#also this was the reason i was gone for a while

[chaser]

While I'm posting here and no longer under any obligation to rep the company, I might as well share this incredibly funny story from behind the scenes that I don't think ever got out: Due to the constant problems we had around "The Chaser" being also a name of a sex thing online (you would not BELIEVE the kind of confused fan mail I had to sort through), in 2019 we had very seriously planned to rebrand our online channels.

After a laborious process whittling down hundreds of potential names we settled on another alcohol related term, a popular Australian slang term for wine, as we thought that was in the spirit of "The Chaser" but also uniquely Australian.

Literally the only reason we didn't end up rebranding was the whole company fell into an omnishambles in 2020, and we were all too busy both figuratively and literally putting out fires to even think about doing a full company rebrand.

And that, my friends, is how The Chaser through sheer dumb luck, managed to avoid what would have gone down as possibly one of the worst company rebrands in the history of everything, when that same name came to mean something else VERY different a few years later:

[lastoneout]

Also another more recent one here!

While wider studies are needed, it does feel really insidious that stimulant medication is misunderstood, demonized, and so strictly regulated that most of us have had to go without for days or weeks at a time sometimes multiple times a year or even EVERY MONTH, and in some places it's almost impossible to actually access at all while the truth is that it is quite literally life-saving medical care for those of us who need it.

I've left the stove on three separate times when unmedicated and I was VERY lucky that none of them resulted in carbon monoxide poisoning or me burning my house down. I've also nearly electrocuted myself or walked into traffic, being off my meds legit feels like all my senses are dulled, I'm far clumsier which leads to injury, forget important things like if I've taken my other meds, meds that if I go off of suddenly or take too much of can cause severe health problems. I've heard horror stories of how hard it is to even just drive safely with unmedicated ADHD and most people don't even realize how unsafe it is until they've gone on meds and learned what normal driving is for a neurotypical person. And the list goes on. Hell, being unmedicated can even lead to losing our jobs, housing, or access to food and support systems, and makes it way harder to keep your house clean, all of which also lead to an increased risk of injury, illness, and death. I've missed rent more times than I can count, racked up credit card debt, had my utilities shut off, all because I just can't fucking remember to pay bills on time without my meds, I've missed fucking black mold in my shower, accidentally eaten food out of date, gotten way too drunk without realizing it, it's a nightmare, it really is.

I really just hate thinking about how many people with ADHD have likely died or been seriously injured or suffered due to simple mistakes that they never would have made if they were properly medicated, and it makes me so angry that ADHD treatment is so hard to get almost entirely based on bullshit scaremongering about addiction. In fact being medicated puts ADHDers at LESS of a risk of turning to alcohol and drugs to make our lives manageable, and it's nearly impossible for someone with ADHD to get addicted to a stimulant medication anyway.

(Not that addicts deserve what happens to them, they need help and support as well, everyone deserves human rights and to have their needs met, this just is a completely fabricated problem when it comes to ADHD and it's normalization is legit killing us. My mom has also nearly died due to not being medicated and she to go through like four different licensed psychatrists until she found one who would actually prescribe ritalin for her, the rest all cited risk of addiction as a reason to deny her even though they should fucking know that isn't a legit concern. One even said she just "didn't want to be held responsible" for her patients forming addictions to ADHD meds. I wonder how she'd feel if she was held responsible for all the suffering her desperation to keep her hands clean has almost certainly caused.)

And tbh I'd also rather a million people get high off adderall than have even one person with ADHD miss out on medical care that can save their life because disabled people shouldn't have to suffer to make up for shit we basically can't do. Why should someone else abusing adderall mean I have to risk my life and go without. Make it make sense.

It is actually way better for 100 addicts to get their fix on pain pills than a single person in pain go without. I call this the "Torture is bad" principle. You should be able to get the good stuff forever after a single doctor's visit. If you're worried about addicts fund rehab centers and needle exchanges instead of torturing people.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 6

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content and language, being sick? overthinking? p being melodramatic Wordcount: 4.4K A/C: was feeling inspired :)) anyway pls be patient with me posting, i'm applying to schools rn!! anyway this went a direction i hadn't planned but... uhh... i have no excuses i was going with the flow. anyway enjoy x (also what a scare yesterday just hoping p is doing fine and i'm sure everything's okay!)

-

Before London

You need a ride to work tmr?

I don’t but thank you x

My eyes roam the texts as they had repeatedly since last night, trying to decipher each letter as if some ancient code I couldn’t understand. Is she seriously gonna be like that? Like she wasn’t the one who pulled me in. She kissed me. Why was she taking it out on me now? I don’t got time for this anyway, to be stressing about something like this. 

I hadn’t seen Izara since Saturday, not at work, not in the apartment building, hell, I’d even gone to the gym every morning praying that she might show up but it was as if the girl had disappeared from the face of the earth. I knew she was avoiding me, and I guess she had reason but fuck, I thought she’d be better than that. Not a word since Saturday, other than those strange cryptic texts. Fine. Be that way.

“My favourite girls!!” Trey’s voice blatantly interjects my spinning thoughts as me, Arike, Satou and Lou are sat at a circular table, eating lunch. Not that I had been eating per say, more so poking my fork here and there trying to stomach a piece of chicken now and then. The heaviness in the pit of my stomach made it hard to eat at all.

I lift my eyes, hoping Izara would be trailing behind the man as usual. But it’s Ava instead, holding a notepad and taking quick steps to keep up. I mean I knew it wasn’t Iz before even looking up - there was an uncomfortable void of heels tapping against the hardwood as the pair approach us eagerly.

“Oh hey!” Lou smiles from her chair next to me. “What’s up?”

“So we were thinking,” Trey starts, leaning forward against the table. “If y’all could film some clips answering comments on your own since our dear Zari isn’t here.”

“Uh, where is she anyway?” I ask as casually as I can - though the way everyone’s heads snap to me tells me it was a feeble attempt.

Trey’s dark brown eyes study me for a while with an expression I can’t quite read before answering. “She’s home sick, poor girl.”

Bullshit. She’s trying to avoid me, I know it. I can’t believe it, I thought she would be more mature than this, than faking being “sick” just to get away from an awkward conversation with me. Why was she assuming how I felt anyway? Like the kiss mattered to me? Like I’d want more?

I mean all that was true. God did it matter and God did I want, no, need more. Much more. But she didn’t know that, so why was she assuming. I thought we were friends. You know what this is? Bad friendship.

“Oh damn, hope she feels better,” Arike answers for me, noticing the way I’m gone in my thoughts.

“Y-yeah for sure,” I mumble, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’mma go to the weight room.”

