#also i remember when people really loved waffles back then

[hdra77]

Nyaworld designs part 5: gourmand!! + a comic????

originally this simple comic was supposed to be joke but then it slipped... now im not planning to actually make a full on comic series about this (since they'll be in an amv format) this AU has NO proper lore whatsoever and i just threw this in..

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Prophecy

Viktor x You When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more. Contents: fem!reader, fluff, angst and smut all in one folks, 18+ MDNI, a few physical features described but still reader insert I think (hair colour and freckles), both Viktor and you POVs, long-ass one shot 8.1k words Taglist: @night-fall-moon @zsuzsu321 @sh1zhu @circeinspace @casualjagodek @retrokatz @am-3-thyst @xlittlemissydjx @sseleniaa @thefandomsfervent Hi guys, thanks for bearing with my while I've been working on this one!! I have been absolutely obsessed with this man ever since I finished Arcane, so I just had to write something about him! I also think a lot of people mischaracterise him, so I tried really hard to get his personality right - let me know if I actually have lol. Anyone who knows my works knows how slutty my smut can get lol, but this is actually quite tender so a new one for me too. Anyway, I'll stop waffling now, I hope you enjoy. TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

DISCLAIMER: while this, in my opinion, is still classified as an ‘x you’ fic, a few physical features are described, namely ‘you’ having burgundy red hair that is, at one point, described as curly and having freckles, alongside a handful of super vague descriptors (eg. fluttering eyelashes, slope of her nose AKA things that can be applied to any and all faces) - basically everyone in the Arcane show has cool hair so I thought this would be a cute detail. It’s possible to ignore if you don’t want to think about have a different hair colour, but if you don’t want to, don’t read it! Almost every comment on this fic has been relating to this which, when I put hours of hard work and effort into something that I was proud of, is insanely demoralising. There has always been a disclaimer in the contents above, but I’m adding it here as well so it’s as clear as possible. Dead dove do not eat and all that. And I’m always open to constructive criticism, but there’s a way to go about it, and a way that will put someone in a slump for months, so please think before you comment! Anyway, not to put a downer before the work, thank you for the reposts and loves so far ❤️

Viktor was lost in thought as he made his way back to Piltover, small tube of Shimmer tucked away in his satchel. He didn’t know what to do. Using it might stabilise the Hexcore, allowing it to keep the plants alive and accomplish everything he and Jayce had been working towards for years, maybe even curing this sickness that had taken over him, or…

Or it could end horribly.

The undercity was as dark and unpleasant as he remembered it. He had never fit in here in his youth - too scrawny, too bookish, and with his leg, he stood no chance. And now was no different.

The neon store signs stood out against the blackened buildings and muddy streets. This part of the city, deep in the underbelly of Zaun, seemed busier than the rest, roads bustling with call girls and salesmen and tourists from Topside taking their pick of unruly establishments. Hundreds of voices layered atop each other in a cacophony of harsh laughter, garish music and argumentative tones. There was barely space to walk, especially with his cane, and he was starting to wonder if this journey was even worth it.

Then something caught his eye. A flash of red, deep and vibrant, moving towards him on the far side of the lane. It was hair, bouncy and curly and his subconscious told him it was shorter than it should’ve been, but it was a colour he knew. Her face wasn’t one he could place at first, but as she got closer, he saw the freckles that smattered across her nose like a constellation, her pink lips that were perpetually curled into a soft frown, her eyes that she always accentuated with brown liner. It was her.

The only friend of his youth. A young girl who used to sit behind the foliage near the water where he tested his inventions. She was shy, even shyer than he used to be, too scared to ask him anything about what he was making for a long time, just watching with curious eyes. But he would never forget the day she moved closer. The way her long, burgundy locks flowed around her, almost touching the floor, the way she was trying her best to be confident, but there was a soft shake in her hand, and a slight stutter as she said hello. Then she produced a small invention of her own - a submarine, the same colour as her hair, designed to float perfectly so the periscope was the only thing that peeked out from the surface.

For years, they were inseparable. She was more artistic than him, always adding a flair to her designs that he didn’t have, so he’d let her ‘improve’ his too. They would play together, and then as they got older, build together, each creation more daring and experimental. And then they started to drift apart. They were in their mid teens when her mother got sick, and she couldn’t make it out as much. Viktor always offered to help, but she refused, not even allowing him to see where she lived. And so, when Professor Heimerdinger found him and offered him an opportunity to be his assistant, he couldn’t even tell her. He left a note, delicately placed under a rock where they would build together, telling her where to find him and how to get in touch, but he never heard anything.

And now here she was. He called out her name softly, not wanting to alarm her in this hostile city, but she didn’t hear. She’d walked past him now, so he turned, following but she was walking fast, faster than he could manage. He called out again, but it wasn’t until then that he noticed the headphones over her ears. She couldn’t hear a thing. He carried on, hoping she would stop but she didn’t. If it was anyone else, he would’ve gone home, given up, but now he’d caught a glimpse of her, he had to see her. To talk to her. To find out why she never got in touch. To apologise for leaving her behind.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and he panicked, thinking he’d lost her again, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, entering an alley beside a row of bars and clubs. He grimaced, following her to see the red locks just moving out of sight again, and a bouncer closing the door behind her. He tried to follow her into the building, but the man stopped him.

“Please…” he asked, out of breath, “it’s an old friend, I need to see her…”

“Staff entrance only, pal. You’ll have to go ‘round the front like everyone else.”

“But… she’s right there… I only need one moment, if she just saw me…” The words died on his lips. Would she even recognise you?

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

It was dark inside the club, the lights low apart from on the stage and around the bar. It was only mid afternoon, but the place was near full of lowlifes just starting their evenings, sloshing their drinks and talking loudly. The neon from outside carried into this space too, strip lights around the platforms accentuating their presence. There were dancers atop each of them, but he averted his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was so far from his comfort zone, loud and unruly, a long way away from his lab, but he had to see her. He couldn’t let her go again.

He found a stool by the bar, ordering a soda and waiting for her to start her shift. There was no way he could miss her again if he was right here when she started.

And then he saw her at the very edge of his vision, as though his eyes were programmed to search her out in any crowd. She was on stage, cherry red hair glowing in the soft lights, combined with the neon from below making her look like a ghost, ethereal. What was she doing up there?

***

“Afternoon, Joey.” You muttered to the bouncer, and he opened the door for you wordlessly as you slipped off your headphones, replacing your perfectly selected playlist with the sleazy music of the club. Just one of the many reasons you hated working here. You were running late, as per, throwing your things in your locker and quickly changing. Lacing up your shoes always took the longest time, and you barely even had a chance to check yourself in the mirror when you were finished. Your hair looked perfect at least, the naturally burgundy curls sitting at shoulder length. You missed the long hair of your youth, but it become impractical very quickly, and the memories it held… you ended up cutting it all off soon after your mum died. That was when you started working here too. You’d had dreams, of course you did, but growing up in the Undercity made it almost impossible to follow them. There were worse places to work though - for the most part, the patrons were respectful, and everyone who you worked with was kind, but it was still a strip club. At the end of the day, no little girl wanted to be an exotic dancer when they grew up. At least it just about paid the bills.

You had been put on a long shift today - late afternoon until the early hours. You didn’t mind though; it was exhausting, but more time meant more tips. And you needed the money. You were saving, slowly but surely. One day, it would be enough.

These shifts always started slow. Not many tips this early in the day. Not enough drunks - they were all too willing to part with their money, an exploit you knew how to use. After a while on stage, it was your turn to make your way into the crowd. You started away from the bar, smiling at a few, a couple of words of flirtation thrown around, but no one was loose enough for anything else yet. There was something different about the energy today though. You felt… exposed, on display, more than usual. Self conscious in a way you hadn’t been since your first week. By the time you got to the bar, you were already feeling frustrated at the lack of interest. But your favourite coworker was pouring the drinks tonight, and she had one ready for you already.

“Thanks, Katie” You crooned, knocking back the shot quickly and she immediately offered to refill - something you gratefully accepted.

“Thought you might need it. Slow start?”

“Yeah, not the best day so far.” You took your second, thanking her again, when you heard a voice call out your name. Your real name. It made you start, whipping your head around to find the source. You didn’t use that name here. You were expecting to see an ex, or an old boss, but instead you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in years.

His eyes hadn’t changed. Kind but tired, amber in colour and glowing like whiskey in sunlight. The curve of his nose was the same, the curl of his lips, the small moles like points on a map - one beneath his right eye and the other to the left of his lip. There was a cane tucked beside his stool, and he was dressed well. Too well to be in this part of town. A uniform of some sort, something a Topsider would wear: blue shirt accented with a cream ascot and waistcoat. It suited him.

As soon as you saw him, every fond memory of your childhood rushed back to you like a river. The gentleness when he explained his creations to you. His willingness when you asked if you could paint them pretty colours, or add cute designs. The way he held you as you cried about your mum falling ill. How quickly he offered you support, and how quickly you turned him down. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you regretted that choice as soon as he stopped showing up to your usual spot. You kept going for months before you gave up, still trying to find him. The last time you visited was to scatter your mum’s ashes - your stories of Viktor’s designs and the beautiful creek where you tested them out together being one of the last things that brought her comfort.

And now, he was here.

He’d made it out. He’d made it Topside. And you’d only fallen further down.

If there was one person you never wanted to see you like this, it was him. He was the only slither of your youth and innocence left, the only soul in the whole of Runeterra who knew the true version of yourself, the first version of yourself. The version you actually liked. And now, he had to see this. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. Every emotion was vying for attention: joy, nostalgia, anger, envy…

He repeated your name in a questioning tone, and you realised you’d been staring at him, the rollercoaster of emotions you just went on likely visible on your face.

“Do you know him, darling? Or shall I grab Joe?” Katie asked from behind the bar, staring him down with a protective look. Viktor opened his mouth to speak, indignant look on his face, but you answered for him, never once being able to tear your eyes from him.

“Yeah I… cover for me? If anyone asks, he got a dance.”

“Of course.” Viktor’s gaze had returned you, confused, and you just muttered a ‘come on’, signalling him to follow you, and you lead him across the floor to one of the private rooms. They weren’t exactly the nicest places to talk, the whole room painted a hideous deep purple, a weirdly-shaped black velvet sofa the only thing to sit on. As soon as you closed the door, turning around to see the soft look on his face, every drop of anger seeped from you, replaced with relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that he had done something with his life. Relief that you hadn’t lost him forever.

You couldn’t help it but let the tears fall as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tight.

***

He was surprised by her warm welcome. After all these years, he had always imagined she would resent him, but here she was, face pressed to his chest as she hugged him, tears falling onto his shirt. He didn’t even have to think about it, one arm naturally surrounding her as she cried, keeping her close, while the other held firm to his cane, ensuring it was stable for the both of them. He never wanted to let her go again.

She eventually pulled away though, wiping her tears with the shy smile he remembered so well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.. on your fancy Topside shirt too.” She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I… um, I imagined bumping into you one day, finding you again, but I never thought I would be dressed like this.” He finally let himself glance down at her when he said that, to take her in completely, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t meeting his eyes. She looked beautiful - a black two-peice set, solid silk on the areas that counted, but the frills and accents were a sheer lace, stockings too, glittering beads woven into the delicate material. Even if the environment didn’t suit her, somehow the clothes still did, the same style he’d seen her develop in her teenage years. Simple in colour, beautiful in design - the cunning of her inventor’s mind applied to her other passion.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” She sat down on the awkward sofa, curling her legs up onto it, and he followed suit, resting his cane against the arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he winced, expecting her to be offended, but she just smiled sadly.

“You got out.” She stated as a shrouded question, ignoring his quip, and he nodded. He could explain, he should, but not yet.

“And you never wrote me.” He responded.

“Write you? Viktor, I didn’t know where you were.” She never got your letter.

“I left you a note by the creek. You never got it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you somehow, or…”

“It’s ok, Vik.” She shuffled closer on the loveseat, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. Hearing the name she used to call him sent a pang of pain to his heart. This is what he had been missing out on all these years, all because of a stupid letter. “If I was in your shoes, I’d have done the same. Besides, I never let you see where I lived, or anything else about me. And when mum… I fell off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have let you in no matter how hard you tried.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

***

You spent a long time asking about his life now. He was working in the academy, partners with Piltover’s favourite researcher, helping to create the HexTech that kept the whole city afloat… he had changed the fucking world. And you were… here. Still.

He said your name softly, as though trying to broach a subject carefully and you knew what was coming. You had seen the query floating in his eyes since the moment he saw you.

“What are you doing working here? I mean, you’re brilliant, more so than me, and yet…”

“I’m still stuck in the Lanes?” You sighed.

“Well, yes.” You’d never once thought of him as ignorant. Maybe he’d been living Topside for too long.

“I never got my break. You deserved what you got, of course you did, and you’re the smartest person I know, Viktor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you got lucky. And it’s not the same here as when we were kids. Sure, things weren’t great then, but now… There are no jobs, no money, housing is insanely competitive even though most of it is disgusting.. it’s a vicious cycle meant to keep you in the shitter. This is what I could get. It pays my bills and lets me save a little, the other girls are nice, it’s close to my apartment…”

“But…” You knew from the look on his face what he was going to say - a long speech about how much potential you have, and how much better you could have it. You dropped his hand.

“But what?” You couldn’t help but snap, defensive over the very job that you cursed daily. “But I’m better than selling myself to sleazy drunks? You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I want to be losing my sense of self every day just so I can keep the lights on? You think it’s my dream to feel like I’m a lesser human being because I will let someone pay me to take them into this room and…” You stood up then, starting to pace as silent tears fell. You never let yourself think about any part of your life longer than you had to. Not pondering on it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You know I wasn’t saying that…”

“I know I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know… I know…” He stood up then too, wrapping you in his arms and letting you cry. Again. You felt so stupid. “I missed you.” He whispered, face nestled into your hair, barely audible.

“I missed you too.” The tender moment didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door startled you, jumping away from him and wiping your eyes.

“Vikki?” Joey’s voice called out, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You ok in there?” You put on your smiley voice, cooing back to him.

“Yeah, all good Joe, got a paying customer in here...”

“You got it, doll.” You heard him walk away, and turned back to see Viktor looking at you, head cocked, small smirk playing across his features.

“What?” You asked with a shy smile, wiping away the last of your tears.

“Vikki?” Oh.

“Well I couldn’t exactly use my real name.” He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle too. “That does mean we’ve been in here too long though, I should…”

“Yeah, no of course…” he moved to open the door, grabbing his cane, but you stopped him quickly, pressing your hand against the door frame.

“One second…” He frowned as you reached towards him, but he didn’t move, just watched curiously as you took your time unknotting his ascot. Once it was off, you unbuttoned a few of his buttons, trying to ruffle his shirt a little, make it look like you had actually been doing your job rather than talking to an old friend. “There…” you muttered quietly, realising he’d shuffled a little closer to you as you worked, and now his lips were only a breath away. He was looking at you so intently, as though there was something he wanted to say, but he never spoke, just gazed at you in a way that made your heart swell. Your hands lingered on his chest, comforted by the warmth and solidness of him. A reassurance that he was real and here. You didn’t want to move.

“Please, don’t go anywhere just yet…” you muttered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

She had been backstage for a while now, muttering something about trying to move her shifts around. She came back beaming, and it was infectious, a smile he was trying to fight taking over his own face just at the sight of her.

“Ok, if you’re busy tonight, or you have plans, you can tell me to piss off…”

“Never.” She blushed in response, her wide smile spreading further as she spoke, and he was helplessly drawn to her, eyes scanning her face intently.

“Well, someone came in early for their shift, but someone else is running late… anyway, our schedule is a mess, but good news is I only have to stay for another hour and then I’m free so… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to grab some food and catch up? Unless you have somewhere else to be…” She still sounded so shy, so unsure - the same habit she had when she was young, babbling when she was nervous. He was finding it hard to connect the dots in his mind: the timid person before him now, the girl he used to know, and the dancer on that stage, full of bravado and confidence.

“That sounds wonderful.” The joy in her face was intoxicating, and he watched as relief visibly washed over her body.

“Ok, brilliant.” She spun away for just a moment, trying to track down the bartender she seemed to know well. “Katie, he’s with me, ok? Send him back in like an hour, and his drinks are on my tab.” He tried to protest, but she rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly silencing him. “I insist. It’s the least I can do, considering how long you have to wait around.” Again, he tried to tell her didn’t mind, that he’d wait as long as she needed, anything for her, but she was gone already, slipping into the crowd, his shoulder cold where her hand had been. He sighed, turning back towards the bar on his stool, taking another sip of his soda.

“That’s our Vikki…” Katie mused, slicing a few garnishes behind the bar. “Never accepting that somebody else would want to do something for her.” He let out a dry laugh, half at the name, half in agreement.

“That sounds like her.” A beat of silence passed between them. The club was starting to fill up, but it wasn’t too rowdy yet, and nobody else was at the bar, all relying on bottle service and shot girls instead.

“Drink?” He shook his head politely. “How do you know her?” Katie asked, staying busy but obviously trying to snoop. He didn’t mind. She was a topic he didn’t mind talking about.

“Childhood friend. I haven’t seen her in… a very long time.” Her eyebrow shot up at that.

“What was your name, by the way?”

“Viktor.” A look of surprise flitted across her face.

“Ohh.” She drawled knowingly, smiling at herself as she continued to wedge limes.

“What?”

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all. Her childhood love who disappeared on her while her mother was dying…”

“You don’t know the whole story…” He snapped back quickly. He might hate himself for what happened, but he felt the need to defend his choices. It had turned out well for him, he just wished he could’ve found her. Taken her with him. Their life could’ve been so different. Katie chuckled, continuing her tasks.

