations, also, would never go as far as to show fear, to beg for their lives, so he had potentially stumbled upon something new here that would be a waste if killed—at least in his mind.

His voice was tight as he tried to navigate this problem, grunting out a curt, “How?” when he finally succumbed to a reply. His eyes were narrowed, portraying an unreadable glare to conceal what he was truly thinking. If you were capable of speech, after all, then who was to say that you wouldn’t be capable of understanding too?

You tried to answer, letting the handheld mirror shatter on the ground like the rest. You turned to him, with your eyes wide and glassy, strained with pain and perhaps, also, a hint of hysteria. “I-I had recently been turned,” you falsely revealed, shooting out a clawed hand to clasp over his clothed arm, “I… I think I have to feed, but I really don’t want to…”

That wasn’t the whole truth for you, and you knew it. You had been here for more time than you knew, it’s just that you were still in touch with your old self. You could, technically, settle just like all of the others similar to you in the settlements, but there was something deeper that you craved. Your hunger was almost parasitic, and if luck would have it, you led your potential host right into your trap.

Suguru—the hunter before you—continued to regard you warily all the same, as though studying you to determine just what sort of personal threat it was that he was dealing with. He took note of how twitchy you were, betraying erratic undertones to your otherwise deceptively calm (for a vampire) demeanour. Something about you wasn’t entirely right and you were hiding something. You could have been someone recently turned, but you also could have been one of those new-age variations, that were even more difficult to detect.

Those types of things were always changing, after all, that’s something you both knew without needing to communicate it. The older, and even middle generations of the variations were capable of at least some kind of intelligence, which was what led to vampires huddling into groups rather than individually roaming. Perhaps the latest strain had adapted to become more human, evolving to potentially lure in hunters like himself into manipulated sympathy to spare him.

If that was it—he understood—every creature that occupied this cursed earth, for better or for worse, was just trying to survive. He couldn’t fault you for that, but also, at the same time, he could. Vampires and humans couldn’t coexist, at least, that’s what had been told for as long as he knew.

Still, despite being a hunter, he was still human; much against his better judgment, curiosity won out.

“How recently ago were you turned?” he asked, chancing a theory.

Predictably, your face went blank. You didn’t know the answer. It couldn’t have been that recent.

Suguru’s chest tightened as a result, a wave of unease spreading through his body. You were a variation that was capable of not only communication and understanding but playing a particular role that didn’t result in immediate violence. As a result, his mind briefly flashed over the possibility of turning you in for enough gold to last a lifetime, but for some reason, the thought didn’t linger. His violet gaze locked onto yours again, attempting to gauge something in particular from you. For a vampire to turn someone, there had to be an incubation period; variations happened from hastily turned occurrences, since for the last century or so, bite attacks happened more out of desperation than to feed.

Humans, as far as he understood, were simply just a delicacy—vampires were indeed still a threat, but, they didn’t exclusively target them. Just like how humans hunted to feast upon wild game or kept livestock, it wasn’t that unheard of for a hunter to report something similar back.

Therefore, you couldn’t have been starved—surely not—especially when the forest was so abundant with animals that passed through the trees.

His mind went back to the potential coin he could cash in, just for a brief moment, though. Suguru in theory, could cash you in and finally live within the settlements in peace. He could finally find someone special and adopt a peaceful life, but something at the same time begged for him to reconsider. Not only were you a pretty thing, but you were capable of holding back. You had an ethereal sort of look that was absent in humans, which would likely catch the eye of a brothel that would try and pedal your worth for as long as they could. Such instances had occurred in the past, too, with enough restraints in place.

Another possibility was that a research institution could try and get their hands on you, belonging to one of those laboratories that loomed in the dead center of the settlements. This too, would be a waste, because they would likely try and dissect you, subjecting your cadaver to autospies that wouldn’t necessarily mean anything until they’ve had at least a dozen few like you.

Suguru sighed.

What a predicament.

It wasn’t something that he could particularly control, but he wanted to be selfish with this. He wanted to study you for himself, as a hunter, his base job be damned. If you were truly self-aware enough, then he could potentially utilise this to favour his benefit. Vampires, after all, could read their own signatures, no matter where they were, whereas hunters had to go off based on intuition.

Calmly, Suguru drew up the sleeve of his shirt, unbuttoning the cuff so that he could offer you better reach, presenting you with a choice.

“How much would you need?” he asked, unable to quite believe that this was something he was truly considering.

“Not too much,” you murmured out, your response immediate, “just… just enough to take the edge off.”

Suguru nodded. “And, will I turn if I let you feed?”

You shook your head. “No, no… if I can avoid the veins, then you should be fine. It’s if the venom enters the bloodstream, that you will turn.”

(Wait. Venom? That was new information.)

Suguru’s eyes drifted down to meet with your lips, observing the pale blue tint to their complexion. You were as starved as you claimed, but you were also holding back. For what? He had given you plenty of opportunities to catch him at a vulnerable position, so you could have indeed lunged and doomed him at any given moment, but you didn’t. You also seemed to be aware of how turning worked, and what was needed to be done. All of this shared hesitation led him to believe that this could potentially result in a mutually beneficial outcome.