I place the fork down on my half eaten plate harshly, getting up abruptly making my irritation quite clear to everyone around me.

“Paige you gotta eat a little more,” Lou encourages but I shake my head.

“Nah, m’ not hungry,” I murmur and take my plate back, preparing to take out my aggravation at some weights, ignoring the way Arike and the rest of the girls eye me as I walk away.

-

“So how are we feeling about the first game soon?” My dad’s voice echoes through the speaker but I barely hear him, pacing my apartment’s living room. Truthfully I hadn’t thought much about the upcoming game. I knew that was bad. That I should be ecstatic, or scared as hell, but I didn’t feel anything else besides the dread of what happened between me and Iz. 

Matter of fact, I hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the way she looked all night, the way her green smoked out eyes twinkled at me, the way she threw her head back when she laughed at my jokes, when she pressed her front against me. The way her full breasts felt against my chest, the way her round ass felt under my hands. God, the whimper she let out when I squeezed it as gently as I could.

“Paige?”

“Uh what?” I mumble, ears burning, completely forgotten about the call with my dad.

“What’s going on with you?” His secure, steady voice asks, grounding me.

“Nothin’ dad,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes and looking out the window into the street, eyeing every dark haired woman just in case they were Izara.

“Paige Madison.”

I groan. I might be 23-years-old but my dad’s stern voice turns me into a teenager without fail each time.

“You’re comin’ to the first game still, right?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Why?”

“Nothin’, just miss you,” I mumble, coming up with an excuse for my low mood - though it wasn’t far off. Everytime I felt sad or anxious I just wanted my dad.

“I miss you too, kid. You know you just say the word and I’m there, okay?”

“No I know, I know. I’m just tired I think,” I sigh, my chest warming at my dad’s comforting words.

“Uh oh,” he starts. “Paige Madison… Don’t tell me.”

“Huh? Tell you what?”

“Is this about a girl?” He asks.

I pause, coming to a halt with my pacing. “Hu- I- What?!”

“You always say “I’m just tired” when you got a girl on your mind,” my dad laughs, doing a horrible impression of me.

“No!” I argue a little too fast and a little too passionately. “I mean, no. Just tired. Long practice.”

“Mhm alright,” my dad mumbles, an amused tone in his voice that irritates me in a way only a parent could. “So no girl?”

“No dadddd,” I whine like a teenage girl. “There’s no girl.”

I didn’t like lying to him. I wanted to tell him all about Izara. I knew my dad would adore that girl. He always said I needed a woman to keep me in check - Izzie did just that. But I also didn’t want to tell my dad about this girl knowing it likely wasn’t going to go anywhere, especially now that she had been hiding from me since our kiss.

“Okay dad tell Drew I said hi and I’ll play Fortnite with him tomorrow,” I say into the phone, ready to hang up.

“Okay kid, love you.”

“Love you dad.”

The silence is deafening, again. Like it used to be before I became friends with Iz. I felt alone, anxious, my head spinning with thoughts I couldn’t turn off. I thought she was mature enough to handle this like two adults. If she just wanted to be friends then she could just tell me, at least we could continue our friendship like that.

But usually when I kissed a girl, they didn’t run away like this. Quite the opposite. Did she not like the way I kissed? Was I off my game? Maybe the tongue was too much? Maybe she didn’t like my outfit. I’m a good kisser, I know I am. Good enough to get girls into bed with ease. So what is the trouble now? And I also know that that was the best kiss I had ever had. That our lips fit together just right. Fuck this girl had me going out of my mind. And now I just had to wait for her to reach out, it didn’t feel fair.

No. It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to wait for her? Who said I had to? Fuck that.

Too frenzied to even throw a shirt over my sports bra, I walk downstairs determined, knocking on Izara’s door angrily, preparing a speech of everything I’d been thinking the past few days: Look, Izzie, we’re both adults. You clearly think the kiss was a mistake. But avoiding me and acting like this is ridiculous and stupid and we don’t need to be acting like teenage-

“Paige?” 

Izzie opens the door, voice weak and nasally. She’s in a pale pink pyjama set, hair up in a clip and nose red and irritated. She wasn’t lying. Definitely not. She is sick. 

Quick, improvise.

“Uh, hey,” I mumble, my cheeks turning pink, her red eyes staring up at me reminiscent of Saturday night and the moments before our kiss on the balcony. “Trey told me you were sick.”

She chuckles, looking down at her dishevelled appearance and returns her gaze to me. “How did you know,” she jokes. She’s acting like nothing happened between us. How could she act like that? I guess it’s better than if she actually had been avoiding me.

“Was worried, haven’t seen you since… The party,” I say unsurely.

“Uh… Yeah. Crazy party huh,” Izzie says almost to herself. “Well, anyway, thanks for checking in but I’m perfectly okay. Just a cold and I think it’s passing.”

She begins to close the door but I grab it, holding it open.

“You been resting?” I ask concerned.

The girl shrugs. “Well at first but now I’m just getting bored so I’ve been doing some work from home.”

“Izzie…”

“What?”

“You gotta be restin’ if you’re sick,” I argue, which makes the girl roll her eyes.

“I’m fine Paige,” she answers, but I step inside.

“Let me in.”

“No, you’ll get sick,” she complains but I shake my head.

“I won’t. I’m built different.”

Izzie laughs, deciding it was pointless to try to argue and lets me in.

Her apartment is spotless as always, laptop open on her dining table with schedules and notebooks piled next to it. This bitch hadn’t been resting, no she’s been working and cleaning.

“Izzie!” I groan and close the laptop.

“Shoes! Shoes shoes shoes!” She yelps, voice breaking as she does. 

“‘M sorry!” I gasp and take my sneakers off quickly, placing them neatly by the entrance. I feel her eyes fixed on me. 

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” She asks, blowing her stuffy nose, which makes me let out a single laugh.

“Why, you want me to?” I ask confidently, easily falling into the same effortlessness as before.

My words make the girl blush. Perhaps the kiss wasn’t that bad? Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I should just ask… Ask what?! If the kiss was good?! Bro… Get a grip.

“Well you’re going to get cold, it’s freezing here,” she tells me, turning away and walking to the couch where pillows are neatly arranged, an expensive looking blanket neatly folded on the armrest. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it definitely was not cold, that her apartment was scorching hot already making me sweat.

“Yo, you’re kidding right?” I laugh as I watch her somewhat pitifully curling up against the corner of the couch on her single throw pillow.

“What?”

“Iz, you’re sick!”

“Wow, thanks for rubbing it in my face,” she says nasally, blowing her nose again.