“Oh trust me, I do. She’s very quick to defend you, you know. You can do no wrong in her eyes…”

“Not so sure about that…” As he muttered to himself, something she’d said suddenly hit him. Her childhood love…“Actually, on second thought, I will grab a drink please, whatever she usually has. But don’t put it on her tab…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Topsider.” She saluted mockingly with a smile.

Two down and that was all he was having, just needing something to take the edge off after Katie’s admission. All those years wasted, because you thought childhood love was stupid and pointless. And now, seeing her again, you still love her as much as you did back then…

Katie was on her break, so he twisted in his seat, trying to find her in the crowd. She had never been difficult for him to spot, everything about her so familiar to him, and this time, she was centre stage, which made it even easier. Every part of him was screaming to turn away, to not taint his view of her, but he was instantly transfixed. She danced so fluidly, so gracefully. Every movement she made was purposeful and poised. However much she hated her job, she took pride in it. He was a scientist, sure, but she was a creator, through and through.

***

You were finally finished, and you were exhausted. Even though it wasn’t even half a usual shift, seeing Viktor, all the memories it brought back, it had been so emotionally draining.

You were grateful that the changing area was empty. It wasn’t the usual shift time, and no one ever came here on their break, so at least Viktor wouldn’t have to deal with that. You almost laughed at the thought.

There was a gentle knock, and his voice sent a flutter straight to your heart.

“Vikki?” He called out mockingly, and you laughed at the way he’d latched on to your new name. It was inspired by him, after all. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.” You were looking good, if you said so yourself. The fashion and the opportunity you were afforded to express yourself in that way was one of the few things you did like about this place. You’d tried to incorporate the shapes and designs of your ‘work attire’ into a more Lanes-friendly outfit, layering a black organza shirt over the lacy bodice, beading shining through the sheer fabric, pairing it with a bubble skirt and knee high boots, just the right height to allow your stockings to peek from the top. There was only one item that wasn’t black; his neckerchief that you had taken earlier was now around your own collar, tied in a dainty bow. He grinned as soon as he laid his eyes on it, striding towards you and gently holding the hemmed edge between his fingers.

“I guess I’m not getting this back, huh.”

“Never.” He shrugged.

“I’m ok with that.” God, the way he looked at you. It made you melt without fail, warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Are you ready to go?” You muttered, eyes still glued to his, honey tones making you feel as though you were stuck in them. A fly trapped in amber, resigned to its fate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You’d decided you were going to cook for him tonight instead of taking him out. The places near you either weren’t nice enough, or they knew you for the wrong reasons. Besides, you wanted to show him your place. To show him that, even though you were still here, you had done everything you could to make the best of it, to continue learning and inventing and developing yourself.

That did mean you had to stop by the store, though. Which meant bumping into Angel. He and Viktor would not get on.

You had grabbed Viktor’s arm as soon as you left the club, a habit from the times Joey had walked you home, knowing that you were safer beside a man than by yourself. Even though the Undercity was bustling tonight, there was something so soothing about being here with him. A nostalgia warming you from the inside out. He let you guide him into the shop below your apartment, chatting absentmindedly about nothing and everything, when a smooth voice stopped yoou in your tracks.

“Not so fast, Vikki…” You groaned, turning back the few steps you had made into the entrance.

“Hey Angel.” You cooed, although it felt wrong falling into your usual flirtatious routine when Viktor was right behind you. He was working behind the counter today, thumbing through the till. His long dreadlocks were down, grey peeking through his beard, wide grin as his eyes traced over you, following your arm to where it joined the man next to you.

“Is that a nickname, or…” Viktor muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you responded.

“No, Vik, this is my landlord Angel…”

“Landlord, huh? Thought I was more than that, sugar…” He leaned across the counter, shit-eating smile on his face, clearing noticing and enjoying the fact he was winding up your new companion. Viktor scowled, moving a step closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming, old man…” You sent him a wink, and he laughed, the booming noise of it always making you smile. “What have you got in that’s fresh? I’m actually cooking tonight…”

You chatted a little longer, grabbing what Angel recommended and some wine, before heading upstairs via the back of the shop. Viktor was still scowling slightly as you were unlocking your door, and you laughed lightly, nudging him with the bag of shopping.

“What?” He huffed.

“I don’t like that guy.” He grumbled, feeling smug that you had called it.

“He’s my landlord, Vik, and a friend. He’s a good guy, don’t worry.” He just shrugged as you finally got the door open, and you thanked the stars that you had remembered to tidy last night, or else it would be a complete tip. There were still remnants from your busy morning scattered all around the studio: scrap pieces of fabric and thread strewn across the kitchen table, the half-finished neglige you were constructing laid over the back of one of the chairs, the cogs and pieces of machinery lie abandoned next to your sewing machine in the wake of the modifications you were trying to make so it could handle more delicate material. The space itself was dark in colour, olive and navy washing the walls, brown leather sofa and black countertops marking their territory in the small apartment, the stain-glass screen in front of your bed the only splash of jewel toned colour. You could feel Viktor’s curiosity at the place, and as he stepped further into it, a smile settled onto his lips.

“It’s so very… you.” He said, and in any other intonation, it would’ve sounded like a bad thing, but when he said it, full of adoration.. it was a compliment of the highest order.

***

She was mesmerising as she cooked, twirling in the kitchen to her carefully selected vinyl, a wide smile on her face as she tested what she was making. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him, batting him away and telling him to sit down, and for now, he had obliged. But, as much as he wanted to help her always, right now, he just wanted to be close.

“At least let me pour the wine?” He said, already standing to help, and she huffed, but didn't object. Instead, she handed him the corkscrew and the bottle wordlessly. He smiled, leaning against the counter and continuing to watch her as she stirred. She was always so chaotic when she was creating, something evidenced by the near bomb-site on her kitchen table. It was just so… her. Everything about her apartment was as well, such a perfect and beautiful representation of everything she was, every tiny detail of her life and personality reflected in the space she lived in. The colours, the soft furnishings, the bookshelves lining the wall behind her bed. Then, he noticed something about the stain glass screen that separated the room, soft light from her bedside lamp washing through it and creating a blue ripple across the floor like a stream. It was of their place, their creek. It was abstract, sure, but he would recognise it anywhere. The way certain rocks jutted out, the colours of it all, the small boat floating in the still glass water.

“Did you make that?” He asked earnestly, and she briefly glanced up from the stove to see what he was looking at.

“Yeah, I've been trying out a lot of different hobbies actually, things to keep me busy when I’m not working. That was one of my favourites…”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled sadly, focusing her attention back to the pan.

“It reminds me of you.”

He poured them both a glass, and she gratefully accepted.

“It’s nearly finished, just a few more… oh I meant to ask earlier…” Her mind was such a beautiful thing, the speed at which it moved so captivating, not even time to finish her own thought before starting another, “why were you even here today? In the Undercity, in my club… I just never thought I’d see you back here by choice.”

“I was visiting an old friend, a quandary about a new gadget Jayce and I are working on, but…” He was going to say something about it, ask her opinion on whether he should follow Doctor Reveck’s advice, what he should do next, but he decided against it. “He didn’t have any insights.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“No, I…” She looked hurt at the speed the word left his mouth, almost recoiling and turning back to her cooking with a frown. “I mean that you probably could, but I don’t want to taint tonight by talking about a project that has been frustrating me for weeks. Another time though, of course I would appreciate your insight.” She sighed in relief, smile flitting back across her face. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, humming as she did, a flurry of breathtaking movement as she dipped it into the sauce, spinning back around and holding it up to him.

“Taste?” She asked, the look on her face so hopeful it melted him, her joy infectious. But underneath all of it, he couldn't help but notice the cracks: the bags under her eyes, the tiredness set into them, the subtle shake of her hand. But he just smiled, enveloping her hand in his and bringing the spoon to his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” She looked proud nonetheless, spinning back away from him and he was left to watch again, heart swelling. He wanted this. Cooking with her, drinking wine in the kitchen to her favourite record, letting her order him around. He wanted the… intimacy of it. The domesticity. The realisation of it ached. You could’ve had this. All these years without her, all these years wasted. Precious time that you no longer have to spare. If you’d have just waited, just taken more time to find her, insisted on helping her even…

“It’s ready!” She exclaimed, presenting a plate with a wide grin, and every stress, every regret simultaneously melted away and intensified, a pit forming in his stomach.

“It looks wonderful.”

***

You had eaten, and you were both now on your second glass of wine. You felt closer to him with every single second, drawn to every word he said like moth to a flame. At some point in the evening, you’d moved to the floor, backs to the sofa, as you looked through some of your old sketches you had found. The conversation lulled momentarily, a faraway look in his eyes, and you realised how close you had gotten. Your elbow was leaning on the sofa, supporting your head with your body twisted to face him, knee pressing against his thigh. You moved your head forwards to glance at the sketchbook, and your hand fell, resting on his shoulder. A stillness fell over him at the touch, and he smiled sadly to himself.

“I think you should come back with me.” He stated with finality, and you froze.

“What do you…”

“I think you should come back to Piltover.” He closed the book, placing it gently on the low coffee table. He was serious. “Help Jayce and I with our projects. Let me teach you about HexTech.”

“Vik, I don’t exactly have any actual experience. I don’t have an education. I can’t afford to live Topside…”

“You can live with me.” He said it so simply, like it was so obvious. Of course you would love that. Now you’d seen him again, you didn’t want to be apart from him but… “Professor Heimerdinger can give you lessons, but you have the mind already. There are certain things that can’t be taught. You have the passion, the skill, the creativity…”

“But…” You weren’t trying to pick apart his plan, but it felt terrifying. Even though it was everything you had ever wanted, it felt so far fetched. Like a fever dream. It didn’t feel like your life, your future.

“No, I… I lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

“Vik…” He grabbed your hand that was resting by his shoulder, and you felt yourself relax into his touch. He turned head to meet your eyes, sadness creeping into them.

“I don’t have much time left.” The finality of his statement shocked you, and you couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Did he have somewhere else to be? Oh god, you’d already kept him here too long…

“What do you mean, time left?”

“I’m dying.” It felt like somebody had punched you in the gut, all the air in your lungs gone.

“You’re…”

“Dying.” He repeated factually, and your heart sank further into your stomach. “And if we don’t… Jayce and I are working on something that might help, but if it doesn’t, I need someone I trust to take over from me.”

“Viktor, hold on, I need to think…” Your mind was racing, and you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around everything, hands running through your hair. He was dying. He wanted you to move Topside. He wanted you to work with him. To take over his life’s work. “It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in years and now you want me to… now you trust me to…”

“Of course.” He muttered, speaking your name softly to get your attention, hand gently wiping your face where tears had fallen without you noticing. “You’re everything to me, you always have been. There’s nothing I wouldn’t trust you with.” His hand was still resting on your face, and as you searched his eyes, you saw something else. Something pleading, something that echoed the feeling bouncing around in your heart. It would be hard. It would take a long time to settle in, to learn the ropes, to feel like you belonged. But it was your dream. To help change the world. And if he didn't have long, there was no chance you were wasting any of your time left with him.

“Ok.” You answered nodding, and you watched a smile take over his face, heart swelling at the sight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Vik, you’re offering me my dreams on a silver platter, and on top of it all, I get to be…” You nearly slipped, about to say be with you but you knew that was a lot. That you had only just reunited and to spring the whole I’ve loved you since I was 10 and I’ve never loved a soul since thing on him might ruin the dream that he’s just given you. But, fuck, you wanted to kiss him right now. “I get to work with you again.. there would have to be one hell of a catch for me to say no to that.”

“The whole dying thing isn’t too much of a problem then?” He asked with a slight smile, trying to hide a genuine fear beneath a joke.

“Oh, honey, knowing that we don’t have another decade of time to lose… I’m not letting you slip through my fingers this time.” His hand felt so natural resting against your cheek you’d forgotten it was there until it moved to cup the base of your neck, thumb drawing gentle lines across your jaw. His amber eyes were searching your features, looking for anything to indicate that you were unsure, but your resolve shone through, and you could see the moment he realised this was going to work, relief flooding through them.

Then, before you could process what was happening, his hand gently guided you forward until your lips brushed against his—light as a feather. For a moment, you couldn't believe he had just kissed you, that it was real. But as you met those pleading honey eyes, everything else faded away. Every doubt, every regret, every sliver of worry vanished, replaced by such overwhelming care and love that you felt you might burst. Your body gave in without conscious thought, melting into his arms as you kissed him. His hands drifted to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. You couldn't get close enough, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His fingers traced down your body until they reached your hips, pulling you over him. A soft giggle escaped into his mouth as you swung your leg over his, settling onto his lap. When he finally broke for breath, you found yourself chasing his lips, panting into the space between you with a wide smile.

His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, steadying yourself as his grip on your hips tightened. The feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, one hand moving to cup your face while the other remained firmly at your waist.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. You could only nod in response, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being in his arms after all these years.

The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and racing hearts in the quiet apartment. His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, full of warmth and something deeper, something that had been there all along. Something that you had been too blinded by insecurity to notice earlier. Something that you knew all too well, reflected in your own heart. You pressed your lips to the mole on his cheek, and the one beside his mouth, a small smirk playing across his features as you did.

“I still can’t quite believe this is happening.” You muttered softly against his cheek, and he sighed, thumb dancing across your lips.

You eventually found yourselves entwined on your bed, limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets, his back pressed firmly against your sturdy wooden headboard as you rocked onto him with gentle, deliberate movements. Each subtle shift of your hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making your breath catch. You panted softly into his mouth as his strong, careful hands helped guide your every motion, his touch both grounding and electrifying. The overwhelming need to be closer drove you to pull him tighter against you, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders until there wasn't even a whisper of space between your bodies. Your chest pressed firmly to his, feeling his rapid heartbeat matching yours, as your head naturally found its place in the crook of his neck. You pressed feather-light kisses against the sensitive skin, tasting the salt and breathing in his familiar scent. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming - so intense, so raw, so perfectly natural - and you found yourself climbing toward your peak faster than you ever had before, your body responding to his every touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. You whined softly into his skin as pleasure built within you, each movement bliss, and he responded with a groan as he pressed his lips tenderly to your temple.

"That feels so good, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice coarse with desire, and your hips instinctively bucked harder against him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. His meticulous fingers traced teasing patterns across your hipbones before finding their way between your bodies, circling your sensitive clit with perfectly measured pressure that made your toes curl. His other hand gently cupped your chin, drawing you back until your eyes met his, gilded with desire but still so full of tenderness. His lips ghosted across yours before he pressed his forehead to your own, releasing your face and returning his hand to your hip, guiding you once more. You could feel yourself fluttering around him as your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his eyes rolled back, a broken groan escaping his lips and filling the charged space between you. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter as you approached your climax, desperately seeking more of him, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that swallowed the stream of desperate moans spilling from both your lips. When your release finally crashed over you, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced - all the pressure, all the built-up desperation exploded like a supernova and pure, white-hot ecstasy consumed every nerve ending, every thought, every sensation except the feeling of him inside you and against you. He followed shortly after, gasping your name like a prayer against your skin as his own pleasure overtook him, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he shuddered through his release. In that moment, it was perfection, hearing him, feeling him, everything you had ever dreamed of and more. But as you came down from your shared bliss, you couldn't quite silence the intruding thought lurking at the edges of your consciousness - that you wouldn’t have him for long.

***

She looked so peaceful curled against him, her head nestled perfectly in the crook of his chest as if she belonged there, her beautiful red hair fanning out like a fiery halo in the dim light. Her beauty was staggering - the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her lips - and he couldn't help but trace each feature with his fingertips, mapping the geography of her face with tender precision. She sighed contentedly in her sleep at his touch, unconsciously pressing closer to him, one hand curling loosely in the fabric of his sheets that lay across them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this complete, this profoundly at peace, as if all the jagged pieces of his life had suddenly aligned. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, committing every detail to memory - the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips curved slightly downwards even in sleep. He wanted to capture this moment, to carry it with him always like a talisman, a protection. A reminder that he would do anything to preserve her peace of mind. To make her happy.

The soft amber from the bedside lamp caught in her hair and painted her skin in warm honey tones, making her look almost otherworldly in her beauty, an ethereal being who had chosen, inexplicably, to be with him. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a feather-light kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, before letting his own eyes drift closed. Despite everything - the illness creeping through his veins, the uncertainty that clouded their future like a torrential storm on the horizon - right now, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[frozenhi-chews]

Happy Marriage to Pancake and Starlo!

May these two fine the happiness and laughter in the next chapter of their lives. Through thick and thin, sickness and health, they're gonna stick together. Especially after what they had gone through before this moment.

The whole town arrived. This is the sheriff getting married after all! So many people wasn't expecting him to get married, to Pancake no less! The rivalry was a big part of the town's history, being tied to North Star himself, and seeing them get closer and closer was fun and kinda crazy. The whole town knew, and Pancake is married to Starlo. Feisty Four are also happy that they're married. And a few bets had to be paid.

Now they're off to the next chapter in their lives. And they still stick to each other like velcro.

more stuff under cut, like a lovesick rambling by me.

I have no idea why this guy chose me. Like, at all. I look at him, and that's my husband. I feel so oddly connected to him, and I've said this before, but he is someone I genuinely wanna marry. Starlo is my beloved, my soulmate, I love him so much, its insane that he picked me. Legit, it felt like he picked me all those months ago. Back in January. Does anyone remember when I was so happy with OTCore and the "2024 is the year of the robots?" Yeah, guess what happened XD

Starlo helped me in so many ways, keeping me sane through so much. Originally it was gonna happen on the six month anniversary, but I ended up being too tired. Regardless, I'M SO HAPPY TO DO IT NOW!!