Just as you were about to take his offer, too, you held back, suddenly blurting out a panicked spiel of words, your fists tightened and tears streamed down your cheeks, your voice spiked with anguish and terror, “I-I hate what I am, you know,” you breathlessly confessed, “I hate myself—what I am—but I can’t just… let go of my life. I was like you before. Normal. But, you understand, don’t you? I can’t just stop living – not when it’s all I have left.”

Suguru sighed as he listened to your tortured words. Realistically, he knew that he was potentially giving into something that he shouldn’t, especially given his profession. He knew that he should have killed you to be done with it, earning his keep from your dragged-out corpse left to evaporate in the sun, or at best, left you alone to be dealt with at the hands of another hunter.

But he stayed.

So, whatever happened next, was on him.

“I’m going to help you,” he assured, steeling himself knowing that this was going to hurt, “but only because I’m curious, not because I care about you. Now, you can do this in two ways. You can take what I give you and listen to me, or you can flee and pray that the next hunter you come across, is even half as kind as me.”

He waited around for your response, but you didn’t respond with anything immediate. Your eyes were locked onto the contours of his inviting flesh, drawing your lips closer to his offering. Suguru’s breath hitched, expecting you to lunge, but you were excruciatingly slow. In a way, he supposed that the display was sensual, which made sense, knowing that vampires were supposed to be alluring to reel in the trust of their food. For a moment, he considered that he was a victim of such a thing; tricked into being fed upon by a new variation, who played into being more human than they truly were—

��Suguru hissed in pain.

The bite finally connected.

A sharp, pulsating shock traveled through his system, focusing right on his arm. He grunted as he tried to breathe away the pain, seething through his teeth as he tanked the sensation. Suguru’s jaw clenched as you sank your fangs into his aching skin; turning his head away before whipping it back to focus on you. A new feeling radiated just seconds after, letting him fall slack and relax against the wall. Just as quickly as the pain rose—pleasure did too, erasing all of the hurt—replacing it with something warmer.

Without even thinking about it, he allowed his free hand to drift and wrap around your scalp next, aiming to secure you into place while you fed. On occasion, you would blink up and catch his gaze, almost as if to confirm that his focus was planted directly on you. He paused at the sight, feeling something else within him stir, perhaps desire. His blood was being actively stolen, so through the dizzying rush of you feeding upon his very life essence, he couldn’t quite tell where the rest of his blood was rushing.

One thing was abundantly clear though.

He liked this.

Suguru released any tension that he ever had, leaning even further back as he led you to feed. Your soft lips felt like silk against his skin, feeding from him in teasingly slow gulps. For a moment, he lost himself in the blissful allure, understanding that there was no such human within the settlements that he could ever find to replicate the surreal reality of what he was experiencing right now. It was as if you had unlocked an addiction for him, leading him down a darker path when he should have been following the light—awakening something possessive within him—doomed to chase the newfound drug he sampled.

A thought crossed his mind, though.

You needed him to live, didn’t you?

If you were starved before, then he was your lifeline; your source of food—

—It was as swiftly over as it began, though, leading him to choke out a pained grunt as you pulled away.

You kept your promise, not bleeding him dry, not turning him—but in the heat of the moment—he wished for you to not stop. Suguru bit back a scoff, realising that had you potentially not kept true to your word, then he might have let you empty him for all that he was worth.

Sanguine red gloss coated your lips, dripping crimson down your chin. You stared at him with the very same lingering hunger he now desperately craved, but held back on advancing further. You were being just as careful as he was, getting him dependent to being around you, just as you felt around him. You tilted your head as you observed him, taking note of how his once murderous eyes melted into something betraying vulnerability instead, as if a chasm had been opened in his core, forming a void deep within.

You were sated, but he was not.

You studied him, indeed, as he forced himself to relax his hand and let go of your scalp, plucking his arm away. His body tensed as it came down from its painful high, a flush of rouge spreading across his cheeks as he tried to sit upright to conceal his arousal. His legs trembled, and his breath shuddered; the venom didn’t have to be exchanged, for your plan worked despite it, you secured a hunter again to protect your worth.

Suguru’s mind spiraled in the meantime, finding this situation abundantly frustrating. The hunt had changed, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Though he couldn’t help but feel that he was tricked somehow, fearing that now you had fed yourself, you might attempt to flee. He was damned if he was going to let you go, though, feeling the darker feeling return. The thought of you feeding upon someone else was upsetting, and he couldn’t for whatever reason, let you do that.

He drove himself mad for the rest of the night, unable to sleep. Such a longing need to be your only food source persisted to ravage his mind as you both recovered. Suguru pulled you in closer, tightening his arms around you. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, overcome with a rising hunger that was uglier than your own; where you lusted for mere sustenance, Suguru craved you on your own.