“Bro, that pillow is just sad! You need a nest,” I gasp, walking to her bedroom.

“Wait wait wait, it’s a mess in there,” she yelps, following after me. Mess, it is not. There is one hoodie on the bed, which is unmade. That’s it. I pull the heavy blanket off her bed, grabbing all four pillows and walking decisively to the couch with the dark-haired girl on my tail.

“What are you doing?” She asks as I begin to set up each pillow into a nest against the corner of the couch. She’s grabbing my arm and peeking at my actions from behind my back, clearly confused.

“I’m makin’ you a nest,” I explain, brows furrowing as I focus. This is serious business. “My stepmom does this when we’re sick.”

“A nest?” Izzie laughs.

“Yeah, get in,” I order, grabbing the girl’s shoulders and sitting her down. “Now lie back. Get comfy.”

Hesitating for a moment, Izzie curls up against the pillows as I place the blanket over her, watching as she gets comfortable with a smile on her face.

“There you go,” I coo, trying her forehead which is burning hot. “You have a fever Iz, I’m gonna get you some meds.”

“Paige, you don’t have to do this,” she sighs, looking up at me softly. I want to lean down and kiss her again. Instead, I bring my hand to her warm cheek, stroking it softly. She looks vulnerable, gentle for once. It made me want her even more.

“Lemme take care of you ma.”

She doesn’t comment on the nickname, matter of fact there’s a hint of a smile on her face when she nods. 

“The cabinet above the microwave.”

“Got it,” I tell her, pretty much scurrying to the kitchen, gathering everything you could think - water, painkillers, nose spray, I even cut up some fruit for her. But when I return the poor girl is in her nest, cuddled up, fast asleep. It hurts my heart to wake her up, but she needs these meds in her.

“Iz,” I murmur carefully, brushing dark locks away from her face. She blinks herself awake, rubbing her face. Everything about it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let anyone close in case they hurt her. 

“Fuck, I fell asleep,” she yawns. “I’m sorry I’m a mess.”

“You’re sick ma,” I remind her, sitting next to the girl on the couch and watching as she takes her medicine.

“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs, sipping on the glass of water. Her cheeks are bright red, hair undone and eyes tired - I swear it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her look.

“Izara,” I say sternly. “You’re sick, lemme help.”

“You’re gonna get sick too, and you have your first game soon love.”

“I’ll be fine, I got mad immune system powers.”

She giggles. “Immune system powers?”

“You heard,” I nod, fighting a grin. She coughs a little.

“Paige?”

Oh God. She’s gonna bring up the kiss now. I know it. I can feel it.

“Y-yeah?”

She takes a deep breath. “Can we watch Lady and The Tramp?”

-

“How are you already crying?” Paige asks with a giggle, leaning against the opposite corner of the couch. 

“Lady as a puppy always makes me cry! How could it not?” I sniffle, wiping my nose, watching the scene where Lady doesn’t want to sleep in her dog bed, the poor puppy crying for her dad. 

The blonde is chewing on an apple in her sports bra and black Nike sweats, muscles grown more prominent over her training period with the Wings, arms bigger, shoulders wider, outline of the muscles on her abdomen faintly visible even as she slouches. 

“What kinda names are Darling and Jimmy Dear anyway?” She asks, dramatically frustrated.

“Paige, you’re slow,” I laugh. “Lady thinks those are their names because they call each other those as like, pet names darling.”

The blond thinks for a while, and then grins. “Oh.”

We both burst into a choir of laughter, though it feels rough against my scratchy throat. Still, I could feel the medication already making me feel better. Or maybe it was the company.

My mind had been a mess after I escaped the party. I felt embarrassed, childish even for running away like I did, leaving Paige high and dry. Once I woke up the next morning it was hard to figure out what truly happened and what was my mind playing tricks on me. But I knew the kiss really took place the moment I remembered it, the weight of Paige’s kiss a mere memory on my lips. One wouldn’t forget a kiss like that. It was impossible.

Getting sick had been a lucky coincidence, giving me time to think and take some distance from the situation. I found it impossible to figure out where my desire for Paige and desire for physical contact differed. I couldn’t tell if I was just lonely. Or if I really liked her. I never considered it, me having feelings (if you could call it that) for a girl again. But now as she sat there, looking like that, I wanted nothing but to get on her. To climb onto her lap and kiss her again like we had on the balcony. Without the drunken hue, just us feeling each other.

Even as sick as I am, the familiar burn and ache that always showed up around the blonde begins to grow between my legs, making me squirm. Fuck, maybe I did like her. All I knew I definitely wasn’t in a place to start anything - that no matter what this was it would have to stay casual. I haven’t gotten rid of the ghost of my past relationship. No, not at all. I could see it looming around every corner, peeking through windows, just right outside my line of vision. I wasn’t ready.

Paige’s hand comes over to my bare feet poking out of the blanket, bringing them to her lap and beginning to rub them almost as if subconsciously, like unaware of the entire thing. Except her cheeks turn red as she does. My entire body relaxes, and I let her. For almost half of the movie she massages each toe, the arch of my foot, my ankle, leaving goosebumps everywhere. 

“I’m cold,” I complain, pulling my feet back under the blanket, feeling like a block of ice.

“I’m so hot,” Paige groans, now more invested in the movie, making small comments here and there.

“Lucky,” I groan which makes her snicker.

“Scooch,” The blonde tells me. Before I can resist she’s made her way under the blanket, into the nest, lying behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. I fit in her arms perfectly, like I was made to be her counterpart, born to be in her arms like this, every curve of her body slotting with mine just right. My ass pressing into her, the blonde’s chin brushing against my shoulder, hot breath tickling against my ear nearly making me moan. Fuck.

“I- I thought you were hot,” I mumble, beginning to lose my composure.

“But you’re cold,” she murmurs into my ear, nose nuzzling into my hair as we keep watching the movie. Though I can’t concentrate. Even on my favourite movie. My head spinning too fast, speeding up even more when my pyjama top hikes up and Paige’s fingertips rub circles against my lower stomach, dangerously close to dipping into my pyjama pants.

“P-paige,” I almost whisper, my voice coming out breathy.

“Mhm?” The blonde’s voice is shaky too, a hoarse hum straight into my ear making me even wetter than I already am.

“You’re gonna get sick,” I remind her, my chest heaving.

“I’m good,” she breathes out, shifting a little, her head fitting just in the crook of my neck. Perfectly. “Are you?”

She’s asking for consent, I can tell. To dip her fingers underneath the band, to slide them into my panties. And God I want to give it to her. To let her have her way with me. The temptation is growing nearly impossible to resist.