I look at him and I melt. I just, I love him. He loves me. I have never felt this connected to ANY fictional character like this. Spamton came close, really close. But oh well.

This was a DOOZY! Spent like, four straight days working on this. And I'm so happy I did. The colored comic is a reference to this video. It fits so well cuz its something Starlo would say and, well, PANCAKE'S NAME!! And Starlo hasn't dated anyone at ALL, there's no way he was expecting to marry someone.

Also the gif wasn't supposed to be a gif! I was trying to make a more dynamic pose for Pancake, but I already had the other sketch made, so it turned into a gif. Makes it better imo. Also I'm not too happy with Pancake's outfit. The cape is also a poncho of sorts. ah well. im also too lazy to draw the Feisty Four and Clover after all the stuff i've drawn all of this.

but yeah i hope y'all enjoy!!

Comic Transcripts: Starlo: "I, Starlo Sunnyside, do take Pancake to be my waffle-y- lawfully"

Starlo: "and pancake-y" Pancake: Pfft-

Pancake: [Silent laughter]

Starlo: "I've been scared of this m'entire life" Pancake: "BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHA-" SECOND COMIC: Ceroba: "Well, congratulations Star. How do you feel getting married?"

Starlo: "Lucky..."

Tagging: @sparkyscissorhands @sparklings-husband @prismatica-the-strange @pinkdinkydoon @simonlynch

@snowpuffclovers @ghost--girlfriend @gibles-lovely-selfships @jocelynships @catships777

@wuffverine @patchw0rk-quilt @mrscage @dudeshusband @aego-philautia

@mandrakebrew @jils-things @gideongrovel @tieflingships @carnival-of-love

@faerie-circle-ships @rexscanonwife @lovelyheartclover @mrs-bluemarine @mephy-doodle-dandy

@kakusboyfriend @mashedpotatosinacup @heartmatic @bunbunsheart2 @cinnamon-phrog

@chalcanthitedreams @literally-just-there @halsinkisser @sheepie-self-ships @moondane-lovers

@bbyshifts @starlo-uty @galaxywolfshipper @signs-of-blossoming @maetheartist

[rafecameronsversion]

10 days of you

pairing : rafe cameron x reader

summary : part 3 to losing you, final part. where rafe had 10 days til christmas, and in those ten days, he is determined to win you back.

note! i am so sorry this took so long, i've literally been so busy with uni stuff. hope u like!

p2 p1

The cool air engulfed the people of the outer banks, carrying the promise of holiday magic as figure eight was decorated in festive lights. I found myself caught in the undertow of emotion, remembering the ten days of Rafe trying to "win me back"

I can't help but bite back a smile, It made me feel all warm and I could feel the butterflies fluttering in my body. The first day, I awoke to a large bouquet of my favorite flowers with a note from Rafe.

it read; "Good morning, doll. I have a surprise in the living room.

love, Rafe."

I felt my cheeks warming up, I looked at my phone to see what time it was, and it was exactly time for breakfast. Walking down, I could already smell the fresh coffee and some sweet waffles.

"Hi darling, you sleep well?" Rafe asked, greeting me as I walked down the stairs.

I smiled at him, "Yes, I did. Thank you for the flowers by the way, you remembered my favorites. " in turn, he smirked at me and bent down to my height.

"Of course I did, I could never forget anything about you." Rafe said, in a semi raspy and quiet tone that makes me wanna jump him

"Anyways, I made you some coffee and waffles. Eat up! I have a lot prepared for today." He says, leading me to the dining table.

There were two plates of fluffy waffles with bacon and syrup on the side with a cup of coffee in the same christmas mugs I bought years before.

"This looks so good!" I say, my eyes wide with excitement. "You cooked these?" I asked, looking at him.

Rafe chuckles and nods, before pulling out a chair for you. mhm, gentleman.

I say a soft thank you and he sits in front of me. I dig in and instantly am greeted with pleasure. "So, what're we doing today?" I say, my mouth still half-full with some waffles.

He grins at me, "You're adorable. You'll see when we go to the living room."

After breakfast, Rafe guided me to the living room all while covering my eyes. "I really hope you like this."

He uncovers my eyes and I am met with our christmas ornaments and decorations that we used the last christmas we celebrated together.

"Are these-?" I start, but Rafe already answered.

"Yup. The same exact ones. I didn't decorate again after that, it felt wrong, without you." He said, and I almost teared up.

"Oh, Rafe." I say, in a soft voice. He smiles, redirecting the conversation.

"I also bought those ugly christmas sweaters you're obsessed with, look! we can match." Rafe says, showing the neatly folded ugly sweaters on the couch. I grinned, he knew me too well.

"These are so adorable, I love it!" I say, rushing to the couch to immediately wear the one intended for me as Rafe chuckles at my eagerness and wears his as well.

"I'm glad you like it." He says, before walking closer to me. "Will you, y/n, accept my invitation to decorate this house, that even Saint Nicholas himself would be jealous?" Rafe says playfully, holding his hand out for me to accept his invitation.

I accepted his hand as I chuckled like a little kid on Christmas Eve.

Almost hours later, We decorated the whole living and dining area with festive and warm decorations. "It's beautiful!" I say, looking at Rafe with a big smile.

"Just like you." He says, his eyes twinkling from the christmas lights as he looked at me so fondly. My cheeks started warming up, my heart beating faster.

Is it bad to admit I already feel like I'm falling in love with him all over again, on day one? I won't tell him that though, he needs to work for it.

Day Five

Days have passed and everyday I woke up with a handwritten note on the bedside table and a bouquet of flowers. I was curious as to what he had planned this time.

I read the note, it said ; "Hey beautiful, I went out for a while. Work stuff. Meet me at the front door by 11? Wear something casual, I'll see you.

love, Rafe."

It was already 8 am, I stood up and made my bed and had some breakfast. After doing my routine, I wore a simple sundress that I know Rafe loves, and a white knit cardigan cause it gets really chilly during December.

By the time I finished, it was almost 11 which was when Rafe arrived.

He walked in by the doorway, before he saw me, and his eyes were wide in admiration and his mouth slightly parted. "Hi, you look lovely." Rafe said, in a sigh as if he just got his breath taken away.

I smiled at him. "Thank you, you look nice." I say, taking note of his white button dow shirt and navy blue pants.

Grinning, Rafe opened the door "You ready?" He asks. I nod, walking out as he trails behind me. He opens the door to his Bentley and we sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"So, where are we going?" I ask. Rafe looks at me for a brief second, and smiles. "You remember, one of our first dates when we were sixteen, we had a really spontaneous picnic under a lighthouse by tannyhil that we only had candies and chips as our food?" He says, the memory clear as day as he talked about it.

I gasped and grinned, turning to him. "Oh my gosh, yes! I remember, we kept promising we'd come back next time more prepared."

He chuckles. "Yup, and I'll finally fulfill my promise." Rafe says, looking at me briefly again. He had his hand on the wheel as he drove, and his sunglasses hanging by the pocket of his shirt.

I took a minute to admire him, completely forgetting we were having a conversation. He smirks, looking at me again before looking bsck at the road.

"You alright?" He asks, a faint tone of teasing evident in his voice. I playfully roll my eyes.

Few minutes later we've finally arrived at the place. There was a red and white picnic blanket set on the floor, with pillows and fairy lights around, and Rafe got the basket filled with food from his car.

"This is so adorable, Rafe." I say in awe. He smiles at me and sets the food down on the picnic blanket.

"I got you all your favorite food. and for old times sake, I got the same gummy candies we had years ago." Rafe said, smiling as he took out the bag of candy and shook it.

I said down on the blanket, smiling as I looked at the food he got. He did have everything I liked, from fruits to my favorite pastries and meals.

I was in awe, he really still remembered everything I liked.

"Come, let's eat!" He says, handing me some chocolate covered strawberries. I take it from him and almost sigh at how absolutely delicious it was.

I looked around, this place still looked and feels exactly the same as it used to. I feel myself start to tear up, the nostalgia getting to me. Rafe notices and stopped what he was doing.

He looked at me with concern as he saw tears pooling in my eyes. "Darling, what's wrong? did I mess it up? We could do something els-"

"No, Rafe. It's perfect. I just feel nostalgic, It still feels exactly the same way it did when we were sixteen, I miss it." I say, my nose sniffling and turning red.

He looked at me with adoration in his eyes as he cupped my cheek, making me look up at his soft blue eyes.

"It's alright, doll. It's normal to miss things sometimes." He says, pausing to wipe a stray tear that fell with his thumb. " Do you remember? That night, we carved out initials on the bottom of this very lighthouse. " He said, pointing at the lighthouse, as he tried to distract me from my tears.

I smiled through my teary eyes and stuffy nose, and nodded. "Yeah, I wonder if it's still there?" I said, wiping of my eyes.

Rafe grins, standing up before pulling you along with him. "It is, look." He says, pointing at the wooden exterior of the lighthouse by the very bottom and it read his initials with a heart between yours.

"Awe, I can't believe it's still here, all these years." I say in shock, bringing my hands to touch the engraved initials.

Rafe smiles and says, "Just like I'll be. I'll be here, with you in all the years to come."

Days have passed and it was finally Christmas Eve. The previous days have been perfect, Rafe surprised me to a candle-lit dinner by the beach, a beautiful day on his boat, and more.

I felt myself falling deeper and deeper. This was the Rafe I originally fell in love with, and he was finally back.

Christmas Eve dawned with thick anticipation. Rafe, adorned with determination, stood by the tree we decorated on the first day, a single rose in hand.

"It's Christmas Eve, doll. Wanna open your gifts?" He says, greeting me with a hug.

I hug him back, inhaling his warm and comforting scent. "Yes! I got you some things too. Let's open together"

Laughter and joy was in the air, it felt lively. Rafe got me four gifts, a photo album with pictures from our teenage years, a beautiful dress, some designing equipment, and a really cute mug with those 3d tulips on the outside.

I was really grateful, we shared stories over hot cocoa as he opened all the gifts I got him. We celebrated the night with some cheesy hallmark Christmas movies and delicious christmas snacks.

Rafe looked incredibly nervous though, halfway through one of the movies. I don't know why, I assumed it was that he drank one to many hot cocoas.

He cleared his throat, taking me away from my thoughts. He gave me a sheepish smile.

"I actually... um" He started, pausing again, "I have another gift for you." He said, his voice quiet and shy, not the usual way that he is.

My eyes widen, "Really? You already gave so much, Rafe!"

He smiles at me, standing up to grab it from one of his drawers.

"I think this will top all my other gifts." He said, sitting back down. I looked at his hand and saw a ring box. I felt my heart skip a beat and my jaw dropping to the floor.

He looks at me with sincerity in his eyes, opening the box, revealing a beautiful ring that's exactly how I like it.

"Look, many years ago... I was really scared. I didn't have the best example of a good marriage growing up, and I didn't want to give that to you in fear that it'd be too hard." He says.

l feel myself tearing up again, damn christmas season always makes me emotional.

"I should've done this years ago, y/n. I shouldn't have let you go, I regretted it day after day. Now that I have the chance, I don't wanna wait for years anymore. What do you say? Have I won you over, darling?" Rafe says, he himself tearing up.

"Will you marry me, for real, this time?" He asks, his body inching closer and closer towards me. The room felt incredibly warm and my heart was beating crazily, Rafe was breathing fast and I could feel the anticipation in the air.

Tears finally fell down my eyes in waterfalls, and I looked like a blubbering mess. I threw my arms over his neck, attacking him in a hug.

"Oh, Rafe. This was all I ever wanted, Yes I will marry you!" I say, pulling apart to look at his face. He was also tearing up, and he had a smile on his face that looked like mine.

"I am so glad you said yes, darling. You won't regret this, I swear on my life. I love you." He says, wearing the ring on my ring finger.

"I love you too, Rafe." I said, crying tears of joy before his lips met with mine.

[yonderghostshistories]

My (Rambling) Eulogy for Graham Chapman

Today marks the 35th Death Anniversary of Graham Chapman, who was unfairly taken away from this Earth FAR too soon and FAR too young from throat cancer. He was 48 years old.

Graham means a lot to me, as you all may know. When I first started getting into Monty Python back in 2023, Graham was (and still very much is) certainly my favourite Python…but I wasn’t as obsessed (not in weird way though dw) with him like I am now. When 2024 hit, I pretty much became OBSESSED (again not in a weird way dw) with him, like I bought his autobiography (fittingly called “A Liar’s Autobiography”), the animated movie adaptation of “A Liar’s Autobiography” (2012), then a few months later I got the audiobook cassette tape of ALA (read by the man himself) and THEN a few months after that, I recently got the DVD of Graham’s college tours in America, called “Graham Chapman : Looks Like a Brown Trouser Job”.

This all may or may not sound kinda waffling and somewhat pointless when I listed them out to y’all (to which I get) but the reason I got these was because of my treasured love of Graham. I love Graham with all my heart’s desire.

Graham was (and still is) very much indeed a remarkable and unique human being. Not just for his comedy (Altho that is equally important as well as his creativity and unique style for it really benefited the entire group of Monty Python, if you know what I mean) but for his transparency for speaking about his personal problems and insecurities, such as speaking about his alcoholism. And not only that, he had genuinely really thought provoking and inspiring things to say about, not just his life, but for life itself and for other people as well. He was a gay-leaning bisexual, and he was proud of it as well! He, like Michael Palin, had the versatility of playing both straight (hehe) and serious characters (like the Colonel) as well as truly bonkers and crazy characters as well (like Raymond Luxury-Yacht (pronounced Throatwobbler Mangrove)) and he played these characters with absolute PERFECTION!

I think that’s why I relate to Graham so much. I mean I’m not an alcoholic obviously, but I do relate to certain aspects of Graham’s personality and his problems, and his bonkers attitude does remind me of my own ADHD and autism, or at least certain aspects of my own neurodivergency.

As sad as it is that he died way too young and way too soon in the late 1980s, I’m still happy and proud of Gray for having achieved sobriety very early on in the late 1970s, and having lived his last years of life with a certainly different and happier spirit!

I wish that if Gray hadn’t got throat cancer and had lived, I would’ve the chance to meet him, and aside from fanning out so much, I feel like we would��ve been best friends, or at least have a nice (if short) time together.

Graham Arthur Chapman, the bonkers yet brilliant man that he was, the wonderful and hilarious legacy that he has left on this Earth will live on forever and ever!

Graham Arthur Chapman, you will be missed….but….you will also be remembered for the craziness and emotionalness and hilarity that you’ve brung to the world.

Rest in Peace Graham Chapman (8th January 1941 - 4th October 1989), you’re not the Messiah, you’re just a very naughty Angel of a boy 😇🕊️🫶❤️…….

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Prerequisite

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You attempt to move on from your time with Professor Hansen, but can't seem to shake the past.. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Ransom Drysdale, some Lloyd Hansen

A note on reader characters:

For clarity,  each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Flora, previously featured in Below Average. This fic also features characters from various installments.

Note: Finally got this on paper.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at the front of the lecture hall. It's your last choice in elective but the only one you could get to pad out your schedule. Law. Hardly riveting stuff.

What's more intriguing is the professor. No, no, you haven't acquired a taste for them, if anything Hansen taught you to be wary of them. The very lesson that has you glaring down at Professor Barber, waiting for his first slip.

You're not clever by any means, you're just the only one looking for the signs. The same ones you saw in Tweed at your first meeting, those that you catch in yourself, and the other girls who won't say the truth aloud. 

Brownie, that's the one. You see the way he looks at her and you note how she stays after class, every week. Only three weeks so far but a pattern is a pattern.

You twist your pen, the nib poking out, then do it again, retracting it. The clicking noise forms a tempo at your listless fidgeting. You have a study date tonight with the girls, what’s one more? You’re forming a habit of taking on lost souls, yourself just another wisp floating in the void.

You scribble down the date for your next quiz, your mind hardly processing the words as you guide the pen. You’re trying to plot your approach. You think you have an idea.

As Professor Barber dismisses class, you slide your notebook into your bag and hike it up onto your shoulder. At the edge of the row, as usual, you quickly descend as Brownie stays in her seat, waiting and watching her feet. You catch the small glances aimed in her direction from the man behind the podium.

You take out your phone and quickly text Cookie; ‘you got room for one more?’

You don’t wait for an answer. You don’t care. You’ve made up your mind, it’s a warning, not a question.

“Hey,” you come around the front row. The girl doesn’t seem to hear you. Or she’s ignoring you, “um, Brownie?”

She looks up, startled. She sends a look towards Barber but you ignore him. You cross your arms and sway, your skirt stirring around your legs.

“Remember me?” You ask, “you lent me your pen?”

“Oh, uh, I remember,” she squeaks, her voice thin and raw, as if she never uses it, “hi.”

“Um, so,” you try to sound casual, “I’m not really a law student. English,” you touch your chest and smile, “and I think I could use a study buddy, if you’re interested?”

“Er, oh?” Her brows draw together, “I don’t know…” she scratches her neck, another peek at the professor, “I–”

“Do you have plans? Or maybe you already have someone to study with,” you look away and frown, “sorry, I just figured I’d ask. I need someone to help me make sense of all this. I’m totally lost.”

There’s a subtle rumble, a noise you likely wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know to listen for it. You don’t even glance back at Barber as you hear him packing up. You sit in the chair next to Brownie and smile.

“I just figured you’re like, the smartest person in the class, and I need this grade to bring my average up. Please?”