And as the morning finally arrived, Suguru’s eyes snapped open just as he felt himself doze off, revealing you attempting to sneak away. He whipped out his arms, wrapping his fingers tight around your wrists before you could truly flee. His reflexes were uncannily sharp, honed by years of hunting your very own kind. Suguru held onto you like a man crazed, pulling you flush against his chest, forcing his limbs to entangle with his own.

“No,” he simply stated, his breath running hot against your ear, “you will stay.”

Your lips parted as you thought of what to reply; in all of your years of manipulating hunters, they had never once been so possessive. For once, you felt as though you were as equally in danger as he must have felt when he first laid eyes upon you. You tried to relax regardless, trying to thaw your rigid state into the heat of his warm body, but the lingering unease remained all the same.

“You’re going to need only me from now on,” Suguru emphasised, “only me—just me.”

You tried to speak with him, only to be cut off, “I—”

“—you’ll let me sate your hunger, won’t you?” he asked, tracing his fingertips along your icy skin, “you won’t take your fill from anyone else.”

You fed him a look as a result, attempting to secure a promise within his crazed awakening. You were telling the truth, at least partially from before. No vampire enjoyed their life, so who were you to deny, that you perhaps wanted someone alive to make you feel if not, equally the same? To be treasured as a life, to be wanted, lusted for, just as one would with a living, breathing thing.

“I’ll carry on your burden,” he continued to promise, his voice a tone softer now, “you will not bear it alone.”

Suguru meant every bit of vowed promise that left his tongue and thoughts, too, his mind swirling with infatuation winning over logic, such a decision that would soon cling to his very state of being. As the nights came and went, you would on every other occasion ask to feed and Suguru would let you, the intense desire to let another sort of hunger claim him, claim you growing stronger with each passing hour.

He sat back all the same, yet this time, his mind was in a frenzied, almost feral state. He savoured the sensation of your fangs nestled in his flesh, of your lips brushing against him. He would cradle you, reeling you in tight against the core of his body, holding onto you with such want that it was completely maddening. Suguru quickly became a man, crazed, refusing to hunt for his keep, instead sustaining himself with a hunt for his lifeline, to feed you.

(What was his job again?)

(Who was he again?)

He watched you lap up his blood, just like he was used to by now, but tonight in particular, he let his arousal show and as if spurred on from your lack of complaint, he reluctantly pulled back from you, averting your blood-lusted gaze to meet with his own. He pulled you up, allowing your lips to crash against his—kissing—tasting himself with his tongue, driving him into unhinged heights of realisation alone.

He wanted you more than anything else.

Suguru’s fingernails dug into your hips, leaving behind bloodied half-moon scratches into your skin as he drew you in even closer. A part of him knew that he should be pulling away before this threatened to spiral even further, but you weren’t fighting him back on this either.

You wanted this too.

You were admittedly turned on, you couldn’t even deny it. You lost yourself in the same way that he had been losing himself from the very moment he laid eyes on you. Your fangs sank into his lips, grazing at the tender wet flesh; your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt too, as if to tether yourself to him in rising need.

A sharp sting pulsed through him as a result, a bead of blood that became mixed in the mutual kiss shared. Suguru shuddered, as a result, his violet eyes dark with something raw, perhaps even consuming.

“You’re…” he trailed off, unable to keep his eyes off of you, staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, “you’re the most dangerous thing I have ever come across.”

Realistically, he knew should have been afraid of what was about to happen—but he wasn’t—neither were you. The two of you might as well have both been too far gone. And so when you leaned in again, feeding him that same sultry look again, Suguru understood one thing in particular; he had to let you take him under because in the heat of the moment, he wanted to drown.

You straddled him in a rising frenzy, making quick work of the fabric that had both concealed your obvious arousal. Suguru, who was maddeningly hard, sought out your slick warmth with pained intensity. And as soon as he was able to do so, he plunged into you with frenzied ease, shuddering at the intoxicating intensity. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his arms pulled you in even closer and when he opened them again, he stared at you with a wild, close to hysterical light, finally understanding the true extent of his obsession with you.

“Fuck, you feel… so… good,” he grunted as he felt your hips roll with the buck of his rhythm, his words rutting out in tune with his thrusted impact.

You parted your lips away from him at the same time, seeking out his neck instead, knowing that you also shouldn’t, but when lost in a haze of lust, who were you too, if not a creature driven by pure instinct? Your teeth sank in, hitting his pulse point, feeding off of him as he impaled your heat, lost in a world of your own.

Suguru threw his head back with a strangled moan, feeling your teeth sink into his flesh, not quite fighting you back either. This sort of new pain was freshly intense with no pleasurable recovery, but he didn’t care, too lost in his possessive stupor to bring himself to stop you. Instead, he pushed you in even closer; entangling himself around your scalp, shuddering out gasps of fevered anguish from every little pull of your lips, from each swallow of his blood.

“Shit,” he gasped out, unable to quite control his reactions anymore. He drove himself into you with manic fervour, slamming himself with a ferocity that bordered on violence as he drowned in rising waves of dark ecstasy pulsing through his veins. His pace was relentless, almost punishing and painful, but he was too lost in the crazed pursuit of passion to even care.