“I-” I nearly say it. But then I shift to my back, to meet her gaze. Paige’s face is flushed, nostrils flaring as she breathes, hand remaining on my bare stomach. “How are you feeling about the game?”

“Oh, uhh,” Paige is taken aback, pulling her hand back to my dismay, bringing it to her jaw and rubbing it. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it if I’m honest? I’m excited to see my dad and Dorka.”

“She went to Uconn with you, right?”

The blonde nods. “I mean issa big moment for sure, but I just wanna take it one day at a time.”

I hesitate. “Are you not nervous at all?”

She lets out a single laugh and looks around the room. “Nah I am. Just tryna keep my mind off it.”

I nod, understanding. I wish I could carry some of her worry, I could tell she was more nervous than she let on. But instead of talking I slide my hand into hers, which seems to comfort the girl more than words, her blue eyes locking with mine. She’s thinking, mulling something over in her head. I can tell.

“The party… Iz, I-”

“Shh,” I tell her before she can keep going, my throat going dry, the ache between my thighs nearly painful. I wasn’t ready to talk, at all. All I wanted was to feel it again, the weight of her lips on mine. So bad I felt dizzy.

“Nah, Izzie, c’mon. I think we both feel we-”

“Paige?”

“Yeah mama?”

“Kiss me.”

-

It makes no sense. But I don’t hesitate. Leaning down, my lips crashing into hers with such hunger it makes me uncharacteristically whine. My body is on fire, every inch burning up as our lips slide against one another, boxers growing damp quickly. My hand carefully holds her cheek, like the girl next to me might break. But to my surprise she pulls me on top of her by the back of my head.

I’m tasting for every inch of her, slowing down and taking my time, unlike that drunken mess on the balcony. Somehow this is even better, the kiss of the century even. Her body is cool to the touch, a sign of the fever going down. But I barely register, kissing her bottom lip affectionately, my hands holding her face. Izzie responds, her teeth pulling on my lip harshly making me groan. Her warm tongue brushes over it, soothingly.

I open my mouth further, my tongue meeting hers, other hand moving to the bare waist of the girl underneath me. I can’t believe this is real. That I’m kissing Izara. It feels like some type of dream, but the ache between my legs proves that every second is real. That she’s really underneath me. And If I’m feeling my core throbbing just from the kiss, I’m certain the dark haired girl feels something similar and the idea of my girl feeling such pain and not having it taken care of breaks my heart.

So my thumb dips underneath the band of her satin pyjama pants, feeling the lace of her underwear as it does. Zari lets out a shaky whimper, her eyes fluttering open.

“Paige,” she whines, brows furrowing.

“Yeah?” I ask breathlessly, leaning down to kiss under her ear which makes her squirm under my weight.

“C-can you keep your hands,” another moan as I suck on her neck, careful not to leave a mark. Izara didn’t seem like the type of woman you marked. “On top of the clothes.”

God she’s gonna be the death of me. But I oblige happily, pulling my hand back to her bare waist.

“Whatever you want Izzie,” I say between ragged breaths, making the girl moan as I keep kissing her neck. Izara’s hands wrap around my back, long acrylics scratching at the skin there.

“Shit,” I cuss under my breath, feeling like I might die or cum in my pants if I don’t get to have her. Still, I keep kissing her, fully aware what a privilege it was just to be on her like this. I do everything to try to stay composed, to keep my cool, to focus on putting on my best show as I return back to sloppily kissing her lips, shifting on top of her, my other hand beside Izzie’s face to hold me up. 

As I move my hips, my knee presses into her core, against the sheer fabric of the pajamas making her gasp straight into my mouth. I repeat the movement with purpose now, and can feel the heat radiating off her, the fabric between her legs growing damp. She wants this just as bad as I do.

“Lemme keep going, please,” I whimper, brows furrowed and barely conscious of what is happening at this point. “Lemme help ma, won’t even touch you.”

Her face is contorted with need, chest heaving desperately. 

“It hurts don’t it? Lemme help,” I coo, my lips wrapping around her earlobe and sucking softly. “Please.”

“Paige,” she whimpers, her body shaking with need. But I feel her shift, legs wrapping around my body. “Please.”

Oh God, I might actually cum in my sweats.

I kiss her all over, her neck, bare shoulders, mind spinning with need, my cunt growing wetter and wetter with every moan that leaves Izzie’s lips as I push my knee against her core, gently, so as to not hurt her.

“P-paige,” she moans my name. My name. 

“Ohh fuck,” I cuss, squeezing my eyes shut at the way her voice sounds, deep and gravelly, turning more high-pitched each time I grind my knee into her cunt.

“Let me get you right ma, please,” I beg breathlessly, shaking my head to myself trying to keep myself present. “Please, Iz, would do anything to fuck you,”

She’s speechless, whimpering desperately, but I can feel her muscles turning tense from the pleasure I’m giving her, legs shaking gently.

“Would be so good, just lemme eat that pussy,” I moan into her ear. “Gimme five.”

Pulling back, I meet her gaze. Her contorted face, dark brows furrowed and lips parted, green eyes blown out black. This is the most beautiful she has ever looked. Easily. Could look at her like this forever.

I can tell she’s considering, mulling it over in her head. Just as her lips part the ring of her phone interrupts the moment, the obnoxious sound blaring over the movie playing in the back. Of course. I can never have anything good. Just little tastes.

“Fuck,” Izzie mumbles and abruptly sits up as if suddenly thinking clearly. I climb off her, watching as she fumbles to find her phone.

“Here,” I catch it, handing it to her. It’s Kiran, her brother.

“Fuck, I promised I’d help him with his paper,” she groans, still trying to catch her breath.

“Uh, okay,” I murmur, attempting to catch mine, awkwardly shifting further on the couch, watching as the girl gets up and walks into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, leaving me there once again. Wanting more.

-

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[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 · (𝐡𝐢𝐬) 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤

contents: fluff. early twenties + first year of marriage. found family. gojo’s entire day shifts when you forget to wear your wedding ring. 900 wc.

“Eehh—?” You can faintly hear the noise Satoru let out coming from your shared bedroom, and you know he’d approach you about the situation sooner or later. You remain seated in bated breath as he stands with rounded shoulders before your dresser, cerulean hues staring down at your jewelry ceramic tray. And unmistakably there sits a wedding band with a large gemstone glinting at him under the warmth of the golden rays filtering through the curtains. He had a strong feeling there was a reason for his off-morning and this must’ve been it.