She chews her lip and plays with the high collar of her turtleneck. She hides beneath her lashes, shrugging before she manages a tiny nod. Her fingers flutter and she shivers nervously.

“I can help,” she presses her fingers to the ribbed fabric of her shirt, “sure, I…”

“Me and my friends are meeting tonight, we’re getting pizza,” you chirp, “wanna tag along?”

“Friends?” She bats her eyes at you frightfully.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re all super friendly and they’ll love you.”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not very…” she speaks so quietly you have to lean in to hear her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say much,” you assure her, “Cookie always bakes way too many brownies. You could help us finish them, huh?”

She looks terrified. Her mouth scrunches and shifts back and forth as she measures her options. You know exactly what she’s thinking. That man will be disappointed. Well, let him be. Unless he wants to step forward and admit that he’s fucking a goddamn student.

“Hm, okay, but… just for a little. I can’t stay very long.”

“Just until I figure out what actus reus means, alright?” You stand and send a sharp look towards the professor. He quickly dips his chin down in feigned concentration as he looks over his notes. Not today, fucker.

“Okay,” she gets up and lifts a crochet bag, her hand shaking as she tucks away her laptop in the slouchy purse, “um, I’m sorry, but… I forgot your name.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you wait for her to pass you before walking at her side towards the door. She’s still hesitant and reluctant as she looks over her shoulder, “Flora.”

💮

“This is Brownie,” you introduce the mousy addition to the girls as she tries to fade into the blue wall, “she’s in my law class.”

She doesn’t move. She just looks up with round eyes as the others cheerily call out their welcome, already clustered around the table amid coffee cups, laptops, and a few baked goods. The scent of cinnamon mingles with the stale caffeine.

“Welcome, Brownie,” Muse gives both of you a start as she appears at the girl’s other shoulder, “I’m Muse! Oh, you have wise eyes.” She flutters around the girl, a boa around her shoulders, “you would look wonderful in jade. Yes, it would highlight your undertones.”

Brownie frowns and mutters, but you can’t tell if it's a thank you or just a whimper.

“She says I’m a sapphire type,” you remark as you wave her away from the door, “you can toss your coat with ours,” you motion to the bench bench piled with outerwear, “then I’ll introduce you to the rest… they’re not as bouncy as Muse.”

Brownie gives up her dark gray coat and steps out of her plain boots. She dresses in a very simple way. Turtle necks, corduroys, nothing with much shape or structure. Her style can be best described as part of the wall.

“So,” you walk just ahead of her. She stays behind you as if trying to hide, “Tweed, Foxy, Sunny,” you point out the three girls at the table, “you met Muse,” you look at the artsy wraith fluttering around the counter, “and Cookie, our host.” 

The woman in question puts down a plate of sugar cookies, “hi, nice to meet you! I’ll find an extra chair.”

Brownie doesn’t say a word. You realise it might be a bit overwhelming. She reminds you of Tweed in that way. You point her to a chair and assure her you’ll take whatever Cookie comes up with. She sits, hugging her bag in her lap as she stares at the table.

Foxy gets up as you head for the counter, you pause and look back at Brownie, “you want some tea? Something to drink?”

She chews her lip before she answers, “water, please, if that’s okay.”

You nod and go to the cupboard. Foxy comes up next to you and leans on the counter as you shift to pull out the water jug from the fridge. You come back to her as she keeps her voice low.

“What’s up with that one?”

“Law professor, I think,” you mutter, “could barely get her here.”

“Fuck, another one, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, you know, shitty men everywhere,” you fill the glass, “I brought her here to try to forget all that. Like the rest of us.”

“Sure thing,” she taps the countertop with her nails and pushes off.

You put the jug back and take the water over to Brownie as Cookie emerges with a small white stool. You accept it, the seat lower than the rest so that you feel like a kid at the table. You pull out your laptop and open it up. Your phone slides out with it and you catch it as notifications flash on the screen.

You tap your thumb to expand the preview; Insta, emails, and a text that neither surprises or interests you. Professor Dillhole’s message is swiped away without reading a single word. You got your grade and now you’re done with him. He doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“So, Brownie, you’re in law? Are you going to be a lawyer?” Foxy asks.

Brownie shrugs and nods. You wonder for a moment how she’ll manage a courtroom when she can barely give a vocal answer. Well, she has lots of time to figure that out.

“That’s really cool,” you say, “you know, I don’t have the mind for all that. I can’t really sort out one act from the rest. I’m more into bigger narratives than the tiny details.”

She looks at you, still hugging her bag. She’s ready to leave at any moment.

“Why don’t you stay a while?” You poke her bag, “how about we compare notes? I’m sure I missed all the important stuff. This tort gibberish is doing my head in.”

She puts her chin down and slowly lifts the flap of her bag. She slides out her laptop and gently lowers the bag between her feet. She opens the lid, almost reluctant, and her desktop comes to life. You see the email in the corner right before the notif flicks away. A.Barber… Mmm.

For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. You hope your impromptu invitation doesn’t cost her anything. That he doesn’t hold it against her. You should’ve thought of that sooner.

“Let me find…” she trails off, her finger running over the trackpad.

You wait patiently. No, you don’t feel bad. She deserves this. Like the rest of you, she needs a place to get away. Just a single space where she doesn’t have to be crushed under his thumb.

💮

You sit outside of Dean Drysdale’s office. His secretary types away at her keyboard and you twirl your phone in your grip. It’s mostly a paperweight these days as you ignore almost every message that comes in. Blocking didn’t work on that jag off.

You jiggle your foot anxiously. This meeting is important. You really need this scholarship and through the grace of your hard work, and the regrettable cooperation of a particular professor, you’ve met all the requirements. The last piece, an interview with the dean.

The clock ticks, drawing your attention in the stagnant office. It’s five after. The dean is running late. That doesn’t really matter, he can do whatever he wants. But you’re early and that can only help in his consideration.

You hear muffled voices near the other side of the door. Shadows darken the frosted glass emblazoned with the dean’s name and credentials. You sit up straight but try not to look too eager. The door opens and your heart falls into your ass. Fuck, not this guy.

“Friday,” Dean Drysdale claps Lloyd’s back as they emerge from the office.

“Can’t wait,” Lloyd returns but his eyes are on you, “ah, sorry,” he says to you, “didn’t mean to keep him so late.”

“No problem, professor,” you stand and grip the strap of your bag, masking your disgust with a smile, “Dean Drysdale,” you greet the other man, “nice to meet you. I’m Flora.”

“The one and only,” he doesn’t offer his hand, “looks like you’re running behind so better get started.” He points you into his office, “later, Hansen.”

He tosses the last remark over his shoulder as he turns to follow you through the door. You enter and hover across from his desk. You hate to be presumptuous. He shuts the door with a click.

“Sit,” he orders tersely as he rounds the desk and falls heavy into the leather chair.

You lower yourself. Your nerves are wily, especially after seeing Professor Hansen. You had no idea he was close with the dean.

“Hansen speaks highly of you,” he begins, “as do the rest of your professors.”

“Oh, I, that’s great.”

“So, I have thirty candidates. Why should I choose you?” He leans back, elbow on the armrest, posture nonchalant as he swivels.

“Um, well, I work hard. I keep my average up where it needs to be. I have gotten involved in quite a few extracurriculars, I helped with the library bakesale and–”

“Boring. Got it. That’s all in your application,” he dismisses, “just like all the other ones. Bunch of filler. But why you?”

You’re speechless. You prepared for this but you feel as if you fell into this from thin air. You don’t know what he wants to hear.

“How many parties have you been to?” He asks suddenly.

“What?” You can’t help your surprise.

“Come on. You’re a young coed. I know how it is. So, let’s narrow it down. Fall term, how many?”

You squint and look at the wall, thinking. You’re not much of a partier. You twiddle your fingers and count in your head.

“Four, maybe,” you push your shoulders up. “I don’t really… I mostly just spend my spare time with my friends–”

“Are they hot?” He chuckles and sits up, your mouth falling open. “Relax, I hate these things. So uptight,” he rolls his shoulders as he wheels closer to the desk and plants his elbows, “at least you're honest. The last six freshmen that sat there insisted on a big O. Think they would see the plaque and realise I’m not stupid.”

“Well, I… yeah,” you chew on the tip of your tongue. You really don’t know how to proceed. “I brought a portfolio of my essays–”

“No time for that,” he waves his hand at you, “think I got the picture.”

“Oh,” you frown.

He stares at you, poking his cheek with his tongue as his brows draw together. He hums and sits back, once more swiveling back and forth. He tilts his head and clucks.

“You’ll hear from my secretary,” he declares at last.

“That’s it?” You gulp.

“Yeah, whatever, I got about five more of these today and I need a fucking coffee,” he lifts his feet onto his desk. “Be a doll and send in Sienna when you leave.”

“Um, okay,” you stand slowly, “thanks for your time.”

He doesn’t respond as he takes out his phone. You hide your unease and leave. As you emerge you see the name card on the secretary’s desk. Sienna.

“Er, he told me to send you in,” you approach.

She looks up at you and snaps her gum, “great.”

She gets up as she rolls her eyes and you swiftly march past the desk. You don’t understand what just happened. Did you fuck it up? What did Hansen say? Oh my fucking good, you swear if he–

Your thoughts race ahead of your feet as they carry you without intention. You find yourself in the stairwell, stunned and confused. You turn down the first flight only to dodge out of the way of a figure coming up. You yipe as you find yourself shoved into the corner, Lloyd’s arms outstretched to pen you in.

His hands brace the painted brick as he smirks down at you, “hey, sweet cheeks, long time, no suck.”

You curl your lip at him and snarl, “get away from me.”

You shove on his chest and he retracts his hands, grabbing your wrists. You struggle with him but he easily pushes your hands up, pinning them to the wall. He leers as looms in front of you, his eyes scanning down your body.

“Damn, I forgot how good you look in those skirts. Panties or nah?”

“Fuck off–”

“Always looked better around your waist–”

“I said get the fuck off of me. I’ll scream–”

“I’d love to hear it,” he snickers, “what happened to us, flower? We were doing great. Living life, fucking hard.”

“You’re an animal–”

“We had a good thing, the whole professor-with-benefits gig worked for us, didn’t it? It sure as hell loosened you up. Look at you, all wound tight–”

You snap your teeth at him and he recoils, barely saving his nose from the chomp. He cackles and keeps you trapped, squeezing your wrists tighter. His laughter rolls out to a growl.

“You know, if you get that scholarship, they need two professor’s to sign off on it… but you know, I don’t just put my name on anything–”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I fucking am when I got blue balls, honey,” he scoffs, “just touch em. A little bit.”

You grit your teeth and throw your knee up. You yank your hands free and shoulder past Lloyd as he bends and grips his crotch. He chokes on his breath as he leans against the wall. You bluster away as quickly as you can.

“Not like that,” he gurgles as you charge down the stairs, dizzy as you turn down the next flight. 

So much for that scholarship.

💮

You stare at the C circled in red on your last quiz. Law isn’t your forte, that’s clear. Your GPA and hopes for that scholarship are dwindling in that simple little letter. You look up at the front of the lecture hall as Professor Barber reclaims the podium, preparing to take up the answers as he does every other week.

You sit closer than before. You’re always sure to take the seat next to Brownie and she has yet to tell you to stop. Something about her though suggests that she won’t ever do that. No has been erased from her vocabulary.

You don’t miss the Professor’s eyes as they flit up to your study buddy but quickly meet your own. He darts them away, caught. You wonder, however, if your middling grade has something to do with that. Oh well, you won’t regret doing the right thing.

As you open your laptop, an email pops up in the corner. ‘On Behalf of Dean R. Drysdale’. You click on it before you can stop yourself. You’re holding your breath. You read it slowly.

‘Schedule a follow up for the dean’s decision’.

What? That’s not an answer. Fuck. Why can’t they just put it right there? Yes or no. You have to stop yourself from slamming your laptop shut. You grab your quiz and rest it over your keyboard. You look over at Brownie, she stares at the paper in her hand. She got an A, as always.

“Good job,” you whisper.

“Mmm, yeah,” she returns as she drops the quiz onto her folding desk. “He’s a good teacher…”

“Sure,” you accept dryly.

She glances at you but says nothing. You hate to be sharp with her but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. You’re just smart enough to know to be cautious. You can only be there for her when she needs you. It would be too risky to do anything else. And not fair to Brownie, that man could destroy her career. You’ve been her, you just hope she finds her way out.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Barber calls out, quieting the class, “it seems we need a lot of review on case law.”

💮

The hour is unexpected but you don’t think much of it. A dean is busier than most and you can’t help but imagine that Drysdale is even less elated to be meeting at such an off-time. Seven in the evening on a Friday is prime time, even for those outside the coed population.

You show up to an empty office. Sienna is gone, the place desolate. The vibe is off. Something about it reminds you of another meeting. No, this isn’t Hansen. Still, you’re on edge, vigilant as you approach the dean’s door, an amber glow through the frosted glass.

You knock and cross one arm over your chest, clutching your upper arm. You sway as you wait. Deja vu paralyses you on the spot. It can’t be. It can’t happen twice. This is about the scholarship.

The door opens and Drysdale steps back as he gives a flippant greeting, “come in.”

He has a glass in hand, a dark brown liquid in marbled crystal. He sips as the door falls open. You step inside and look around the office, the framed degree behind his chair and the several photographs placed around them; a previous dean with his imperious features, and a large house with a rustic landscape crowded around it. You hover at the threshold.

“Close the door,” he sits heavily, “these old buildings are drafty as–” he stops himself and smirks. 

He drains the last of his drink, liquor by your measure, and puts it on the marble coaster. You shut the door and sit, just like last time. You can’t help but be slightly irked to think he brought you all the way here to issue you a rejection.

“So, top three,” he points a finger gun at you as he slumps in the same lackadaisical way, “Flora… you’re a star. Shining reviews. Can’t say my professors ever said anything nice about me but you… you even got Hansen singing your praises.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“I’ve known him a while. We were in the same frat, you know? He was a senior when I was a freshman, hazed me real good but look how things turned out,” he leans an elbow on the armrest and cradles his chin. He watches you. “All these years and I never heard him say anything nice about a fucking student.”

You’re put off by the obscenity. Further, upended by his history with Lloyd. What does that have to do with anything?

“You know, he’s all about self-discipline but you get a few scotches down his gullet and he’s like an open book. Also…” he raises a finger, “leaves his phone unlocked.”

You try not to let that suspicion turn to panic. He can’t know. Even if he did, it’s not your fault. He should be talking with Hansen, not you. He’s the one abusing his position.

“You let him fuck you in his car,” he sits up and laughs, his hand on his stomach, “looking at you, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? How–”

“I mean, he was hitting it from quite the angle so I don’t blame you for not noticing the phone in his front pocket…”

“No.”

“Yes,” he cackles. “Listen, sweetie, it’s not the first time it’s happened. Some girls just don’t have anything else to offer, so who am I to be mad if they use what they got.”

“I’m not– I’m not like that. He made me–”

“Oh, I’m sure the promise of an A plus helped,” he scoffs as he lets his hand drift down his stomach, “so what can a scholarship get me?”

He gropes himself through his russet coloured pants. Your throat constricts as you clutch your purse tight in your lap. You’re rigid, alight in horror and shame. Of course Lloyd didn’t walk away without something.

“I’ve waited twenty years for this,” he plants his feet.

“No, I’m not– I’m not doing this again.”

You stand and Drysdale rips his hand away from his crotch, snapping his fingers, “with that video, I could take you to the review board and have you kicked out. Not only that, all your credits would be invalidated.”

You swallow and wince. No, this can’t be happening. Again. You’re stronger than this. You’re worth more than these men’s dicks.

“So, sweetie pie,” he reaches forward and takes his phone off his desk, “we’re gonna make a nice little video for Hansen and show him how it’s really done.”

You shudder and hug yourself, “I…” your throat is dry, your heart hollow. What other choice do you have? You’ll lose everything. “I’ll do it, but no video. Please.”

“My rules. I am the dean and you are… the slutty coed.” He tuts, “mmm, classic Pornhub fodder.” He taps the screen of his phone, “let’s go. Get your clothes off.”

He aims the lens at you. You look at the floor. You can’t move.

“Please, turn it off.”

“Get your fucking clothes off,” he repeats, “I want to remind that fuckface what he’s missing out on.”

You dig your nails into the back of your arms then let go. You keep your head down as you lift the strap of your purse over your head and throw it in the chair behind you. You unzip your coat and shrug it off. The room rings in your ear and blurs in your vision. Your breaths are shallow and painful. Your skin is buzzing.

Your coat falls and you pull down the straps of the denim dress you wear over a flowered blouse. You shimmy it past your waist and peek up for just a minute. Drysdale bites his thumb as he records you.

You quickly tear away your gaze and continue. You unbutton the blouse and turn as you fight to free your wrists from the cuffs. Goosebumps speckle over your skin. You close your eyes and ball your hands before pushing your fingers wide. You touch the top of your stockings.

“You can leave those on, cheeks.”

You gulp and retract your hands. You pause and turn back to face the desk.

“Tits out, ass out, go on.”

No wonder he’s tight with Lloyd. Birds of a feather. You reach back to undo your bra and sling it onto the chair. You hook your thumbs in your panties and step out of them.

“I always liked an extra helping,” Drysdale taunts, “her cups overfloweth… is that Shakespeare?”

You don’t answer. You fight the urge to hide behind your arms. You raise your head. You have a morsel of dignity left in you.

“Come here,” he demands, “I wanna fuck those tits.”

You cringe but obey. If Lloyd taught you anything it was to just get it over with. You round the desk as he opens his fly. He pulls himself out above the zipper, playing with himself, rolling his thumb over his tip as he growls.