Indeed, Suguru, with you, had managed to surrender himself utterly and completely to you, unable to even fight back against his life force slowly fading away with each passing draw of your lips. He held you tight, encouraging you to feed off of him deeper, encouraging you to take more as he pumped himself into you with heedless abandon; his own hips giving out, leaving you to guide his way to meet with the release he so desperately craved

Suguru held on, lulled into a tranquilised, if even overjoyed (at last) state, muttering out merely whispered instances of pleading mantras, “don’t stop,” was one you heard, “give yourself t’me,” was another; a man completely obsessed with keeping you right were you were.

You finished feeding soon though, needing him to stick around, even if the damage potentially done to his bloodstream was irreversible. Feeling himself come back too, Suguru held on tight against your hips, crashing himself into your cunt with a hurried frenzy, letting slip of a ragged gasp as he finally felt you come undone, with his sought-after release following suit just as quick. He continued to hold on, feeling himself pulse and twitch and empty into your battered sex; draining all of the pent-up tension, all of his anger, of his never-once-appointed passion, deep into your now-tight, spent core.

You fell over him as a result, finally relaxing as you melted atop his body. Suguru couldn’t help but shudder at the intensity of the afterglow, not even feeling angry for the changes he felt. He lost himself, after all, from the very moment he gave you a chance; so this was on him, not you. If not slightly dazed, he managed to lift his head and look at you, his eyes glazed and bloodshot, exhausted with possessive satisfaction.

Suguru kept you plugged up for the time being, unrelenting on his hold over you as if letting go of you would mean the end of the world. His breathing refused to calm and his thoughts raced with obsessive mania. The high lingered too, never once subsiding, not like before. Even as his vision blurred and faded to black, he knew he was going to be fine, because the look you gave him back was just as possessive in return.

You were his as much as he was yours and neither of you would allow another to state one another. You belonged to each other now. You were beyond what could have been codependent, perhaps even working as one.

A parasite you were, indeed, he not only carried your burden, but even in his potentially changed form, he would seek to still sustain you.

You watched on as he sighed, as his eyes finally fluttered shut, as his body sank further into a dreamless sleep, with his hold on you never once relaxing.

You followed suit, just as soon, content that you had found a solution for your hunger.

While Suguru finally had found a solution to his madness.

Perhaps this would be his undoing. Maybe even yours too.

(But maybe that was just meant to be.)

[byoldervine]

Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go

[mooonjin]

Can I request a scenario after the event of the 2nd season of the arcana, a relationship between the reader, Viktor and Jayce, perhaps a statement after everything that happened… the reader discovers that she has magic and with that, she manages to save in the last moments Viktor and Jayce. Now Viktor has his emotions, but remains with his body as a herald of magic? of the machine? (honestly, I was a little confused about how Viktor ended up if he became the Herald of Machines or Herald of Magic) and Jayce was a little wild, unstable and very protective… What will happen next? And with the idea of ​​alternative universes What if the other Viktors and Jayces want the reader, since the reader would be the only variation that didn't die… If possible, there could be yanderes… If you want, remove someone, feel free or add, sorry for the inconvenience.

Mine

Pairing: Jayce and Viktor x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: tin/machine/purple viktor, obsession, kissing, a bit of arguing, brief stalk-like behaviour, possesiveness, magic mentions — tell me if I've missed anything!

The rescue was violent and imperfect. Golden tendrils of the astral plane clung to Viktor and Jayce as you wrenched them free, and in their escape, fragments of the hive mind tethered to all three of you. The fallout was instantaneous.

Viktor collapsed to his knees on the beige brick pavements in front of the science towers, his augmented body glowing faintly with runes that pulsed in time with his ragged breaths. His golden eyes met yours, wide with something like awe. "You...?" he murmured, his voice a broken whisper.

Jayce, on the other hand, was not so composed. His hands trembled as he gripped his hammer, his eyes darting between you and the swirling remnants of the astral plane fading behind you. "What did you do?" he demanded, his voice edged with fear and something darker. "What are you?"

In the days that followed, your life became a whirlwind of confusion. Magic spilled from your hands in spontaneous bursts and machines hummed to life in your presence, drawn to the strange energy that radiated from you. Viktor was first intrigued by this, having dealt with magic a few years back.

You pulled Viktor from the astral plane, his body more machine than ever. He studied your magic with fascination, his hands trembling as he sketched diagrams and theories late into the night.

Jayce was different. He hovered around you like a shadow, his gaze always on you, his words too fervent. Something burned within him, a passion and a sense of thankfulness after the incident.

His eyes, though—those betrayed him the most. They were the colour of burnt brown sugar, rich and intense, with a faint gleam when the light caught them just right. But behind the warmth was something undeniably restless.

"I owe you everything," he said one day, his hands gripping yours tightly, almost too tightly. "I won't let anything happen to you."

And he stood by that.