A noticeable pout rests on his lower lip and his hands are shoved in the pockets of his sorcerer’s uniform as he slowly climbs down the stairs. You glance over your shoulder from the couch with Tsumiki seated with her legs folded under her while you finish off her braid, and he looks like a kicked puppy the closer he treads. With a small pat on the young girl’s head, you send her to find her brother in his bedroom for breakfast.

“Oh good morning, baby. Why the long face, hm?” You shift your body toward him with an unperturbed smile, but Satoru sulks where he settles on the couch beside you in a manspread. “I’m almost certain I didn’t forget your morning kisses this time, even gave you more than plenty to last the day. Might I add the extra five or was it fifteen minutes of cuddling you so insisted on.” You tease with a gentle poke to his cheek, but nothing seems to be budging him and you think something terrible has happened. Though your husband’s jutted pout is adorable enough to maintain a lighthearted mood.

“No, but you did forget something.” Satoru sighs with a small shake of his head, letting on a weight of seriousness that makes you breathe out a curious ‘oh?’ at what that could be. With a tilt of your head, you watch his movements as he reveals the wedding ring he proposed to you with from the depths of his pocket. He twirls the silver band between his fingers and relief washes over you because you genuinely thought you had done something grave. “Found it on your jewelry dish. Don’t forget to wear it, princess.”

“Ah, so that's what’s bothering you.” You soften as your head leans against him with your arm looping around his, your left hand coming up so he can slip it back onto your finger. He does so with delicate care, and you offer him an explanation of taking it off before showering while he went for a run because you were afraid it'd fall down into the drain and forgot to put it back on. With having two pre-teenagers taken under both your wings, it’s easy to neglect these small details but you have noted to be more mindful next time.

Satoru hums with a chaste kiss on your forehead, intertwining your fingers together in a sweet hold as his thumb brushes against your skin. “Just don’t want anyone else to think you’re up for grabs. It’s not me who gets all the attention when we’re out together, you know.” He can perfectly recall those encounters where not only random strangers would make advances on you, but also cute grannies wanting to set you up with their grandson. He’s gone for one minute to collect your favorite snacks and you’re not how he left you when he returns.

“Oh Satoru, you still haven’t gotten over that yet? It happened two or three times and I think they were just being polite.” Satoru knew you would say that but allows you to have your own beliefs as you reach over to playfully pinch his cheek with a soft laugh. But you suppose it’s endearing seeing him jealous over something that happened years ago when he has nothing to worry about. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm, that’s an easy one. Never let me go?” He answers with a quickness that causes your heart to flutter, and sure enough he’s reverting back to being your lovable and charming husband. “Besides, having a beautiful and hot wife means that I have to protect and take care of what’s mine.” And he means more than fending off idiots trying to get your number, but also from being potentially targeted by cursed users because you’re someone of great importance to the Gojo clan leader.

“There’s a much better way to handle that. I could just let everyone know I’m happily married to the best guy ever.” Satoru doesn’t hide the smug look overtaking his features before nuzzling his face into your neck and pressing light kisses on your pulse point.

“Heh, flattery won’t get you off the hook.” He drags you impossibly close with his large hand wrapped around your hip. His onslaught of kisses continues along your face and you both fall back on the cushions of the couch as he revels in your giggles. After a moment, Satoru meets your gaze again and sweeps strands of hair away to see more of you. “And I love seeing that ring on your finger. Reminds me of something real special between us and that you chose to be with me.”

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way.” You gently take his hand cradling your face and place it over your chest with an earnest squeeze. “You are the best husband I could ever ask for. Love you, baby.” Satoru leans down to capture your lips sweetly at first, then chases after its softness for little pecks and murmurs how much he loves you back. And from the bottom of the steps of the staircase are the Fushiguro siblings sharing a knowing glance before entering the room to help with breakfast.

꒰ note ᰔ satoru always wears his wedding band on his finger and around his neck when he’s fighting against cursed spirits. ꒱

[star-suh]

Happy-ly Ever After: The Spa

Ricky Shen x Male Reader

an: last part of the happy spa trilogy, also i became lazier so i won't be writing content warnings anymore 😭

—

yn hasn’t had sex for a long time due to university assignments so when the opportunity appears, he takes it but first he has to get ready for the occasion. he decides to visit a famous spa that is said to have the most pretty and gorgeous people in the world. “i have to make sure if that’s true” he mutters while locking the front door.

the bell on the door rings, alerting the receptionist that someone just arrived, “hey hello, my name is matthew, how can i help you today?”. “hello, i want a massage and some uhmm… depilation.. y-you know where” yn says embarrassed. matthew lets out an almost quiet laugh, “sure buddy, let me guide you to the locker rooms so you can change your clothes and then go to this room” he hands him a card with a number on it, “enjoy” he smiles at yn.

yn nervously awaits for the person who’s gonna service him when the door creaks open, revealing a tall and handsome guy. “good afternoon, my name is ricky and i’m gonna be in charge of you for the rest of the day” he confidently says, “so a massage and a depilation.. wax?” his question being responded with a little yeah from the client.

the massage started, ricky made sure to put enough body oil so the movements of his hands were smooth, pressing the right pressure spots, relieving yn from the stress.

“how are you feeling mr. ln?” the masseur’s hands kneading the skin as if it were bread dough, moans coming out of his mouth “it feels so good mr.” he praises “the best feeling. i feel as if i’m on top of a fluffy cloud”. yn completely relaxes on the mattress, his body glistening with the yellow and white lights around the room. “okay, time for waxing” unexpectedly ricky slaps yn’s ass making him gasp in surprise, “what?” he says looking around. “you asked for it, ricky pulls out the card matthew gave yn before, a massage and a depilation you know where” ricky hides the card on his pant’s pocket, “the wax is ready man, so sit on all fours or whatever position your comfortable, what matters is that your ass is wide open for me to do a good job”. ‘why’s he smiling like that? yn thought, ‘he seems like he enjoys this type of work’. yn obeys but he just sits with his legs on each side of his body, near the mattress edge, his ass wide open and hole visible for ricky who makes a wow with his mouth and bit his lower lip.

he starts spreading the wax with a device that leaves a thin film of it on yn’s ass, ricky just needs to peel it and ta-dah the hair is gone. he continues repeating the process all over yn’s ass until it’s completely smooth, “something special for tonight?” ricky asks, sensing the reason for the waxing. but yn was too embarrassed to answer, after all he has his ass in front of an unknown’s face. “tough crowd huh” ricky murmurs, continuing doing his job. yn hears when ricky puts the device on a table near them and think he can go already but ricky’s hand grips his left ass cheek hard stopping him from stepping outside the massage bed, “i’m not done with you mr., it’s the turn of your hole to be waxed” despite his smile yn could sense ricky was getting annoyed by his actions. ‘don’t worry yn this is just the last part’ he says in his mind and as if ricky had read his thoughts he mutters an ‘it’s not the last part’.