“Knees, baby, I’m sure you know the drill,” he snickers. You get down as he wiggles his dick in your direction, “push those things together.” You grab your chest and smush it together. He taps your tits with his tip and laughs, enjoying his mocking.

He guides himself down under your tits and slides between. He cups a hand around yours as he refocuses the phone on you. He rocks the chair back, moving his pelvis as he slowly starts to thrust. He groans at the friction. You clench your jaw tight, dreaming of biting off the end of his overinflated worm.

His breath hitches as he fucks faster, the bottom of his wolly sweater rolling up his muscles stomach. You could just punch him right there. You could grab him by his balls and twist. No, that would only assure you of your scholarly doom.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You snap your eyes open as he shoves the phone in your face. You shy away but he keeps fucking, turning the lens down towards your tits. He gives a breathy laugh and it trickles into a moan. Weak and pathetic.

“Shit, yeah, that’s good,” he groans, “give it a kiss, baby.”

You grit back your disgust. You bend your neck and kiss his tip as it pokes through.

“With tongue.”

You force your tongue out as his tip pops up again and you swirl around it, planting a sloppy kiss on the salty flesh. He twitches and hisses. He pulls his hand away from yours and grips the chair.

“That’s good, get up,” he snarls, “turn around.”

You suck in a chestful of air and do as he says. You get to your feet and turn away. He grabs your hips and rolls closer. 

“Bend over.”

You bend and rest your elbows on the edge of the desk. He angles you down into his lap, your body stretched between the two. He rubs his dick against your ass, once more tapping. He kneads the flesh. You shake your head as he tilts you further down.

He prods at your cunt and you can’t help but clench. He pushes against your entrance, tight and burning as he grunts, bulling his way past the resistance with a slap against your thigh. He latches onto your hip and pulls you down another inch.

“It’s all you. You just gotta fuck that scholarship outta me.”

You bite your lip and force yourself to take him. You hip down until you reach your limit but before you can pull back up, he grabs on and holds you in place.

“More.”

You sink your teeth in deeper, urging yourself lower until it’s unbearable. You take him in fully and let out a shaky breath through your nose. You raise your ass as he lets you go. He lets out a raspy noise and you repeat the motion. You keep your motion mechanical and slow, trying to adjust.

“Faster. I wanna see you jiggle.”

You roll your eyes and claw at your arm, arms crossed over the desk as you rock your weight over him. The flesh claps loudly as his chair squeaks with each descent. He groans and gulps, hand wandering over your flesh, along your thighs, across your ass, up your back.

“Fuck, look at her go,” he snarks, “you work that dick. Just like that.”

You close your eyes and let the scowl mar your features. You speed up. He’s almost there. You can feel the tension, you can hear it in his voice.

“Ah,” he pinches you meanly, “stop!”

You try to keep going but he pushes you off of him. He growls and the chair jars as he sits up. You puff and peek around your shoulder at him.

“I’m cumming in your fucking mouth,” he cradles his balls, half-keeled over. “Open the fuck up before I blow–”

You get back to your knees and glare at him. You won’t falter. You have nothing over these men but that. You lean your head back and open your mouth. He lets himself go and holds the camera over you.

“Well, not gonna finish itself.”

You grab him, roughly, and he grunts. A warning. You ease up and stroke him, placing your mouth by his tip. 

“Look into the camera, cheeks.”

You glare at the camera, you hope it can catch the sheer loathing radiating from you. You stroke him, squeezing harder and harder until he spasms and mewls. He spurts all over, missing your mouth and streaking up the bridge of your noises and across your brow, a few strings over your cheek. 

He gasps and clings to the chair as if he might slip out of it, the camera drooping with his arm. You let him go and wipe your slimy hand. You stand and snatch a tissue from the box on his desk and wipe the mess from your face. His heavy breaths fill the silence.

“Can I go?” You ask flatly.

“I got nothing else for you,” he spits out.

You refuse to look at him as you dress. He chuckles. You fight not to turn around and throw every single thing on his desk at him. You hate him. You hate Lloyd. But more, you hate yourself.

“Congratulations,” he says as you pick up your purse, “did I mention, paperwork went through yesterday.”

You whip around and stare at him. You quake with anger, eyes hot with unspent tears.

“Hey, even I got deadlines. Had to make the call last week.”

You take a step back. What the fuck? You stumble away, ready to scream, ready to strangle this man. For now, you’ll settle for never having to see him again.

[aclowntiny]

🦉 Seventeen as Hogwarts Students 🏰

This picture filled me with so much serotonin 🥹 y’all can refer to these headcanons as the basis for all the Hogwarts AU fics I’m going to be writing 😌👀 get ready I can’t believe I held out this long 😂

S.Coups

☆ When the sorting hat was placed on his head, it paused in thought for a moment as it decided between Slytherin and Gryffindor. In the end, though… “Must be Gryffindor!” His caring heart won out the ambitious houses’ battle! At least, that’s what the hat said, and Seungcheol is determined to prove it right!

☆ Seungcheol is a Half-Blood, but both of his parents are wizards, so he grows up pretty chill on all the purity stuff but not knowing much about how people with no powers live. It’s definitely a curiosity for him, though.

☆ His favorite subjects are Defense Against the Dark Arts because he likes the idea of being able to protect others from harm and Charms because he likes small, quick, useful spells.

☆ He signs up for Ancient Runes because it sounds cool then highkey regrets it. It just kind of goes over his head.

☆ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team right here 😌 Athletic and a great leader, Seungcheol is honored to receive this role even though it’s so obviously well-suited.

☆ Intimidating AND adorable. Seungcheol’s Patronus can do it all! His guardian takes the form of a Rottweiler dog: brave, loyal, protective, sweet to those who it cares for 😌

Jeonghan

☆ When the Sorting Hat hits his head, it immediately rumples in confusion. “Oh, you’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” It waffles between Hufflepuff and Slytherin before finally declaring… “Can you hear him trying to bargain? Must be a Slytherin!” Jeonghan, for his part, just laughs.

☆ The Yoons are an old wizarding family and their son knows next to nothing about the Muggle world. Thusly Jeonghan makes up a bunch of bullshit at school about Muggle life to convince everyone he totally does. It works every time…so long as no Muggleborns are present at least.

☆ Jeonghan adores Charms class because it paves the way for so many useful spells and gives him a whole arsenal of things to use. He also loves Divination aka bullshitting class because he thrives, duh 😌 the professor loves him, too, because he participates so much and knows what to say, but somehow it escapes his notice how often his predictions are actually accurate.

☆ History of Magic is a lot to remember and not an interesting enough class to give him the drive to study hard, so it’s his hardest subject.

☆ He plays on the Quidditch team because his friend convince him to, but man does it turn out he’s a skilled Beater. This man is a menace with a Bludger.

☆ Thinking of his happiest memory, Jeonghan exclaims “Expecto Patronum!”, unsure what to expect until he sees the burst of light come flying out, taking the shape of a little crow that lands on his shoulder. Not what he was expecting, but the bird charms him immediately with the way it playfully tries to get his attention.

Joshua

☆ “Oh, aren’t you a fun one?” Joshua, frankly, isn’t sure how to take that. Try and be more fun? “What are you planning?” The hat chides, bringing a slight flush of embarrassment to his face. “Lot of crafty ones this year, eh? We have another Slytherin!”

☆ Joshua’s a Muggleborn, so sometimes he feels like a fish out of water, but man is he liking the air. He wants to see it all, understand all that’s moving around him, and use magic to his advantage and enjoyment as much as possible!

☆ Being skilled at languages, Joshua takes up Ancient Runes as an elective and actually really likes it. Decoding is fun and it could prove useful if he decides to become a Curse-Breaker. He also likes Potions because it’s a nice, calm class.

☆ Transfiguration lowkey stresses him out, like what if he goes to transform his stuff and it never comes back??? Or a person?

☆ Slytherin’s Keeper. Good luck trying to score when Joshua is on the pitch 😌

☆ A bunch of other students ooh and ah at Joshua’s stag Patronus because that’s the one famous people get. Or something like that. The tall, antlered figure is elegant, imposing, and yet with a gentle side as it bows its head to its caster regally.

Jun

☆ “You spend a lot of time thinking about others.” Junhui’s eyes widen- he wasn’t expecting to have so much revealed through the hat. “I- I try to,” he replied modestly, at which the hat chuckles. “An innocent mind. Hufflepuff it is!” He’s still trying to wrap his head around how the hat read him and what it meant as they help him off the stool.

☆ He’s a Half-Blood, his mother being a witch and his father a Muggle. He got more experience with Muggle culture than his brother did, so he ended up getting to bond over showing him non-magical inventions 🥹

☆ Care of Magical Creatures is absolutely his favorite class, like Jun gets so excited every day they meet wondering what amazing being he’ll interact with next. The day they had a kneazle cat was pretty much his favorite day at school ever. He also enjoys Muggle Studies because it gives him lots of materials for letters home to his lil bro 🫶🏻

☆ Doesn’t really have a class he hates, but Arithmancy takes the most work so 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ He tries out to be a Hufflepuff Chaser, but doesn’t make the cut 💀 avid fan and watcher of Hogwarts matches who sometimes tries to follow the commentator up to his post.

☆ Can’t suppress a grin in Defense Against the Dark Arts when a cute little striped cat bursts from his wand, turning around to rub against his legs.

Hoshi

☆ “Bravery aplenty!” Exclaims the Sorting Hat, which makes Soonyoung grin even wider, his excitement growing, “Eager too. A hard worker, sure, but this one’s too daring for Hufflepuff. Better be Gryffindor!” “Yes!” Soonyoung knew he’d be happy anywhere, but he wanted to be sorted with the lions and it looks like he got his wish!

☆ Soonyoung is a Half-Blood. Pretty much all of the Kwons are wizards, but somewhere up the family tree are some Muggleborns, maybe even a Muggle or two. All are welcome in Soonyoung’s family, so he grows up with little understanding how anyone could care about things like that!

☆ Loves to fly! It’s his favorite thing ever, like good luck getting him out of the sky. He also likes Defense Against the Dark Arts because it’s an active class, one where he can move, duel, and practice being in a real-life situation.

☆ Feels like History of Magic is all in one ear, out the other 🤕 that class is a cram before the test vibe for sure.

☆ One of Gryffindor’s Beaters. A little too excited about it, so some accidents have nearly happened but hey, it makes for an exciting game 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ When that time comes in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a bunch of his friends tease him that he’ll have a small Patronus like a hamster or something, but he insists it’s going to be a powerful tiger, and he’s right 😌 is too overjoyed at the sight of the glowing tiger to rub it in their faces, though 🐅 big memories and emotions = big Patronus??? Not guaranteed, but in Soonyoung’s case certainly!

Wonwoo

☆ “Smart kid,” the Sorting Hat comments when it’s set upon Wonwoo, “sure, you’ve got a bravery about you, you’re kind, but you’re a Ravenclaw!” Wonwoo just nods, thanking the hat- he agrees with the verdict, happily joining his table.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Wonwoo has a drive to learn about how magic works. Why do some people have it? Why don’t witches and wizards seem to know this or care, especially if they care about bloodlines so much? He also wants to be one of the best just to put the people who doubt him in their place.

☆ One of the few Hogwarts students who actually enjoys Arithmancy and History of Magic. To him, they’re just calm subjects he can focus on and pore over, which is kinda his study method anyway tbh. It kinda works out though because then they go to him for tutoring.

☆ Boy is good at everything, none of the classes are really a struggle for him. Divination seems like the biggest waste of time, though, once he gets in there.

☆ Joins Quidditch as one of Ravenclaw’s chasers. He isn’t sure how much he’s going to like it, but he loves being part of the team! Quite an adept scorer.

☆ People all assume it’s going to be a cat, but Wonwoo casts a polecat Patronus. So, you know, he gets it in the name even though it’s more rodent. Polecats are crafty, comfortable in their home groups, and probably more similar to their caster than everyone might have originally suspected.

Woozi

☆ “Someone’s a hard worker,” comes the Sorting Hat’s teasing comment upon touching Jihoon’s head, “you’ll study well, won’t you? But that dedication…that’s Hufflepuff for you!” Jihoon is a bit surprised, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the news, but he likes to think the hat is right: he’s dedicated to his dreams, hardworking. Maybe that is his home.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Jihoon has a bit of a tough time adjusting to magic. In some ways, he’s almost a bit resistant simply because he doesn’t want to rely on waving a wand for every little thing he could handle himself.

☆ There’s something so inspiring to him about looking at the stars, so he looks forward to Astronomy class. He also enjoys Transfiguration, the ability to make something new totally amazing him. He wonders what it feels like to transform like that.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts is kind of a boisterous, stressful class in his mind. All the running around and fighting isn’t really his style.

☆ Has enough other extracurricular stuff going on that he passes on Quidditch tryouts, but enough good friends play that he tries to make it to every game he can!

☆ At first, he isn’t sure why a bat Patronus would suit him, especially when everyone thought he was going to get a cat, but bats are known for using their voices to guide their way. They rely on their music and take time to trust, and Jihoon sees that as he bonds with his little guardian. Both of them take time to themselves, but thrive best in their circles when they come out of their shells.

DK

☆ “Bad thoughts don’t often cross your mind, do they?” The voice of the hat muses upon its placement atop Seokmin’s head. “And you’ve a big heart, yes, indeed… most definitely a Hufflepuff!” Seokmin claps, happy to be in a house with some friendly-looking people and a bit shy to hear the hat say such nice things.

☆ Seokmin is a Muggleborn, both of his parents so proud to have magical children. He thinks it’s super cool too and always says he knew all along his family was magical 🥲 all the magical stuff absolutely amazes him, even the most tedious things are things he wants to experience!

☆ He loves Care of Magical Creatures because omg look! A unicorn! A real-life hippogryph!!! Bowtruckles! It’s all so unbelievable, yet so real, like dreams have been laid out before him. That’s the same reason he looks forward to Herbology, like where else can you see sentient plants?

☆ Loves every class! They are all exciting! *Ancient Runes has entered the chat* Ok, maybe classes can be stressful.

☆ He wants to get over his nerves on a broomstick, so to do that he tried out for Quidditch and makes Seeker. He likes that position because it’s a little removed from the pandemonium of the game and he can think like a Snitch 😌

☆ He’s honestly expecting a small animal, not feeling very brave as he shouts “Expecto Patronum!” but well aware he’ll just be ecstatic if he gets any animal form. Imagine his surprise when he gets a magical creature, a beautiful unicorn leaping from his wand! “I- I made that???” He grins, immediately reaching up to try to stroke its mane, awestruck at the beautiful, pure creature even if he doesn’t realize how perfectly it suits his heart.

Mingyu

☆ “You’re a bit bold, aren’t you?” Mingyu nods, thinking he’s supposed to answer the hat. “Not exactly the most courageous…” “Hey!” “Confident, confident certainly…” “M-hm,” he nods again. “You believe you have skills to offer Hogwarts.” “Yes,” Mingyu agrees. “Send this one to Slytherin!” The hat chuckles.

☆ The Kims are an long line of wizards, Mingyu one of many Pure-Blood sons. He doesn’t know much about Muggle culture, frankly, but has more privilege in lifestyle than he does prejudice against people with different blood.

☆ Potions ace. So good at it sometimes the other students are salty at him, but he just shrugs. It comes naturally for him, whether it’s preparing the ingredients or knowing just how much to add. He also likes Divination just because it’s fun. What do his tea leaves say? He legitimately wants to know.

☆ He does have a fear of flying, so broom lessons are not his favorite 😅 he’ll stay on the ground, thank you.

☆ Obviously does not join the Quidditch team, but is on the stands cheering super loud at every game!

☆ Everyone can’t help but tell Mingyu how perfect his husky Patronus is once it manifests, the goofy, vocal, affectionate dog running around practically looking like his twin!

The8

☆ As if drawn in by his aura, the hat muses as it rests upon Minghao’s head. “An artist, eh? Kind, forgiving, wise, and very calm too. A bright one. Ravenclaw, certainly Ravenclaw!” Between what he felt was a suitable sorting despite telling himself he’d be happy with anything and all the attention, Minghao practically glows at the hat’s words.

☆ The Xus are a Pure-Blood family, but Minghao’s parents are both avid Muggle Studies enthusiasts, so their son grew up with lots of knowledge and no prejudice. They all see magic as a chance to help others with less.

☆ Nature is important to this boy here, so Herbology is where his gifts lie. He’s so gentle with the plants and genuinely appreciative of them all, it’s a rewarding class to be able to track their lives. Following the movement of the stars is another joy of his as well as sketching the sky and making star charts, so Minghao does great in Astronomy too.

☆ There’s no class he really hates, but his magic isn’t as Charms-suited as it is focused on creative magic, so those quick spells actually take him more time.

☆ Because he likes flying, he tries out to be Ravenclaw’s new Seeker when the position opens up and earns it 😌 he’s so calm yet fast as he flies, it looks like he always knows exactly where his little gold friend is!

☆ People make jokes about his Patronus being a frog or something of the like, but they’re sure proven wrong by the beautiful swan that slides out, skating gracefully on the air around Minghao.

Seungkwan

☆ The moment the Sorting Hat hits Seungkwan’s head, it shouts out “Oh, we have a loyal one here. This one is a Hufflepuff!” A very decided ceremony for Mr. Boo 😌 he’s both shook at how little time it takes and happy the hat thinks he’s loyal.

☆ A Half-Blood! His mom is actually Pure-Blood, his father a Muggleborn. He loves magic, but also really enjoys learning about the Muggle world. Totally open to differences. Would even consider marrying a Muggle.