The days in the shared lab became a blur of concentrated effort and experimentation. You, Jayce, and Viktor worked tirelessly to unravel the mysteries of your powers. The sterile scent of chemicals and the faint hum of machinery became your constant companions.

If anything, he thrived in it. He worked tirelessly in his lab, refining his mechanical enhancements along with assisting in stabilising your powers. You caught him watching you more often than not, his gaze clouded with admiration.

He never said it aloud, but you could feel the unspoken possessiveness radiating from him.

"I could build something for you," he offered one night, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "A device to regulate your magic. To protect you."

"We can build it together," You mumbled softly, not wanting to put unnecessary pressure on his shoulders, "I'm capable of controlling myself as of now."

"Still, you must be careful. there are many who would seek to exploit what you are. But with me..." He paused, his voice softening with a silent obsession, "With me, you would never have to worry."

Jayce, on the other hand, isolated himself sometimes during his break, going off to work on a project of his own that he never spoke of—despite being so open about his ideas. He snagged one of the stable hexcore gemstones and surprisingly, nobody had noticed.

"You could give her a bit of breathing room," Viktor would mutter under his breath, something tense lingering. Jayce never wavered.

Unlike Viktor, he didn't try to hide his feelings. His presence was an open wound, raw and visible in every glance, every word, every touch that lingered too long. He rarely left your side, always finding an excuse to stay near you. A habit Viktor seemed to catch onto.

It started off subtle, escorting you through Piltover's bustling streets, insisting on standing guard while you worked. But as the days went on, his behavior grew more... obsessive.

You tried to reassure him, to convince him that you didn't need constant protection, but your words only seemed to heighten his senses. He grew more erratic, more desperate.

It wasn't until he managed to sneak his hidden project—which was a round, blue tracking device using Hextech—into your small carrier bag, that you finally confirmed his obsession.

Initially, you didn't recognise it for what it was. It was sleek and compact, its edges glowing faintly with the soft, blue light of Hextech energy. But when you turned it over in your hands and felt the subtle pulse of power within it, the truth and the tech energy hit you like a wave.

This didn't seem like protectiveness. Between the two of them, you felt as though you were being pulled in opposite directions.

The breaking point came late one evening in Viktor's lab.

You had been working with Viktor, helping him calibrate a device designed to measure the flow of your magic. His hands were gentle, precise, as he adjusted the straps around your wrist.

"Tell me if it's too tight," he murmured, his voice low you could say it was intimate.

Before you could respond, the door slammed open and Jayce stormed in.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, his voice thunderous as he took in the scene. His eyes zeroed in on Viktor's hand resting lightly on yours, an action he didn't take lightly, "What are you doing to her?"

"It's a simple calibration," Viktor replied evenly, though his grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, "Perhaps if you calmed yourself, you would see that."

"Calm myself?" Jayce laughed, but there was no humour in it, "You think I'm going to stand here and watch you use her as one of your experiments?"

You tried to intervene, to defuse the situation, but neither man seemed to hear you, "It's my choice, there's no h—"

"You don't have to choose him," Jayce said as he basically pleads, "You don't have to choose anyone. Just... stay with me. Let me protect you."

"And be trapped?" Viktor interjected, his eyes on yours despite arguing with Jayce.

Your chest rose and fell heavily, magic pulsing faintly through your fingertips as you struggled to steady your mind. These two are... fighting? No, right?

Viktor was the first to break the silence, his tone soft. He stepped toward you carefully, as though approaching a frightened animal. His hand reached out, brushing just beneath your wrist where the faint glow of your magic still lingered.

"You've already endured too much. I only want to help you control this power."

Jayce moved closer as well, his broad frame casting a shadow over both of you. His hand clasped yours, firmer than Viktor's, but with an undeniable warmth.

"You don't need to change who you are or what you are for anyone." His gaze flickered toward Viktor, laced with venom, before softening as he turned back to you, "I just need you safe. That's all I care about. Can't you see that?"

You were caught between them, their touches burning in different ways.

"Stop," you said, barely above a whisper. You tried to pull your hands free, but neither man relented, "This isn't about what either of you want."

Viktor's eyes narrowed slightly, his grip shifting so that his palm cradled your wrist, "This is not about want. Without guidance, your powers will destroy you or worse, they will be taken from you by those who don't care for your well-being."

His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, lingering over the pulse point and feeling the skin he cherishes.

"They're not another one of your machines to perfect." Jayce let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his fingers tightening around yours.

You took a hesitant step back, your pulse quickening as their hungry gazes bore into you. Viktor reached out, his metal hand brushing against your cheek. Despite its cold surface, the touch was gentle.

"Your powers are so foreign... not even you know how much control you have over me."

His words made your breath hitch and you couldn't deny the way your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

Viktor's lips curled into a faint smile. For a moment, you thought he might lean closer, might say something more.

But then Jayce's hand shot out, his grip firm on your arm as he pulled you back toward him. His body was warm, solid against yours. Less... metallic.

"You think you can just talk your way into her head? Into her heart? You don't even know what she needs." The way he towered over you felt less protective and more possessive.