yn’s hole clenches on air while being smeared on the wax, this time ricky was using his hands, with gloves of course, he then peels the film of wax in little chunks until it’s gone completely, once again repeating the process until all is clean and smooth. at this point yn has given up, he was now face down ass up, his hole clenching right in front of ricky’s face, “look who’s being cute all of a sudden” ricky pours some cream on his hand and smears it on yn’s ass, he starts to pretend as if the hole was yn’s face, talking to it. sometimes his hand slips right above the pulsating hole disguised as accidental touches, “sorry” he mutters everytime it happens. yn was getting aroused, the same as ricky, who’s bulge started to appear on his silky pants. yn’s dick gets hard, the mere thought of someone as hot as ricky doing those types of things to his hole clouds his mind. ricky blows air from his mouth directly to yn’s hole, it clenches on it. as if he was being hypnotized ricky slowly moves his face closer against the other, whispering sweet nothings to it, his mouth opens, it was watering, eager to taste that ring of muscles. finally his wet tongue mets with it, he licks a strip from his balls to his hole, “fuck” he couldn’t hold it anymore, latching his lips on the needy hole, draggin’ his tongue around and inside it, ravaging it completely. “mr. rickyyy” yn tried to push his head away from him but to no avail, ricky just replied with a moan indicating that he wasn’t planning to stop. the masseur’s hand grabs yn’s dick and closes around it, moving it up and down, “look at you, already dripping” ricky mentions when he touches yn’s wet tip, precum dripping of it, he use it to slick the shaft and make it more pleasurable for yn.

yn leaned on his back and holded his legs, knees near his chest so ricky could keep doing wonders with his tongue, “why are y-you doing this?” yn asked, curiosity getting the best out of him but ricky responded with a simple “it’s my job, i have to make sure i did it well. not a single hair so i think i did a good one” he winked and resumed his rimjob.

minutes passed and ricky has still his face buried on yn’s ass but this time he was jerking off too, pulling his pants and underwear down enough to pull his dick out. “just put it in already, please” yn begged, he wanted to feel something bigger and thicker, ricky’s tongue was not enough for him. “what about your date from later at night?. thought you were doing this for them?”, ricky rubs the puckered hole with two fingers then introduces them and moves them in a scissors motion to open it more, “i don’t care just do it” tears threatening to spill, overwhelming feelings taking over him. “say less”.

ricky’s thick cock pummels its way, its big head opening his walls so deliciously that yn moaned loudly, asking for more, the veins around the cock scrapping yn’s walls so damn good. “ufff tonight’s situation gonna eat good” ricky jokes, positioning his hands on yn’s shoulders to pound harder. the bed moved in a rhythmic pace, squeaking caused by every thrust. “you fuck so good” yn praises, driving ricky even wilder. he discards hispants completely, his bottom half completely naked. he lies down on the bed too and position yn on his side, slapping his shaft on the other’s back entrance, “ready?” he asks, “yeah” yn responds quickly. “i’m not gonna hold back” ricky adds, “i don’t give a fuck”.

his balls slapped against the other while still shoving his dick, “i’m not gonna stop until your ass remembers the shape of my dick and would only accept mine, no one else's. sorry for your situationship”. ricky bites yn’s ear and then lick the back of his neck. yn manages to be on top this time to ride his masseur, with his hands on each side of his hips, guiding him, “you like it mr. ricky?” he sits hard “am i your best client yet” yn says pouting, with doe like eyes that immediately rolled back when ricky hit on his sweet spot, his tip scraping around it, the pleasure expanding throughout his whole body. ricky likes how feisty yn tried to be, “yes mr. ln you’re the best cockwhore i’ve ever had”. yn stops the riding session, he just sits with ricky’s dick still inside, he starts to move his hips and hump on him with all the strength left on him, this caused his hole and therefore insides to contract so tight that ricky came instantly. yn’s inside being flooded by ricky’s sticky spooge, the liquid went down ricky’s shaft and balls, dripping on the mattress, ricky gasped for air, still holding yn’s hips while riding his high, “fuck this was indeed the best fuck. i’ve never had someone to make me cum so easy” ricky praises, he stands up to clean himself and then yn.

“thank you for today, hope you enjoyed it fully” ricky thanked yn while waving goodbye, “hope i can have you here some time soon”, yn turns around and smirks at him. trust, this is not gonna be yn’s last visit to the spa, the happy ending spa.

[avelera]

(Arcane Meta) Zaun Died with Silco

I want to open this by saying I understand people who are upset that there isn't more Piltover/Zaun conflict and resolution in S2 of Arcane. However, I'm going to argue here that the reason it's not in S2 after 2.03 is because the conflict is over. Piltover won. There is no more Zaun anymore as a potential political player and, ultimately, this comes back to haunt Piltover in their hour of need.

Overall, while I am invested in the Piltover/Zaun conflict, especially in S1, I'm less focused on Caitlyn and Vi's story which is our main lens for the conflict, or rather the end of the conflict, in S2. Still, I hope to offer my more Arcane worldbuilding-focused perspective. And just to get it out of the way, here are a few things I had trouble with:

I too was puzzled that anyone from the Undercity would join Piltover in the defense of the city.

I also thought it was strange to have Jayce focus on the threat that Viktor posed with his robots while soliciting help from the undercity, instead of on Ambessa, the more clear and understandable threat that would have made a better rallying point and allowed for a final discussion about the Noxian occupation of the undercity and how Noxus turning on Piltover was just them reaping what they sowed.

I was certainly taken aback when everyone was given Enforcer uniforms for the final fight.

That said, I believe there are answers to all three of these. From there, I want to dive into what exactly happened in S2 with Piltover vs. Zaun, to my eyes. Short version: there is no more "Zaun" as a potential nation or political player by 2.03 when the Chem Barons are taken out by Cait's forces, but it really died before that with Silco, who was already in a precarious negotiating situation himself and he knew it.

Very few people from the Undercity joined Piltover's defense of the city. Maybe a half dozen. I felt that was our moment of "you reap what you sow" for Piltover. A few passionate idealists who could see the bigger picture that saving Piltover does mean saving the undercity joined, but there were no hordes of volunteers. Piltover had lost the right to them and was substantially weakened for it.