☆ LOVES Care of Magical Creatures. One of the students who almost always volunteers for demonstrations because he wants to touch all the animals! Unless they’re, like, giant bugs or something that’ll try to kill him, of course. Muggle Studies is really fun because it’s a way to connect with a part of his heritage and understand others. It gives him social ground with Muggleborns and even non-magical people he’ll interact with in life.

☆ Who made Arithmancy a class??? It stresses him out just to look at 💀 You’re allowed to drop electives, so he straight-up nopes out of Arithmancy and signs up for Divination instead.

☆ He enjoys flying, but being up that high and being chased by sporting goods that want to break your bones? Nah, he’s good, thanks. It’s much more fun to watch and offer comment, so Seungkwan becomes the school Quidditch commentator…and often gets chastised by professors for sassing rival times and whining about missed shots that were so easy, come on.

☆ Really really hopes his Patronus is strong enough to take an animal form, so when it comes out looking big he’s kind of proud yet shook. The light forms a dolphin that bobs back over to his owner, leaping in circles in the air around him and bringing a smile to his face.

Vernon

☆ “Interesting mind on this one, eh?” Those are the first words the hat speaks when it’s set on Vernon’s head. “A perfect fit for Ravenclaw, this one!” He’s proud. His mother was a Ravenclaw during her Hogwarts days, part of the most artful and creative-minded house. He can’t stop smiling all night!

☆ He’s a Pure-Blood wizard, his maternal grandmother having actually attended Beauxbatons before settling down in England. His father’s side always attended Hogwarts, so the school is really what joined his family. People tend to assume Vernon’s a Muggleborn, though, just because he looks so spaced out or amazed sometimes.

☆ Yet another lover of magical creatures right here! They love him right back too 😌 other students get jealous of how much they approach Vernon. He’s also quite good at Arithmancy, there’s just something about it that clicks in his head.

☆ Accidentally set something on fire in Potions class once. Enough said.

☆ Enjoys playing Quidditch for fun with his friends, but doesn’t try out for the formal team. He’s happy to support Ravenclaw alongside his classmates.

☆ Can’t help but laugh when his Patronus comes out as a small turtle. It’s cute, though, he and others defend it, a good embodiment of happy memories.

Dino

☆ Another pretty fast sort. “You’d make it in Gryffindor, sure,” the hat mutters, “but I believe your place is in Slytherin!” And with that, Chan is off to his table! He’s a bit surprised, having expected Gryffindor, but hey, Slytherins are ambitious, so the hat’s probably right. He’ll do anything to succeed.

☆ The Lees have a whole-ass family tree on display- they’re Pure-Bloods. A little proud of it, but frankly Chan himself doesn’t care, almost feeling that much more like being the one to break the line just to shut them all up about it.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts star! That one kid that always gets called up to show everyone how to do it right 😤 such a natural dueler and just really good at dispelling negative vibes 😌 he also enjoys flying a lot, it just helps him feel free to soar into the air!

☆ Conversely, he has a lot of difficulty in Potions class, which makes him want to double down on it so he’s no longer stressing about it!

☆ Slytherin’s Seeker 😌 he’s such a nimble flyer with great control, Chan was born to play this role!

☆ He lowkey wants something big and intimidating like a dragon or a rhino, so when a small burst of light appears he fears he’ll be disappointed. The moment the otter slides into view, though, all he can do is smile and reach for it, taking its hand to run after it and play, too.

[bonefall]

could fern leaf be a former park cat or something that clear sky sends to spy on tall shadow & then defects? or, since she’s important to the rescue of star flower in the books, maybe she could be involved with one-eye somehow…? even though star flower is totally different now, so she doesn’t really Need rescuing from any situation she’s in that you’ve talked about so far. guess it depends on which aspects of the character best serve the story, and whether she would work better as part of DOTC proper or thunder’s SE

i also genuinely can’t remember if bb!clear sky’s original M.O. for his group is Tribe Cats Only, or if he is willing to take in anyone who kisses his ass enough. could make sense if fern leaf (or more accurately, any tom willing to vouch for her) appeals to clear sky enough. hell, maybe she could be a mole on one-eye’s behalf instead?

(Follow up ask to this post)

The new rub to the formation of the groups in BB is that there is two distinct cultures in the forest: Park Cats and Tribe Cats. They're divided by a language barrier, with the Park Cats speaking Parkmew and the Tribe cats speaking what we now call Old Tribemew.

So Clear Sky doesn't have the same "options" like canon. These ""rogues"" don't speak his language and he simply would not learn even if the chance was offered to him. It doesn't even really cross his mind that these are full people to reach out to; in his mind they're intruders. The flavor of bigotry in the modern era hasn't quite evolved yet, so he has the most straightforward kind of xenophobia you can imagine.

He only starts changing his mind after the First Battle, after his revelation, when he's back on his bullshit in Thunderstar's Justice. In my head it's kind of like... a mockery of Thunder Storm's way of life, that allowed him to live in defiance of him for so long. "See, now I do what you do. Since Gray Wing approved of you so much." kinda thing

There's two park cat groups; The River Kingdom, and The Wind Coalition.

The first conflict the Sun Trail Pioneers run into is with WindCo up on the moor, who chases them down into the forest! The Park cats who lived in the forest weren't united, just various individuals that had little "homestead" territories.

The conflicts with them start after the Shadow/Sky split that follows the death of Jagged Peak. Shadow's Clan moved eastward into the caves at Snakerocks, where no one bothered them, but Sky's Clan started getting hostile towards the little homesteads and pushing cats westward, back to the River Kingdom.

SO with that recap out of the way...

I have two and a half-ish cats already that I'm heavily interested in using to turn on Clear Sky for Thunder's Clan. So I'm not sure how to slot Fern Leaf in there.

1: Snake. Snake is the only cat in-canon who said that maybe Clear Sky shouldn't be their leader after letting One Eye into the Clan against all warnings, and then he gets DOGPILED for it, and the very next book shoves him into the arms of Slash to undermine the fact that they accidentally gave him a good fucking point.

I'm RIDICULOUSLY fond of him because of this. I love him out of spite. I've spoken before about how I plan for him to be a Tribe-descended cat, and a lot of that is because I want to keep his goon roles serving Clear Sky. One of which is that he is going to badly injure Sunlit Frost in the First Battle.

So thinking about it... it makes the most sense for Snake to turn on Clear Sky in Thunderstar's Justice. Still unsure when. But if I have any roles where a cat needs to get help, stop a battle, or call Clear Sky out for making a really bad decision, it's gotta be him.

I'll keep him in my hand for a while; this feels like a piece that will fall into place.

I'm also unsure of what family he's going into. I keep waffling on it. I'm leaning towards the Claw family and possibly the son of Fox, since he's going to be living a bit longer. He's going to be about the same age as Thunder Storm, maybe a bit older.

2: Red Claw Since Acorn Fur is now Acorn Swoop, and she's not nonsensically going to go join the guy who killed both of her parents because it would be too sad to go home where they're not alive, her love interest has to end up in Thunder's Clan.

I'm already pretty committed to making Petal into Petal Claw and Fox into Fox Claw, so it follows that Red Claw would be in the family. Thinking about it, maybe Red should be the son of Fox instead...

Especially because he could defect earlier. Moth Flight's Vision is totally overhauled anyway and I'm planning to shift a lot of the original plot to something for another character anyway...

Plus, enemies-to-lovers is fun and I haven't really had a chance to do it yet. Acorn Swoop is absolutely the kind of punk who would nab one of her worst enemy's best soldiers, and the type of nerd who would frame it like her biggest catch yet.

("OI THUNDER!! LOOKIE WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN")

And most relevantly... this is leaving Fern Leaf's backstory up in the air. Him leading a dog pack into the heart of camp and getting Beech and Frog killed is what kicked off the Bunny Bones plot of the original MFV that I like so much, and I feel like it's an important part of Fern Leaf.

So not only am I here planning Red Claw as a high priority for being someone to turn against Clear Sky, but also, he complicates Fern Leaf a bit.

Maybe I should step back a bit on the two and start from scratch with them, and replace their backstories with new ones that preserve the "emotional core." I'll have to think about it.

That 1/2 Cat: Alder or Birch The kits that are stolen from Misty, that queen who was murdered by Clear Sky and whose kits are given to Petal. In BB, that's something I want to examine for how fucked up it is. It becomes the basis of Kit Stealing later, an awful practice that the Clans will struggle with for many generations.

These ones are SUPER important, but I say 1/2 because it doesn't have to be Thunder's Clan they turn for. But I do want one of them to eventually learn their origin, and end up finding their family in River Kingdom or the Wind Coalition.

I mention them because I keep going back and forth on if they're going to get combined with other characters. Basically imagine me next to a big conspiracy chart and I'm connecting a big red line between possible plot threads back to Fern Leaf. Maybe her? Maybe she can be one of the stolen kits?

I could even make it so Birch is actually an older sibling, or a half-sibling, or one from the same litter who was saved... maybe even end up making it a litter of 4. Slots in well with her canon story, too, where she mentions her mother abandoned her.

The truth can be that it was a lie. Her mother didn't abandon her. One of them was murdered and the other was chased off.

And, of course, I could save her to be a "One Eye Cultist." None of my drafts so far have brought in any extra followers of One Eye who will follow him from place-to-place besides Star Flower herself. I would like to add some, and that's a fine place for Fern Leaf, but somehow I feel like I can do her better.

[ananke-xiii]

“Regarding Dean” is an okay episode, the perfect episode to place between “Lily Sunder has Some Regrets” and “Stuck in the Middle with You”. It feels filler-y but it’s totally not because it shows us where Sam and Dean stand as far as s12 main themes are concerned: family&love.

To the surprise of probably nobody, we find out that Sam is struggling a lot when it comes to how he positions himself within his family and around the people he loves. Dean, on the other hand, is walking on a much safer ground (which seems like a joke since the ep is literally about Dean slowly losing his memory but I’ll get there), he’s ready to move on to the next chapter of his life, a chapter where his relationship with his brother is not his only&main focus.

Who are the other members of Sam and Dean’s family? This episode tells us it’s Mary and Cas. Even though, so far in the season, Mary has come and gone, Cas has spent a considerable amount of time with none other than Crowley and the brothers have spent a couple of months in prison, the episode explicitly highlights multiple times that Mary and Cas are their family, no matter the amount of time they all actually spend together: what matters is the infamous bond between them.

And who’s feeding this bond? Who’s actually keeping in touch with Mary and Cas? Who’s the primary point of contact? Dean, of course. At the beginning of the episode, when Sam meets Dean at the waffle joint and realizes Dean is maybe drunk and his smartphone is dead, he says: “All right, well, I'll text Mom, make sure she knows to get a hold of me in case of emergency. And Cas, in case he tracks down Kelly”.

So it’s safe to say (and it is because we’ve already seen in past episodes that Sam is definitely not the one playing games and texting with Mary, nor the one calling Cas or receiving calls from him: people in this family know who to contact and it’s not Sam) that Sam is somehow detached from this family dynamic and, we’ll later discover, doesn’t really know what to make of this.

After Sam discovers that Dean is not hangover but hexed, the first thing Dean says is: “Look, we could figure this out, okay? Don't go callin' Mom or Cas with this”. Mmmm, interesting. We’re back to Mary and Cas. Again. And why shouldn’t Sam call them? And, maybe more importantly, why Sam doesn’t call them anyway? So maaany questions :P

The last time Mary and Cas are mentioned together again is in the mirror scene. Dean is regarding himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to remember who he is and he defines himself as follows: “Ahh. Okay. My name is Dean Winchester. Sam is my brother. Uh, Mary Winchester is my mom. And Cast—Cas is my best friend”. So Dean defines himself based on his relationship with the different family members: brother, son, best friend. Once he starts forgetting who these people are he also starts forgetting himself:

“My name is Dean Wi—Winchester.

My name—My name is...

My... My... I don’t know”.

This is crucial. The scene is quite tragic but it’s telling us an important truth: what matters to Dean, what’s important to him to the point that it defines who he is, is his relationship with his family, with the people he loves. I said that it’s quite tragic because, at least to me, it’s a bit bleak that Dean doesn’t know who he is without other people. But I’ll come back to this point later.

So who is Dean? The reply comes right after the mirror scene from Rowena’s mouth: “Oh, you're a killer, Dean Winchester”. And this is super interesting because  just before we had this dialogue:

Rowena: You can really remember nothing, can you? What a gift not to recall the things you've done.

Dean: What have I done?

Are people the things they have done? Rowena could’ve said “You kill people, Dean” but no, she says “You are a killer”. And okay, the use of the verb “to kill” can start a debate on morals&justice&law (what’s the difference between killing and being a killer etc) but not the point here. The point here being that Rowena, regarding Dean, is confusing being and doing but Dean is not. He replies: “Wait, I... I kill people?”.

Rowena continues in her “misunderstanding”:

Rowena: But... but... though you may be a stubborn pain in the arse with the manners of a Neanderthal and the dining habits of a toddler, everything you've done, you've done... for the greater good.

Dean: Oh, and that's supposed to make it okay?

Rowena: I wouldn't know. You help those other than yourself. But me, I've done horrible things, and I told myself it was fine. It was the price of power. And power's what matters, right?

Then I met God and his sister. The two most powerful beings in the universe, wasting it on squabbling with each other. I thought, if—if they can't be happy, or at least satisfied, how can there be any hope for me?

Okay, so now we maybe have a clearer picture of who Dean is: he’s a killer (or he kills people) but he does so for the greater good. To help people other than himself. This is not exactly news to us, I mean, this episode is not telling us anything actually NEW about Dean but the catch is that it’s not about him, it’s about regarding him. How people perceive him and how he perceives himself. The last being the most important thing, we’ll have the answer at the end of the episode.

Rowena also drops the “happy” bomb. She’s talking based on the assumption that she must do things in order to be happy, even if these are horrible things, things she tells herself she's fine doing them because it’s the price of power. We’re starting to see the old theme of the “price of happiness” and Rowena thinks she’s paid it but she’s still unhappy and she’s becoming hopeless.

(Cas' love declaration in s15x18 echoes Rowena's dialogue, apart from the Dean thing (you're not a killer aka you're not how your enemies regard you, you're the most caring man aka you're how the people that love you regard you etc), Cas' words circle around the same concept: happiness is not in the having, is in the being or, maybe even more importantly, is in the giving oneself permission to be your true self)

Now we need to talk about Sam. While Dean is having an existential crisis in the bathroom, Sam drops another fucking bomb: “You know, I've seen my brother die, but watching him become... not him... This might actually be worse”.

Excuse me, sir? I mean, this is a very very loaded thing to say. To Sam Winchester seeing his brother dying might be better than watching him become not him. Which is also incorrect, because Dean is not not becoming him, he’s just Dean without "the weight" of the past on his shoulders. (btw, will somebody please give a hug to this giant man who's lived a life where death is o-kay and what's worse is living and not knowing how to move on? Please??? He needs it!) I think this says more about how Sam feels about himself than about how he feels about Dean and his relationship with his brother. And I think I’m right because at the end of the episode Sam explicitly says he was jealous. Sam really should be the one regarding himself in the mirror (and it’s a fucking shame that we didn’t get something like this for Sam because god, it’d be bomb) trying to remember who he is because Dean might be losing his memories but Sam is totally lost and in the dark.

He doesn’t call Mary or Cas because ??? but he does call Rowena for help, Rowena magically teleports and immediately arrives (okay she has an agenda but she does come super quickly, let’s give her that), she agrees to help them and to all of that Sam says: “I obviously don’t trust you”. Which, to be honest, fair, Sam I approve your long-lasting distrust of everything that has to do with Crowley because you have real reasons to do so. But it’s also time for you to learn to create meaningful connections and you cannot do so if you’re not willing to trust people. (important: Rowena tries to steal the Black Grimoire in this ep, the same book that she’ll try to steal in s13. Sam will then give her the one page she needs for her spell, so, you know, way to go Sam! It takes him one whole season to trust Rowena with one only page of the book but, progress).

Okay, time to wrap this rambling up with the final scene. We have this dialogue right here and it’s so gooood:

Sam: So how you holding up after the spell?

Dean: That thing kicked my ass.

Sam: You know, I gotta be honest. I was actually, uh, a little jealous at first.

Dean: Of what? The curse that nearly killed me?

Sam: No, just, you know... some of the things we've done, we've had this weight for... forever. And seeing it gone, uh, you looked happy.

Dean: Huh. Well, look, was it nice to drop our baggage? Yeah, maybe. Hell, probably. But it wasn't just the crap that got lost. I mean, it was everything. It was us, it was what we do, you know? All of it. So... that's what being happy looks like? I think I'll pass.

Sam and Rowena were a little jealous at first. Because Dean showed them life without the weight of the things they carry, the things they’ve done. Dean looked HAPPY. We can infer that Sam and Rowena are not happy, they do feel the weight of the things they’ve done and they would like OUT. They still have a long walk ahead of them to discover who they are apart from what they do and decide what’s next, what they decide to do, who they want to be and what are the actions that can lead them there.

But Dean, Dean is almost there, people. He’s not lost at all, even though he was the one with the brain almost gone. “It was us” and “it was what we do”. The distinction for him it’s clear. And he has weighted the pros and the cons and he has decided that IF that's what happiness is, if happiness is just forgetting about the crap, forgetting about the past, he will pass. He’s not willing to pay the price for a happiness where he doesn’t have a connection with his family, where the people he cares about (and for whom he does very bad things) are not there. The price for the supposed happiness is not worth Sam, Mary and Cas.