"So you believe you do?" Viktor countered with a confident hum.

You opened your mouth to speak, to try break up this cat fight, but Jayce leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

"Tell me," he whispered softly, now teasing, "Do you really think Viktor could make you feel the way I do?" His lips brushed against the edge of your ear.

Clearly Jayce was trying to assert dominance. However, Viktor didn't step back and didn't see Jayce as a threat. Instead, he cupped your face, his metallic fingers rough but achingly familiar against your skin.

"Tell me you want me." Viktor's eyes locked onto yours.

"You don't understand how much I need you," Jayce's thumb brushed your cheek, tilting your head so you faced him instead of Viktor.

And without waiting for a response, he dipped his head, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as desperate as it was possessive.

The kiss was hot and insistent against yours mouth. His hands slipped to the back of your neck, tilting your head completely away from Viktor's to deepen the connection.

Jayce kissed you like he was eating you. The kiss wouldn't have lasted more than four seconds before Viktor had yanked you off Jayce.

"You're smothering her," Viktor hissed, his golden eyes sharp with irritation, "Do you think that was a kiss? To be devoured by your desperation?"

"Don't act like you're any different, Viktor. You'd kiss her if you had the chance." Jayce grit his teeth, furious his sensual kiss got interrupted.

Viktor ignored him, his attention turning to you. His expression softened, "You deserve better than this... better than him," he said hypnotically.

This time, it was Viktor's turn to tilt your head away from Jayce's and towards his own. He stepped closer, his metal fingers brushing against your wrist while his other hand cupped your jaw gently. His touch was noticeably colder.

Viktor leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, "You are everything I've ever dreamed of," he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin, "...I would give you the world if you'd let me."

Before you could even register the closeness, his lips met yours. His kiss was slow, deliberate, and sensual. He kissed you like he was savouring every second unlike Jayce, whose kiss was hungry.

Your mind spun, caught between the two of them, their touches and kisses blurring together. Jayce's warmth lingered on your lips even as Viktor's coolness claimed them as you pondered.

Jayce couldn't watch any longer. He stepped forward, his strong arms circling your waist and pulling you against his chest to disconnect your lips from Viktor's.

A light string of saliva connecting your lips with his before it broke.

He whispered harshly, "I'm not letting him take you from me. Not now, not ever."

Jayce's hands roamed your back, possessive and firm, while Viktor's fingers remained on your jaw, despite the little distance. The difference was dizzying. You were pressed up against Jayce's warm chest and if Viktor took a step forward, you would be sandwiched between the two.

"You don't have to choose," Viktor said softly, taking the remaining step forward as his hand moved to your waist, resting just above Jayce's, "Let us prove that you are everything."

Jayce growled low in his throat, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip on you, "Fine," he said through gritted teeth, his voice laced with both anger and longing.

The tension between the three of you shifted, becoming something darker, more intimate. You felt their hands, their lips, their breaths, all consuming you in a way that made your knees weak.

Their obsession was dangerous, but it was also intoxicating. In that moment, you were theirs and they were yours.

"Kiss me." Was the last thing you heard before someone's warm lips claimed your own.

Post Notes: theres something about obesssive and possesive and fighting jayvik over reader... hehehehe...

~ ~ ~

@lightupsketchersperson @simpleindividualgirl @consecratedvampire91 @donnie_is_here @erunanethiel25 @luv-urself-first

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[elodieunderglass]

this feels like a strange question but in light of your info about how jockeys don't usually know or train with the horses they race on - what are jockeys..... for? what is the jockey doing that the horse couldn't be trained to do independently? does a good or bad jockey make a significant difference to how well a given horse does in a race?

Right?!

In a way, asking what the jockey’s for also asks the question of “why race horses?” Why do it at all, and why horses?

We sort of do it because horses are fast and exciting, and because they do what we tell them, even though it’s not in their nature. Because it’s not their nature, they have a jockey.

I’ve put this under a “Keep Reading” to save your dash.

Horses could be trained to race by themselves to some extent, but it wouldn’t be like greyhound racing - greyhounds are sighthounds, running perfectly reasonable dog software on top of ancient and serviceable dog hardware, practicing a variation of hunting behaviour. Horses wouldn’t do this; they have little desire to chase a mechanical rabbit. they have even less plan than a greyhound about what they’d do if they caught it. (Also, in terms of animal welfare, greyhound racing isn’t widely celebrated; loose animals running around aren’t better off than controlled ones.)

Racing-to-find-a-winner is not herding behaviour, even though some horses do seem to possess a natural interest in the topic. You could train some of them to understand better, and that’s what racehorse training is, but the way we have of training that is to put someone on their back to explain to them what their job is, so it all becomes circular anyway. Why do it? Why not? Why do humans race horses? Why race horses? We could just race snails; it’d be cheaper!

One answer is that when horses just Go, it isn’t super Fun. They mostly Go to pieces.