Jayce choosing to focus on Viktor as the threat makes sense for him, but it was a poor political move and probably lost him volunteers he would have otherwise gained. The robot army threat is too esoteric and fantastical. "The Noxians turned on us and plan to conquer the city," is a threat that would have been better for rallying the troops, Jayce is just too single-minded to think of it. He's a bad politician.

The Enforcer uniforms are an odd sour note, but they do make sense as protective gear. Piltover doesn't have an army. There are no uniforms to give people. All they have is Enforcer uniforms. It is an odd note symbolically, but practically speaking it shows how little time Piltover had to prepare. Piltover is a civilian city going up against a military force like Noxus. They are woefully underprepared and really only have their status as defender in urban fighting to give them a prayer of even stalling the Noxian forces. Ironically, Piltover's only hope against Noxus mirrors Zaun's only hope against Piltover if they had gone to war: the difficult nature of urban fighting against an entrenched, motivated opponent on their home turf.

Now, to get into, "What happened to the overall Piltover vs. Zaun fight?" I get why people think it's lacking in S2, and I get why people find it horrifying that there is no independent Zaun at the end, all we've got is Sevika with one seat on the Council, as far as we can tell but I would point out:

Zaun is dead at this point. It's been dead since 2.03. Arguably, it really died with Silco.

As Jinx said, she didn't just destroy her own family, she cursed an entire society when she launched that rocket into the Council Chamber.

Here's the thing, Jayce was actually right when he said Zaun wouldn't stand a chance in an outright war with Piltover.

Yes, Zaun has a lot of brawlers. They have Shimmer and the Shimmer berserkers.

But Zaun doesn't have any sort of organized fighting force beyond the guards of individual Chem Barons and their factories.

What Zaun has is the fissures. It has ugly, difficult urban fighting in dangerous spaces. But as a counter to that, we have the fact that their ventilation is controlled from Piltover. In a true all-out war, Piltover could in theory just flush out the entire undercity using the Gray. Having your infrastructure entirely dependent on an enemy oppressor is what I would call a "fatal flaw" in any defensive military strategy, particularly when what they can cut off is the air you breathe. That's easily game over right there unless Silco has a way to circumvent that.

In a guerilla war, Zaun could probably hold out for a long, grinding, ugly civil war made up of mostly guerrilla attacks, in which a great number of innocent civilians will die, even in an all-out conflict with Piltover. But it would suffer catastrophic losses and probably still lose in the end.

Now, Jayce is I think somewhat naive in his claim Zaun doesn't stand a chance. Maybe Zaun wouldn't stand a chance in the long run, but they'd make Piltover pay for every inch with blood. They'd grind Piltover down into a shadow of its former self, force them to sacrifice all of their principles. To some extent, I think Jayce gets that, he gets that he doesn't want more kids to die, but I think even he underestimates just how ugly that war would be and how long it would go and how unrecognizable his Piltover would be by then.

The moment that gives Silco pause in Jayce's assessment of how easily Zaun would be crushed isn't the fighting. Silco is pretty confident that they could make Piltover pay and he's arguably looking forward to the chance on some level.

What gives him pause is when Jayce says the Council doesn't care.

To some extent, Silco like any revolutionary against an oppressive "civilized" society (heavy, heavy emphasis on the air quotes there) is that a certain point, Piltover is so soft-hearted they will get tired of the bloodshed.

What Jayce just told Silco is that the Council is more barbaric than even Silco maybe appreciated, for all their vaunted principles. There isn't necessarily a limit to how many Zaunite children will die before Piltover decides to cease hostilities. Knowing what Silco knows of Piltover's brutality, I think that is a sobering moment for Silco. That's when he decides this really is the best time to negotiate.

(Aside, this is by the way where Vi is wrong about Silco, driven by her emotions. Silco is willing to set aside the feud to get his nation of Zaun, he can be negotiated with. He's just not willing to give up his daughter (something Vi can't possibly understand at this point).)

Here's why it's the best time for Silco to negotiate and it ties into everything else:

Without Shimmer, which has been severely hampered by the raid on the factory, Zaun doesn't have anything to counter Hextech.

Jinx's wild attacks against Piltover has helped put the pressure on them that Silco capitalizes on. But it is a paper-thin threat. She is a lone albeit devastating terrorist. She makes Zaun appear more dangerous than it is but that can't last forever. Silco has leveraged her attacks into a pressure campaign against Piltover, but a serious response from Piltover (as seen in 2.03 with the strike team corners and very nearly captures her) could reveal just how fragile that threat is.

Basically, Zaun has some champions, arguably a league of legends lol, but it doesn't have an army. It doesn't even have Enforcers of its own. It doesn't have a concerted force of any kind.

The money is running out. As "Sucker" shows us in 2.02, each Chem Baron that gets taken out means less money on the table, and we're down 2 by the beginning of S2 with Silco and Finn, who arguably both fell to internal fighting.

As the Chem Barons say in 2.02, even if they got total unity in Zaun, they're outnumbered.

However, they don't have total unity in Zaun. They can't even get the Chem Barons to agree on what to do on one topic, with Jinx.

Silco basically has to accept the deal with Jayce when he does, while Zaun appears to be at its strongest. Because if he had waited any longer, the fact that they don't have the strength or money to back it up would have become apparent.

Furthermore, once Jayce resigns from the Council, which he was planning to do anyway regardless of Jinx's attack, would mean Zaun would lose its one champion with the political capital to give them independence. The window for Zaun independence is actually extremely narrow.

With Silco's death and Jinx's attack on the Council, then the subsequent eradication of the other Chem Barons, their resources, their money, including Shimmer which was the only thing Zaun really had to match them against Hextech in that arms race, there really isn't a Zaun anymore.

There's no one to negotiate with. No one to hand power to. No force that can govern itself. Zaun is completely fractured with the eradication of the Chem Barons. By taking them out, Cait removed the need for Piltover to negotiate with Zaun. And the reason Piltover chose not to was because of Jinx's rocket and then the attack on the memorial, which was orchestrated by Ambessa.

This is all according to Ambessa's design, by the way. She divides Piltover/Zaun against themselves by capitalizing on Jinx's attack. She leaves both severely weakened to make it easier for her to take over, and Piltover walks right into the trap. They would have fallen to Noxus if not for Mel's love of the city, even if you remove Viktor and Jayce's plotline entirely.

TL;DR Zaun is gone, guys. It's a distant dream. Sevika is the only person with an interest in making it happen anymore and she can't even get the Jinxers to listen to her. All the factions are easily arrested at the rally. Piltover has no reason to negotiate with any of these people. As the lone torchbearer for that cause, it makes sense for Sevika to be on the Council but beyond her, there is literally no one else to give a voice to (since Ekko doesn't appear to have an interest).