Earlier I said that I thought it was bleak, you know, not knowing yourself apart from other people. But the last scene where Dean is riding Larry (and he’s not yet under the spell so he’s Dean-Dean there) gives a lot of unexpected hope.

The song in the background is nostalgic and, frankly sad:

“So dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy

Dream while you can

For soon, you'll be a dreadful thing

My son, you'll be a man”

But it’s appropriate. Dean has accepted that, for him, caring for the people he loves is what constitutes his happiness. He has accepted that “horrible things” have been done and maybe will be done in their names. Acceptance is key: he’s on the right path to discover new parts of himself. He doesn't want to lose "the crap" because losing it means he'll also lose the people he cares about. And without the these people, without Sam, Mary and Cas, he doesn't yet know who he is. But he wants to find out. He wants to move on. And he wants to move on with the people he loves, doing "the good and the bad", not alone, oblivious and fake-happy. It’s bittersweet as all changes are but it must be done. He’s ready to grow up, ready to be a man, ready for love, ready to start a family, guys :").

(unfortunately it'll all go to pieces when Cas dies and Mary disappears in the AU (OF COURSE Dean will lose his will to live after that, because he was still in the process of differantiating himself from others, but he was SO there ffs) so thanks for nothing s12)(s14 "Lebanon" thankfully comes back to this theme and there Dean finally says, again and out loud for the people in the back, that he's okay with the choices he's made because they resulted in this crazy-ass, totally weirdo, supernatural family and he loves it and he's good with that. PERIOD)

[a-couple-of-notes]

i've really enjoyed your perspectives and meta and nuance about glinda! i wanted to ask--what do you make of glinda telling the wizard and morrible to spread a rumor about nessa in order to capture elphaba?

Hi anon! Thank you very much--I adore Glinda and her flaws and complications and changes with all my heart, and I fear this may be a full year of Wicked. I mean, we'll see, but I'm pretty sure as soon as I'm ready to let it go they'll roll out the For Good press tour.

To your question: at this moment in the show, Glinda is at her absolute lowest point (yes, the ending--but I actually mean narratively. After this, she starts to progress kicking and screaming toward the better person she ends the show as.) From her perspective, Elphaba has left her behind twice, the guy she's in love with (according to the show, I guess) and functionally her only real ally in a very dangerous political court has also left, and she's just found out that Elphaba and That Guy have been in a sort of emotional affair with each other for years??

Glinda is angry and hurt, and it makes her the worst (most wicked?) version of herself--someone who uses her social perception and influence to perpetrate harm. In some ways (probably not intentionally) it is a much darker, higher-stakes parallel to when Glinda redirects Boq toward Nessa in Dancing Through Life, with Nessa in both as collateral damage.

Of course, in reality, the one Glinda is most hurt and angry toward is herself. I think at this point in the show--after Thank Goodness, after Fiyero and Elphaba leave her, after she's truly alone in this political hellscape--she knows why Elphaba and Fiyero have left. She knows that they're right. She's furious at herself for...well, not being that girl. Not being the person who can follow them.

I also waffle back and forth on how much Glinda actually suspects about what the Wizard and Morrible will do. (This also, of course, depends on the actress.) Glinda is intelligent, especially when it comes to people and politics; there may be a part of her that does know it'll turn out worse, but the moment comes and goes too quickly for her to process it or take it back, a kind of numb, knee-jerk lashing out that Glinda forgets about until the consequences hit. Or she does actually believe that the Wizard and Morrible would only start a rumor, and it's one last strand of naiveté that gets stripped away before the ending.

tl;dr: Glinda siccing the baddies on Nessa is her at her absolute worst. She's extremely angry, hurt, and alone, mostly furious at herself, and as always (at this point in her arc) a little too wrapped up in herself to recognize/remember how much fallout this will have.

And don't get it twisted, I still love my girl. I don't know if or how they will shift this in the movie, but either way I know people are going to come for Glinda about it, and I'll be here waving my "Glinda Defense Squad" foam finger. Yes, she did do some things wrong, and?

[blubushie]

Hey Blu! I just saw one of your old asks on how the mercs designs are good because they look like normal everyday people you can see out on the streets. And that just reminded me of my favorite tropes in fanfic that I don't see that much in today's TF2 fics which the mercs have an uncanniness to them because of their regular looks. Like I remembered it popped up more often in the fics that where publish when I was in high school. Not complaining bc I just appreciate it more when it pops up. Like there's a ficlet still circulating here where while in jail, before comic 2 happens, Scout basicly beats up most of the inmates in jail for ciggs for Spy. It sets up how intimidating Scout is when an inmate twice Scouts size couldn't even move him and how the inmate was jarring reminded that despite his size, Scout is One of the infamous 9 mercenaries.

Like bc of this trope I developed headcanons that the mercs are actually the closest things to super soldiers bc of 1.) Constant fighting/training 2.) Mad science/experimentation of Medic 3.) Respawn keeping them at near top shape/slow aging. So regular looking guys + intense fighting near daily + mad science/magic + random weird shenanigans that happens to them = an uncanniness and uneasiness around the mercs in public when they move in away /do stuff no average person can do or is expected to do of their appearance.

Sorry if this makes no sense it's 7:14am and I literally JUST woke up, do not expect lucidity from me yet

I love this shit and it features slightly in my fic, both in Jesse's fighting ability but also Mundy's. Primarily it's Mundy's—he gets in more fistfights in the fic than Jesse (though not for her lack of aggression).

I don't think RESPAWN would do much via muscle training—every time they die, any muscle progression is just reset. So the physically strongest of the mercs would be those that don't die often. Heavy, because of his health bar, and maybe Medic, because everyone protects him (and he lugs around the Medigun which must weigh a fucken tonne). This is supported a little by Medic outright lifting Soldier off his feet in Expiration Date.

But there's gotta be some shit they're feeding those cunts if Spy can one-handed fire his stock revolver, a .357 Colt Python; the Big Kill, a S&W Model 29 .44; and the Ambassador, a Dan Wesson PPC .357 (THAT WEIGHS 3.6kg MIND YOU—ALMOST AS MUCH AS MY RIFLE WITHOUT HER SCOPE). This is without mentioning that the Russian translation of the Sniper VS Spy update states that the Ambassador actually fires .50AE like it's a fucken Deagle. Spy's grip strength must be INSANE.

Mostly though I reckon it's mental fortitude over physical. Believe me, you train harder in combat situations than ACTUAL training scenarios because trauma makes shit stick in your brain better. You learn lessons when there's risk better than when there's no risk involved. And with often the mercs die and engage each other physically, I'm fully on the boat of "they look normal, but they're not".

The freakier is that I think they actually blend very well into public environments. Sometimes Sniper walks to the shops in SST minus the thongs and looks like any other bloke off the street you'd see at a servo. Sometimes Scout goes in to the local diner for their all-you-can-eat chicken and waffles deal. Sometimes Engie visits the local tack shop "just for a look around", Soldier and Demo go fishing together, Medic goes to the pharmacy and looking at any of them you'd never suspect a thing.

They all have an almost uncanny ability to look like they entirely belong whereever they are and blend into their environment, so really the only time you even get a hint that they aren't your average person is when there's a situation where they need to showcase their skills. Scout catches a flyball while walking past the local baseball field practically without looking and tosses it back. Soldier can jump down stairs while in a rush and stick the landing with no injury. Demo recognises the sulphur of a gas leak before anyone else can smell it. Spy can lift things his scrawny frame shouldn't be able to lift, Engie can notice any shimmer or shiny thing regardless how small, Sniper has a hawk's eyes and can pick out movement from a half a click away in the dark where other people just see black.

Their jobs have made them very effective professionals—it's a pity the general public so rarely gets to see it.

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Incorrect Eyes

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟹𝚛𝚍 || 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎

I already tagged all the Desecrate people this week so I'll do an Incorrect Eyes update this week!

BIG NEWS!!!! INCORRECT EYES WAS PUBLISHED!!! AND YOU CAN READ IT FOR FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED!!!

Okay, now let's talk some more about that! I was updating y'all pretty regularly earlier this year as I worked on IE and then I kinda... stopped.

Well, I was able to get it to the editor I was really hoping for (thank you @whatsuptyler ily beepaw)! Tyler did an amazing job really finding all my inconsistencies and making sure the narrative worked!

I also had a big change on the art end! I originally wanted to have Mx. Morggo doing the chapter art for IE, but they fell through (literally just never responded to an email after telling me they were interested in the project but that's okay! Life is weird!). Then I kinda waffled on where to go next and ended up having WerewolfPresident on IG do it and it turned out great!! I love the illustrations and the chapter header that I got, they're everything!!

I am also waiting on some illustrations to come in from my tattoo artist, I would like to use these as like those vellum art pages that you can put into books. I don't know if I'll actually get these art pieces but that just seems to be the vibe for IE lol

I say that because I am still waiting on the cover art for IE. I am really upset about this just because I have not heard from the artist since June, when I had stated that the book is being published in July back when I first got into contact with her in December. It has been nearly a year and I don't have the art. I am really hoping to receive it still, and I won't make the paperback editions of IE available until I have the cover illustration.

That's all the updates I really have on the art end of things, but I do have one more update in general: Incorrect Eyes qualifies for the Bram Stoker Awards in the Long Fiction category this year!! If you know an HWA member or are an HWA member yourself (like I am now!!), then I would greatly appreciate your consideration of my psychological religious horror story for the awards cycle this year!

Now that that's done, let's get to the good part (the snippies!):

Be Not Afraid. My life changed when I heard those three words. It wasn’t an immediate change. No, it was a slow, crawling thing. I was raised a good Catholic kid, after all. Those three words were ones that I grew up with, ones that I am well acquainted with. Sundays were always full of stories about the messengers of God, tales as great as They were that sung their praises. But, of course, any time the Angels were mentioned, the greeting wasn’t far behind. Be Not Afraid was a melody that hung in the background of my life over the soft harmonies of the church’s organs, soothing me into complacency.

maybe one more for yous:

I can remember what the Father told me to believe in church all those years ago. Remember how he guided me in prayer after I asked about this description and why is was so scary. He told me that the chants of the Angels were something to be heard, that They could lift a soul and bring it closer to God. But when I read the words on the page I return to the question the small child I used to be asked. Why is it so scary? I can’t hear their chants, my ears are filled with Their screaming and wailing. Their shouts beg for atonement and forgiveness. Images pop unbidden into my mind: Angels as we knew them growing up, human-like and innocent. But now They have tears of viscous blood streaming down Their faces as They grovel before His throne, screaming and begging for His warmth. Seraphim and Cherubim just behind Them, blocking the pathetic Angels in, forcing Them to submit to His holy gaze. Their screams harmonize in the worst ways, ringing through my mind and spilling through my ears. The mind-numbing pain They cause is only worsened as my eyes are drawn further down the page. Woe is me for I am ruined [must be silent] because I am a man of unclean lips and live among a people of unclean lips, and because my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts. Unclean, unclean, unclean. The word repeats in my mind, tearing through the chorus of terror put forward by the Angels. I am unclean, just like he was. I live among people with unclean Eyes, just as he with lips. He—I—we are RUINED. My mind conjured the image of the next paragraph. Of the Seraphim flying towards me—Isaiah—us holding a glowing coal by means of a pair of tongs. From the altar is comes. As it lays the burning stone in my eyes, it speaks: Now that this has touched your lips, your wickedness is removed and your sin is atoned for. Then I scream.

and then the final thing I'll share, the first chapter header:

TAGLIST

@winterandwords @crypticcodexcreations @inkspellangel @smol-feralgremlin

@joswriting @love-whatit-loves @annetillney @bebewrites

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[citrinekay]

Hey! I’ve been meaning to reach out and say hi for a while! Finally, I got a re-blog from you, tysm!! I’ve seen quite a few of your JCW posts (and also your stuff on various fandoms on AO3) and I know you’re quite the JCW fan – me too! Actually, I wanted to message to let you know that I think what you’re doing with the Andy/Revolver fanfic you’re writing is amazing. I read the first chapter a few days ago and am interested to see what you do with the story. The way you are dealing with some very sensitive topics is so well written, and I love the thought you have put into Andy’s character to give him this dark backstory. I’m looking forward to reading the rest when it’s completed, I never do well with chapter by chapter!! Also, well done for being the first to post for the Revolver fandom, I remember a short time back having to do that for the Pachinko fandom and I was nervous as hell. You are a very talented writer for sure, so I know the Revolver one will be a good read. Hopefully you’ll be inspired with Gangnam B-Side too once we see more. Anyway, sorry for waffling on, but if you ever wanna enthuse about JCW feel free to message ❤️ ~ take care 

Hi!! I've also seen your name popping up on AO3 too whenever I go to publish something JCW-related, like oh there's that one other person who loves him as much as I do😊lol I watched Worst of Evil last October and just fell completely in love him/ haven't been able to get back out of the obsession spiral since then thanks to pretty much every work he's done being worth watching. I don't expect the fixation to end any time soon haha

I'm genuinely so happy to receive feedback on my Revolver fic! Before I started posting, I made peace with the fact that it wasn't going to get much engagement since I had to create the fandom tag myself, but of course I do want some people to read and enjoy it. I was also fairly nervous about approaching those sensitive topics, so it's a relief to know that the way I'm presenting it doesn't feel offensive or tactless. It's always my intention to show the dark sides of human nature and relationships in a compelling but empathetic way. I couldn't stop thinking about the crumbs they gave us about Andy and Grace's relationship after I finished watching the movie, especially that final scene on the mountain when he begs her not to leave him and Madam Jung's comment to Suyeong that there's "rumors that he's her lover." She doesn't even allow people to know he's really her mom, which in and of itself could be pretty damaging to someone's development, but it seemed to me that the toxicity between them goes further than just this secret. They were clearly manipulating each other in that moment when she starts to walk away and then he cries and begs her not to leave. I thought that it seemed as if they had been through this type of push-and-pull before, a vicious cycle from which there is no escaping, and I really wanted to examine what had led up to that point.

It also really struck me that even though Andy is a privileged, wealthy person, he is drinking alone when Suyeong first meets him. Nobody rushes to his rescue when she's beating him and nobody really cares that he got hurt afterward (not even Grace, she's just mildly annoyed!) While it's true that his behavior invites getting his ass kicked, I think that anyone acting with such conscious disregard of their own life and everyone else's might have serious trauma that has never been addressed. Anyway, I totally understand waiting to read the fic until it's complete and I hope you enjoy the rest once it's done. I'll be updating weekly, so it shouldn't be too much longer.

Also, absolutely yes about Gangnam B-Side. I watched the first 2 episodes on Wednesday evening and my brain is already tickling with many thoughts about Gilho. As always, JCW is delivering a performance full of depth and nuance 🖤 I'll wait until the show has finished airing and I have all the character details to start writing but atm I can almost guarantee there will be some fics coming from me!

[magnolia-sunrise]

The way you explore Bastien’s sense of identity through his presentation reminds me of an OC of mine, so they might see eye to eye in at least some respects! My guy Evan (he/him) is a fat trans man who figured out he was trans a little late into his teenage years because he was too preoccupied being the third parent to his three younger siblings. Eventually this fact about himself was too strong for him to ignore, though, and thus he quickly began the process of socially transitioning and gradually sought medical transition as well. He changed names several times throughout this period (Callum, Beck, Rory, and many others among them)

His parents… They weren’t *un*supportive, but in the very least his mother, who saw a lot of herself in her oldest child, indulged his desire to transition while never quite shaking his deadname out of her vocabulary, you know? Especially with him changing names *so* often, it’s just *so* hard to remember which one is right these days. And Evan wanted to maintain a relationship with his parents for a long time (honestly what he wanted was to stay close to his siblings, the youngest of whom is 13 years younger than him). It wasn’t until after he met his eventual spouse, Isador (he/she), who called him by the right name consistently, who encouraged him to experiment and figure out what he liked about being trans, and who showed him what supportive family looks like (Isador was raised by her grandmother who absolutely loves the hell out of her grandkid), that he eventually got the courage to confront his parents. This eventually leads to him going no-contact with said parents, although his siblings reach back out to him on their own

It takes a WHILE for Evan to feel comfortable circling back to femininity for himself, and to feel totally comfortable in his body even then. He grows out a beard and dresses in layers to kind of hide how his body looks underneath. He pushed his feminine hobbies and interests to the side Hard when he started socially transitioning, because he convinced himself he Had to, and instead leans hard into new hobbies like handiwork and cars. Once again he’s content to simply push through the feelings as though they’re small, until they’re too big to ignore. Years down the line, after he and Isador are married, he can admit to himself that Christina Aguilera may still be one of his favourite artists. After they have a daughter together, he comes back to the mending skills he learned as a kid in order to fix her dolls — and maybe even make her some, when he feels brave enough

Evan also tends to be good at reading people and social settings, and if he knew Bastien to any degree, I think he’d be thrilled to see how their sense of personal style and the way they carry themselves changes over time. It’s good to see :)

(Wolfgang and Isador would also absolutely queen out. That’s a separate thing skhdjssjg)

(sorry for getting to this a bit late i got this ask as i was heading out!)

helloooo Evan(and Isador!!) so nice to meet them :") <3 !

really really love how much care and love you put into his story and the realistic and long identity journey (some of the family stuff really hits so hard).

i don't post about this stuff much since its not relevant to the story and i like exploring my characters identities in relation to each other but Bastien left his family when he was fairly young to get himself out of that town and that deeply supressive environment and off to med school as far away as possible, and they've been no contact pretty much since. he used to be a twinkish dyke, and then a dykish twink early on in university and that environment was really fundamental in experimenting with gender and sexuality for him. he was also really lonely, and unsure of anything - getting himself DIY testoterone and then waffling whether he actually wanted to go on it, then waffling about some of the changes, then waffling about top surgery (so he spent some years walking around with mustache and tits) just. a lot of anxiety and stress all the time, they preferred to just put their studies ahead of anything else and only engage in sexuality in terms of one night flings on campus. then after one dramatic event and a shoulder injury, continuing studies was no longer an option and his life just. shattered.

this is where Matteo came into his life in a bigger way, and immediately he was someone really attractive because he seemed so confident, his life figured out, future lined out. it was intoxicating to be in the presence of someone so self assured without a care in the world. who in turn also accepted Bastien - at least back then, when he was a depressed twink Matteo could "save"- and motivated him. but ultimately it was like jumping from one form loneliness and isolation into another form of it, now depending on his cis partner, surrounded by Matteos cis rich friends. his body still changing, gaining weight, feeling unattractive to his partner and locked into specific way of gender and sexuality expression, losing sense of his identity and what they even wanted to do with their life. its so alienating.

all this is to say-- i think if Bastien knew somemone like Evan early on, he would have really loved to have a friend like that - someone going through similar experiences i feel like they could have found a lot of strength and support in each other :") i think if they stayed in touch and friendly over the years, they could have been really positive influences on each other and maybe Bastien would not have such deep seated issues opening up to other people and even to himself. lost in the thought imagining the happiness Bastien would feel visiting Evan's family and seeing the pure love and joy there and what it took to get there its just :"))))) maybe he even would have the strength to leave his unhappy relationship seeing what it's like to be *actually* really accepted when seeing how Isador loves Evan :"))

thank you for sharing!!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

uhh i think this may have been asked before but do you think you could do anything with the Sinclairs for multi may? they just own my heart, soul, an brain.