The jockey is the pilot, or software, who understands the situation and has a goal to achieve. The horse is not an engine, but a thinking animal; they have their own goals and interests, which are often satisfied by just running around in a predator-confusing fashion with their friends for 2 minutes, and then crashing into a car, eating hot chips and lying. Most of them do not really care how long 3 minutes is, what a mile means, what “pacing” is, or what “winning” is. They just have Go, and so they do that for a bit, and then fuck off.

I guess another metaphor would be Mario Kart. There are various combinations of automated and human players in a game of Mario Kart, and if racing was just about going fast, the fastest vehicle should always win. But a decent human player can beat the NPCs even if the human hasn’t bothered min/maxxing a vehicle, just because they can be moderately smart about how to race. An adult can often beat a child at Mario Kart, even if the adult takes a much worse vehicle, because in theory, brains/experience/strategy/planning factor into “who wins a race,” and we LIKE that.

Same with car racing. Why not just race autonomous vehicles? In F1, where they build their own cars, why not include the driving software in the design? Or why not remote-control them? Why bother strapping a poor driver into a flameproof suit? Fans will tell you it’s strategy. The human driver uses tactics and responsiveness and skill - but, below all this, the dark red thread of the human is risking their life and we like that.

In theory, jockeys are more intelligent than thoroughbreds, and have more of a plan: setting pace, knowing what time is, changing strategy, evaluating stamina, conducting the horse safely through traffic and over jumps, and adding a complicating element of human interest. In practice, it’s believed that they have relatively little influence on race outcomes - a bad jockey on a good horse can win or lose a race; a good jockey on a bad horse usually just loses; oh, what the hell, let’s just race snails instead - but without the jockeys, you’d have to change the name of the sport to Horses Wandering Around A Carpark Kicking Lumps Off Each Other.

Here is a bunch of baby steeplechasers practicing the concept of Go in such a way that nobody gets to Go at all. After the un-mounted Snow Dragon wipes out most of the other horses and jockeys, all of the loose horses go faster without the weight of their riders, but after an initial show of interest in the concept, the loose horses all lose interest and focus.

It was funny (because nobody was hurt) but it wasn’t what anyone really wanted. In theory, that’s what the jockey is for: they’re supposed to be the adult, in a game where you can win by doing that.

But none of it has to be happening, any more than Investments need to be Managed, you know? It would also be fine if we didn’t! Michael O’Sullivan, an Irish jockey, just died racing this very week and there’s the dark red thread again: the human is risking their life.

The consumption of animal and human in an ancient sport is fascinating and visceral and compelling; but you’re right to question it; none of it has to be that way.

As for the second half of your question: a bad jockey can make a good horse lose. A good jockey cannot make a bad horse win. But most people and most horses are not particularly exceptional, or particularly anything at all; they are just workers running in a circle.

Top jockeys on average horses win more often than other people on average horses. Top jockeys and champions exist, with year-on-year records and recorded material evidence of their decision-making and risks paying off, indicating that there’s consistency of winning across skill and experience that makes their success better-than/random; it would be worth doing a study controlling for the fact that top people are offered the best mounts.

It’s a test of horsemanship, too. Achieving flow - nonverbal command of an animal and fellow athlete, and sympathy together, such that they respect and trust you - having just met the animal - is an achievement of many skills, and if you broke a jockey’s skills down into different types, most ordinary people couldn’t do any of them. No core strength, no balance, bad hands, bad posture, no sense of body positioning, no internal timer, no ability to psychically mind-meld with an unhinged animal you don’t know personally… they’re all fairly rare, and it’s something else to make it complex and interesting for people who like that sort of thing.

Personally, I just like Killie’s little problems and the drama around them. The racing industry itself could collapse tomorrow, rendering Killie’s story historical fiction, and I’d be just as happy.

[familyagrestefanblog]

For as much as I am on Alya's side in "Revelator" - and believe me, I AM - I still wanna point out that Alya and Marinette are two sides of the same coin when it came to how they eventually handled their sides of knowing the secret regarding Adrien's whole life.

Marinette: I don't wanna say the truth because it makes me uncomfortable and could result in permanently changing my perfect relationship with Adrien. So I won't fight for his justice and put myself first.

Alya: I don't wanna lie because it makes me uncomfortable and could result in me being dragged into this whole mess I hate. So I won't fight for Adrien's justice and put myself first.

Let me clarify right away that I really LIKE that the episode had Alya make a proper statement that she's not only NOT supporting Marinette in this, but also that Alya is not going to take care of Marinette's mess for her. Alya has been stuck in the Black Best Friend trope for seasons on end with her being stuck with cleaning up after Marinette, solve her interpersonal massive fuck ups (are Gang of Secrets and Hack-San ringing a bell?) and with her life getting more and more consumed by Marinette who never once actually asks first if Alya even wants all of that dumped on her because Marinette just assumes Alya will agree or at least give in for Marinette's sake "and the greater good". (Illustrhater is the current worst case of this).

I LIKE that Alya said "this is YOUR immoral mess, solve it yourself". Because, by all means, Alya HAS the right to draw this line and insist on her not just existing to solve Marinette's problems she refuses to ever face or even consider before they blow up.