Well of course you can have this Anon! Since you didn’t give me a prompt, which is fine, I went with one provided by @early20sfailingplenty, sweet Eri baby gave me the idea of a reader who sees Bo in particular being hurt and just fights back for him. It’s a really good idea! Plus a way to do some angsty, hurt, comfort sort of thing! That is important to me because I love Multi-May and I love showing all sides of polyamory, giving it depth and showing it isn’t just about the fucking. Like this piece, it’s also about killing for the killer, you know?

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.7K. Bo Sinclair And Vincent Sinlair And Lester Sinclair X GN! Reader. Poly!Hinge Sinclairs. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Comfort. Murder. Kidnapping. Stockholm Syndrome. Violence. Blood. Gore. Reader Is Hopelessly Devoted. Crying Reader. Hard Emotions.

—

Yes I Can.

—

You remember the day that you knew you’d do anything for any of them and that day was after you had been in Ambrose for exactly a month, you were sure by that point that you weren't going to die by their hands. 

Maybe that was ignorant, perhaps downright fucking stupid to think that but you did, some deeply held feeling that clings to you, as if it was bone deep and settling into your marrow, you were thoroughly steeped in the belief that you would be okay with them. You were more than okay honestly, you considered Ambrose your home, it was infinitely better than your old one, you were happy here, you felt shockingly free even considering the fact that you literally were not allowed to leave and still live. 

You never entertained the notion of a polyamorous relationship before them, but how were you meant to choose just one? It wasn’t fair, and all of them gave you different things, that was the beauty of the setup, hardwired into the whole very concept of it, trying to get everything out of one relationship and one person is unrealistic, with them you more than had all your needs met. 

Such a shift took more time to establish, Lester was the first and easiest, he really took to how kind you were, wanting to talk with him, spend time with him, genuinely get to know him. Times where you just sat with him and talked meant more than he thinks he could say, the easy physical affection and that you didn’t lean away from him or when he tried to touch him was huge, the fact you initiated contact just as much as he did was everything. 

Vincent came next because you were so into his art and honestly because you poured a ton of effort into cooking, the three of them frequently got so fucking busy that proper cleaning, care and good food fell by the wayside, but now with you here that was a thing of the past. Having actual good meals, not toaster waffles that were burnt on the outside but somehow still frozen on the inside, did wonders not just for his mood but his creative drive and overall well being. The times you would bring a steaming plate to him and tell him to stop working were the highlights of his days.

Bo had not yet been won over. No matter the sweet things you said, the things you did for him, and no not even as enthusiastically you gave into whatever game he wanted to play or offered yourself up, he wasn’t moved. If anything it made you try harder. You had gotten closer with him, sure, in the physical sense and he wasn’t quite as asshole-ish to you overall, which you took as a plus and that you would get him the rest of the way there with time. You weren’t in a rush, you had all the time in the world, didn’t you? 

You cared a ton about all of them and would do just about anything for them, you thought maybe if you proved that one day to all of them you could be a true equal and really earn your place in Ambrose. 

The idea struck you one day when some people rolled through Ambrose, you did as instructed, stayed out of the way. You didn't let yourself be seen and watched what happened, took in the view as the group of people met the fate that you almost had. 

The trio were all totally brutal, but you knew that when they killed your friends who didn’t survive like you had, still seeing it once more, against this group of strangers, fresh in your mind, it makes you scared. Not for your own life! God no, far from it, you were worried for them. Bo and Vincent and Lester were all very capable and had been doing this for a long time without issue, but what if the day comes where they are not so lucky? Everyone has an off day now and again. It was sweet, you were concerned, it was preventive, you took your new life here very seriously and you would make them see it eventually, no matter what, you’d show them. 

You approach Lester to try and make what you had in mind happen. He had just come back from his usual daily work out at the pit, it was afternoon, it was hot as hell but you were downwind and didn’t have to contend with the smell, thank God. You loved Lester but post pit he smelt awful, especially during the summer months. 

“Hiya Les!” You greet enthusiastically and his head jerks up, a smile spreading across his face, he says your name in kind and in greeting before asking, “How ya doin’?”

“Oh just fine, wanted to check in on you.” It was honest, and he said, “Ain’t that sweet of ya?” 

You came over and he pressed a kiss to your cheek that made you smile, “You want some lunch?”

“I’d love some. Back to the house?” He asks and you nod your head, “Mmhm, either way you gotta get washed up first.” 

He holds up his hands, smeared with dirt and God knows what else, “You’re right, s’ prolly best.” 

You start your walk back up to the house, you already made lunch earlier on, and you start the conversation you wanted to have along the way, “So I wanted to ask maybe a small favour.”

“A favour, huh?” He asks but the tone is still light as air and you say, “Yeah, you think that might be okay?”

“Ain’t illegal to ask but doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” He teases and you laugh, “True, alright, so I was thinking the other day and I was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind teaching me some uh, self defence skills?”

He laughs, “Self defence skills? What? You don’t trust all a’ us to look after ya?” He asks, his shoulder nudging yours and you roll your eyes in amused exasperation, “No, it’s not that, it’s more the opposite.”

“Tha opposite?” He inquires and you affirm, “Yeah, I wanna do my part, you know? What if some asshole gets the drop on you or Vin or Bo and I’m near enough to do something about it but don’t have the know how. I dunno if I could ever forgive myself.” 

He stops, his hands are on your shoulders, effectively stopping you as well and making you turn to face him, you are both in front of the house at this point as he asks, “Ya wanna protect us?”

You avert your gaze and nod, the admission is small yet heartfelt, “Yeah, I do.”

“So why are you comin’ to me?” He asks and you fire back with a shrug, “Why not?”

“Pffft, Iunno, Bo’s and Vincent are bigger than me, pretty tough an’ strong, going to them makes sense.” You cross your arms and assert, eyes still on the ground, “You make sense too! Especially for what I want-”

“An what do you want?” He asks and you finally meet his gaze again, “Help me with learning some knife skills?”

He laughed, his hand fell away and he turned and started up the steps. You rush after him, confused, “What’s so funny?” 

A look over his shoulder and he sighed, “You. Yer too much.”

“Why? Why am I too much?” You ask as you catch up with him as he opens the screen door, “Cuz you think I’d willingly give ya a knife? If Bo finds out? Shit, taint worth thinkin’ about.” 

“Lesterrrr, c’mon! Why not? I won’t do anything to any of you! I want to help you all!” You argued and you were both striding through the living room now, “An’ how do I know that? Could be all kindsa pretty talk till I hand it over and than whoops I’m stabbed and you run off-”

Your breath catches and you stop. He hears it, the small sniff, he turns in the doorway to the kitchen to see you stopped a few feet away, you say softly and apparently on the verge of tears, “I’d never do that to you. Any of you.” 

He groans, hat off, back of his hand wipes over his forehead and smears more dirt, he replaces it back onto his head and comes forward, “Don’ cry.”

You wipe at your eyes, you know Lester likes it when you cry, just not in this particular context, it wasn’t fun for him and made HIM feel bad more than anything positive. “M’ sorry, I know you don’t li-like when I do, I can’t help it though. I just love you all so much and I’m worried.” 

Your shoulders were still shuddering and he cursed before asking, “I know, I know ya love us. Just…You mean it? You won’t do nothin’ less absolutely necessary?”

A nod as you wipe at your eyes, breathing starting to even out, a deep inhale as you try to compose yourself and he says, “Alright but keep it quiet! I mean it, if Bo finds out he’ll-”

“I won’t say anything! It’ll be our secret, and I won’t do anything unless absolutely necessary.” You plead, repeating his exact words back and he says, “Aight. M’ trustin’ you. Don’ make me regret it.” 

“I won’t! Thank you Les! You won’t!” You throw your arms around him into a big hug and he laughs, “Fine, we can go over some stuff but first, lunch.”

“Yes, lunch.” You agree and soon you are in the kitchen, he washes up and you both eat, conversation on lighter things, and afterwards he did just as he said he would. You go back to his space and he shows you the knives he had countless times before and instructed you how to use them the most effectively.

“Now you can’t stab someone too hard, ya hear? You just gotta put your all into it, an’ go for it. Try for the throat if you can but if not the gut ain’t bad neither, you get it deep enough and reef it up an’ it’ll stop just about anyone.”

You listen with rapt attention, trying to absorb absolutely everything he said and after all that, he gifted you one that you could safely keep on your person at all times. You thanked him and tried not to cry for the second time that afternoon, at least this time the tears that threatened to spill over were happy ones. You told him you were going to treasure it always and assured him, you’d never use it on him or Bo or Vincent. 

“Ya better not, cuz if ya try I might just have to turn it back on you.” He teased but you could hear the edge undercutting it and you nodded, “I’d expect nothing less.” 

That wasn’t all of it, you made sure to watch whenever Vincent used those twin knives, really tried to focus on the brutality he displayed as well as the technique. You just hoped that you would never have to actually put the decently sized folding knife concealed on your person to actual use. 

As the days bled to weeks and turned to months you started to relax, you felt like maybe you were being silly, that your fears were unfounded. People would come to town and they would fall with minimal issue, life kept on going and you thought everything would be just fine as it always had been.

One day some more people came into town and you went about your regular routine, as you always did, made yourself scarce. You knew the safe areas you needed to keep to and where to avoid, during times like this you didn’t do much, hold up in your locked room and usually read a book. It wasn’t unusual to hear some sounds, some screams, some scuffle, it was natural, easy to tune out and you stopped getting so nervous as you used to. 

Tonight was different. It was loud, unbearably loud, more than you had ever heard previously. You did something you shouldn’t have, you peeked out your upstairs room window and gasped at what you saw. Bo, mid-scuffle with some guy and currently taking what looked like a terrible punch to the jaw, made him unbalanced and then, someone else was sneaking up behind him that he was clearly not aware of. You did what you definitely never, ever should do and that was, break one of the biggest rules, you got involved. You busted out of your room, you ran down the hall and the stairs were taken two at a time until you were coming out the front door, knife in hand and it wasn’t until Lester was shaking your shoulders that you came back to yourself. 

“What?” You ask and Lester repeats himself, “I said are you alright? You hurt?” 

You look up at him, brows furrowed and you ask, “Why would I be hurt?” 

“Cuz you’re covered in blood?” He sounded just as confused as you did and that is when you looked down and holy shit, yes you were. It all hit at once, you were sticky, a complete mess, gripping the knife in your hand so hard that your knuckles were aching, you felt sore but overall fine. 

“I guess I am.” You admit still dazed, you are in the kitchen of the house, you don’t know when you got from the outside back into here but you were now and you see Vincent working on patching up a pretty rough looking Bo. You were in a chair and Lester was crouched in front of you, “What happened?”

You think hard, you remember seeing the fight, Bo getting hurt, and someone else about to jump him, you remember running out to him and then the rest comes into focus.

You took out the knife from the waistband of your shorts and you tackled the person who had wrestled Bo’s shotgun from him, driving the knife right under their ribs as you did so. You crashed to the ground, landing on top of them, the force of the action causes the blade to go deeper still, you are pretty sure by the way they wheezed you punctured a lung. Blood pours from around the embedded blade and you sit up quickly, ripping out the knife, your fingers on your opposite are tangled in sweat soaked hair and you slam their head back onto the concrete with a wet sounded crack. 

They weren’t moving any longer. You let them go. You are heaving when you get up and turn to see the other person staring you down, your hands are coated with blood as well as it soaking into your shirt and smearing down your legs. The other person who punched Bo looked terrified and you didn’t waste time, you took them down in a similar fashion, that one ended with you also getting a pretty bad punch but with the other body below you with his throat slashed open. After you were sure neither were getting up you stayed next to Bo and the next thing you really remember is this, now, being in the kitchen with them.

You tell them, “They hurt Bo and I just…Had to do something.”

To say they were all shocked was an understatement. Bo got up, and Lester got out of the way, he was staring you down, a hand on his bandaged ribs and he said, “You were pretty sadistic back there.”

You almost waited for him to scold you, but that didn’t happen, “You really did that for me?”

A nod, nervous as you admit, “Yeah…Told you, I love you, all of you, don’t want anything bad to happen to any of you.”

“Seems you really do belong here. And maybe it’s the delirium talkin’ but, M’ feeling so generous that I won’t even ask where you got the knife.” You feel happy, you smile and ask, “So I did good?”

“Very good. It was stupid as all hell and risky but shit if you didn’t do it well.” That had to be one of the nicest things he has said to you so far. You feel nearly giddy and hold your arms out and ask, “Can I uhm…Have a hug?”  

He laughs, a shake of his head, “Well if you haven’t earned it by doin’ this then you never will.” 

“Not just you but uh…All of you? Please?” 

Vincent saunters up, a sign of, “I think we can manage it.”

Still blood soaked and sweaty, shaking and sore you are wrapped up in three sets of arms and you feel more at home than you ever have. 

[sagethegremlin]

for the ship thing!!! saltpep and whichever questions you want :]

IM SO SORRY THIS HAS BEEN ROTTING IN MY INBOX as repentance how about all of them c:

(prefacing this by saying were assuming that theyre living their cool domestic life in hotel oj and also salt FINALLY got over her crush on him)

big spoon/little spoon:

salt is the big spoon and pepper is the little spoon because pepper likes to be taken care of :)

favorite non-sexual activity:

these bitches LOOOOVE dolling each other up "oh hey lemme do you nails so i can hold your hand" "oh hey lemme fix up your hair so i can imagine myself ruining it when i kiss you later" "oh hey lemme do your makeup so i can stare at your beautiful face" gayasses

who uses all the hot water:

salt for sure she totally gets lost in her head while pepper takes quick showers

most trivial thing they fight over:

oh these gals would totally fight over stuff like "whos the hottest gal on too hot to handle" they love each other but have VERY different tastes when it comes to people on tv

who does most of the cleaning:

SALT!!!!! she has her own systems and likes keeping things her way and pepper doesnt mind stepping back and letting her get everything in order

what has a season pass on their dvr/who controls the netflix queue:

pepper pays for it but salt controls what they watch

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working:

pepper for sure she'll send paper a quick text about it

who steals the blankets:

pepper she likes the snuggle :)

who leaves their stuff around:

pepper completely on accident she just forgets stuff in places but salt loves organizing anyways so it doesnt really matter

who remembers to buy the milk

NEITHER!!! they rely on paper and oj for the groceries

who remembers anniversaries:

PEPPER!!!!! shes the type of gal that celebrates two week anniversaries and all that and salt cant keep up she'll celebrate with her c:

Who cooks normally?

neither 🔥🔥🔥 they doordash or make paper do it

How often do they fight?

they'll play-squabble like once every few days but like a big fight? girl

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

they miss each other something FIERCE and theyll spam text each other

Nicknames for each other?

of course we already have pepper calling salt "salty-salt" and salt calling pepper "darling" but also because pepper has been calling salt "salty-salt" for so long she really likes it when salt calls her "pep" or some variation of that it makes her feel more special :)

Who is more likely to pay for dinner?

NEITHER 🔥🔥🔥🔥 if anything pepper asks paper for some cash and they go get waffle house

What would they get each other for gifts?

the normal lesbian gifts yknow makeup, lego flowers, scented candles, chappell roan vinyls, cute earrings, etc

Who kissed who first?

pepper but it was an accident so they both pretended to forget about it but neither ever did. salt did the first REAL kiss

Who made the first move?

salt HAD to because pepper was too scared

Who remembers things?

salt says she does and she sets reminders on her phone but she always misses the reminders so pepper is the one that ACTUALLY remembers

Who started the relationship?

pepper was hardcore yuri-ing out over salt first but man she could NEVER make the first move so their friends had to nudge salt to do it

Who cusses more?

pepper for sure. salt honestly probably uses tiktok terms more than actual swear words 😭

What would they do if the other was hurt?

salt would start freaking out and probably start crying but pepper would start swinging IMMEDIATELY and maybe kill someone