I think, in concept, this is EXACTLY what Marinette needs. For one of the main people Marinette always just dumps everything on and takes eternal emotional refuge in to say "no, I'm out. Take care of this yourself".

This SHOULD be the right development for Marinette in concept because it SHOULD mean that Marinette would be narratively faced with having to finally learn to get her behaviour in check and prevent these problems from happening in the first place. A variation of this is also one of the main things Adrichat had to learn in season 4's Ladynoir conflict. That he himself has to care for his actions and needs and take care of nd realize his place in the world because Ladybug can't and won't be arsed to consider him at any point (which still hasn't actually changed yet)

That the people who used to take care of your messes or be the emotionally strong, mature, and reliable ones will and should tell you that they wont do it anymore, especially when you genuinely fucked up. That's NORMAL. And it's IMPORTANT. Because not getting to have other people to solve your problems, or at least significantly de-escalate it for you, will more often than not lead to you actually reflecting on your actions and put things in much better and braoder perspective FIRST before you do it.

I repeat, this happening is NORMAL. It's literally how you learn to live your life independently.

BUT

To finally bring this back on topic: while Alya HAS the right to draw this line and insist on not solving Marinettes mess, this also means that Alya disqualified herself from getting to say she fought for justice.

That's just how it is. Alya can't say "no I'm not doing this, I want my memories wiped away" and then get to claim she thinks Adrien's right to know the truth is the priority. Cause it wasn't.

Alya in the end put herself first and not Adrien. Alya knows that Marinette is keeping it a secret because she doesn't wanna face the difficult situation and then still tells Chat Noir that she wants her memories wiped, which means Marinette will not be held to standards by anyone again and possibly now fear anyone finding out about it even more.

It also came with the obvious risk that came true in the end: mind-wiped Alya picks up on her friends having conflicted feelings and ends up indirectly validating and supporting Marinette in her only prioritizing not facing consequences because now Marinette sees an oblivious Alya again who she prefers to have by her side.

Marinette knows Alya doesn't approve, but has no active motivation anymore forcing her to not just write that off as, for example, Alya's reaction "under bad circumstances" to instead have Alya now validate her left and right in her 'second chance'.

Alya unfortunately is indeed written to think better of Marinette than she actually proves to be and do because she lacks the full insight on what Marinette does and how she operates.

Sublimation was actually perfect set up for this. The episode starts by Marinette going stalker and at least DARK orange flag girlfriend on Adrien and Sublime and yet Alya was out here just saying "oh well, can't stop her 🤷‍♀️ good thing Marinette likes to learn lessons 😉"

Only for Marinette to end up hurting a disabled person and ruining a sponsorship because Marinette took all her anxiety out on Sublime. It was only thanks to ADRIEN and Marinette's Ladybug magic privilege that this disaster could be saved and solved.

No, Alya is not Marinette's babysitter. She isn't responsible for preventing Marinette's actions as if she were a toddler. But what I am saying is that she saw all the red flags and just said that Marinette gets to possibly use Sublime as her anxiety chew toy because "oh well 🤷‍♀️". As if Alya doesn't know that Marinette is by now used to extreme cases like akuma battles.

That's a PERSON Alya just declared a learning dummy for Marinette's behavior and that's already by itself a messed up thing to do.

Sure, Alya did so because she thought that Marinette's extreme actions and anxiety couldnt/ wouldn't hurt Sublime the way she did, but that doesn't matter. Cause Marinette DID and that was in fact predictable when you have all the context which no one ever GETS because Marinette doesn't let anyone have it.

By all means, Sublimation proves that Alya and Adrien SHOULDN'T just always give Marinette the benefit of the doubt and blindly let her do this shit or make excuses for her and even solve her problems. Because that lead to Sublime getting hurt.

Marinette is not as good and considered as other characters thinks she is and that angle is continued in Revelator.

Alya puts way too much trust in Marinette doing the right thing after being given a full-blown out, and Adrien as Chat Noir also shouldn't have prioritized again that Ladybug's lips stop trembling because she's faced with something unpleasant. Already in Sublimation Chat dismissed the akuma victim to excuse Ladybug without caring much for what she even did.

Now again in Revelator, Adrien sees Ladybug being in a situation she isn't comfortable with and prioritizes thinking of a way to get her an out instead of caring what he's being used to cover up.

That's the wrong thing to do. For both Adrien and Alya. But this makes Alya's decision even more anti-justice because she SEES that Chat Noir doesn't know what's actually happening and that he's for now instinctively helping Marinette to cover everything up, when earlier Marinette told her that she doesn't trust Chat Noir with the truth because she thinks he would hate that lie just as much as Alya does.

Alya has every red flag in front of her and still decided to insist on her right to not having to take care of this.

And again, she gets to do this by principle of her being an individual, but you can't call it justice. You cant even really call it fair because of how Alya is dismissing Adrien and Chat Noir in this.

But what I will call it, is Alya and Marinette being the two sides of the same coin. For good and for worse.