At least, until the Noxians turn on them, and then there's an interest in Piltover and the undercity joining forces, but as I referenced at the beginning of this, Piltover has now lost the right to the undercity's help AND lacks the undercity's resources too. Now Noxus has Shimmer instead of Piltover or Zaun, in addition to their sophisticated and expertly trained military force. As Jayce said, they were meant to lose this fight. Arguably, they never had a chance of winning if not for Mel claiming the loyalty of the Noxians in the wake of her mother's death and everything Jayce did to stop Viktor and the Hexcore.

[aceofheartsssss]

Jealous Confusion - ⭐️ Starscream ⭐️ x Human Reader Mini Fic

@skittyhugger requested this I felt like doin’ it cuz I like doing random shit for no reason. It’s a very short blurb-fic thingy, hope that’s okay, pookies. Gender-neutral reader cuz yeah.

Y’all can also imagine any version of Starscream if you want to btw. Enjoy!!!

-

‘There he goes again, whispering about who knows what…’ The human thought, watching from a distance, mind burning with curiosity. The fleshling watched as Starscream whispered something into Windblade’s audials. Then, Windblade giggled with that adorable giggle of hers, replying to him in a whisper as well. Starscream turned pink. These types of interactions between these two had been happening for a while now. Recently, Starscream seemed to be growing distant from his human ally, a friend, if you will, always making new excuses to leave. And lately, he'd been getting closer to Windblade. The human walked away; it was too much to take right now. A sigh escaped the fleshling’s mouth. “Fuckin’ thoughts. It’s impossible… and stupid as hell.” The fleshy thought aloud, plopping onto a couch. The human shouldn’t have been feeling this upset and jealous about two bots growing close, but the painful truth was that the little thing had somehow been around Starscream long enough to develop a crush on him. A strong crush. It was pure stupidity, a ridiculous notion, the human thought, not only because Starscream was millions of years older, much too many feet taller, but oh, he was a freaking alien. There was no way he was ever going to fall, let alone be attracted to a human, so why even give it a shot? It was a suicide attempt to try. The squishy didn’t even remember how or when this feeling started. It just did, and it only snowballed, getting worse. To top it all off, the fleshling was also mentally in denial about the crush. It was all a big, confusing concoction of emotions. That day, the fleshy avoided Starscream as much as possible, hanging out with random Autobots instead. It almost seemed like they could also tell something was off.

About one long week had passed of the squishy living life somewhat normally whilst still avoiding Starscream more as he hung out with Windblade more often than ever. One day, the tiny human was broken out from a train of thought by a giant metallic digit gently nudging the soft squishy’s shoulder. Surely a random bot like Bumblebee, but no, when the human turned and looked up, there was Starscream, looking all the way down. The fleshling frowned instinctively. “What?” The angry human asked stiffly. “Are you alright, Squishy?” Starscream asked, tilting his helm curiously. His tone was a little different today. “Yes.” The human replied in the most bland, monotone voice ever, accompanied by a stiff expression. Starscream frowned, poking the human’s cheek. “It doesn’t look like you’re alright. You’ve been very distant.” He said gently, kneeling down to be closer to the fleshing’s face. He looked adorable this way, trying to shrink down and be as close as he could; the weak fleshy couldn’t take it. “I-I’m just… I… ugh, just forget it-” The flustered human said, trying to speak harshly but coming off as a little nervous. Starscream looked like he was thinking of what to say next; he almost looked nervous? Then, seeming almost as if he'd rehearsed this a million times, he spoke. “Well, I was thinking- if you wish to, we could go out for a drink... or to a human film and… hang out.” Starscream said with a silly little smile. The confused fleshling blinked, anger suddenly gone, brows furrowed. “Wait, what? What are you… why?” The little human asked. Starscream looked off to the side and scoffed nervously. “Well, I believe what I’m referring to is called a… date…” Starscream trailed off reluctantly, and he was turning pink. He looked adorable when he was nervous. The human’s eyes slowly widened as the realization of what was happening set in. Starscream did like the human. “A date? With… me? Why? What about Windblade? I thought you liked her… I thought you guys were…” The human trailed off curiously, realizing that the Windblade thing was a misunderstanding but simultaneously thinking that surely Starscream had said something wrong. Sometimes, he'd get human words and their meanings wrong. “Windblade? No- I don't like her like that… I- er, may have been asking Windblade for… advice- anyway, never mind that-” Starscream said nervously, his face most definitely turning a different shade. Could bots even blush? Guess so. He was obviously not used to this. It was almost too cute for the human to handle. “So, would you like to? If not, that's alright… you are a human, after all, and-” “Yes- I’ve liked you for a while- I thought you’d never like me-” The human said instantly, nodding quickly, cutting Starscream off from any doubts and insecurities. His optics widened when he heard the eagerness and confession of the squishy human, and he smiled. The human's denial was no longer existent, because this was definitely a very real, huge crush. "Well, shall we?" Starscream lent a servo down softly, and the human happily hopped on it as they took off. This was surely the start of something new...

-

Somewhere, Windblade giggled maniacally because she'd been a great wingwoman, and her advice had actually worked.

Well, tell me what y'all thought about it! Like if you liked, gimme advice, etc. See ya later, pookies! <3 Pic link: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/120752833734196921/

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆ 

Chapter 3, After party

Masterlist

Word count: 1.2 k

Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Author's note: Tehee, I'm suddenly writing like I'm on fucking speed. Have another chapter while I'm not burned out from this story yet <3

Mature content under the cut.

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me,' you hiss to yourself. You've gotten dried off and dressed after your very unsuccessful cold shower (that maybe ended in you masturbating anyway) and opened your phone to see if you had any notifications. The last thing you expected to see was a new video from Red Crow, aka Sylus, aka your neighbor, jacking off right after meeting you wearing the same thing shirt he had when he opened the door for you.  

Is he teasing you? No, surely not. He said he'd make a video if everyone begged for it, don't be delusional... It is a nice idea though. Him being that horny after meeting you for no more than two minutes. 

Before you can even watch the first ten seconds of the video, your doorbell rings. It scares the bejesus out of you and you almost drop your phone. Fuck, you need to calm down and you need to do it fucking now. Tara is at your door, and you need to get through a night of romcoms and facemasks before you can watch that video. 

You rush to the door and open it with a friendly smile, trying hard to hide the lust filled thoughts playing behind your eyes. There stands Tara, but she's engaged in a conversation. 'Oh, hello,' she says to you with a smile and turns to your neighbor's door, 'Kieran, Sylus, have fun. See you soon.' 

Shit, you just can't help it. You stick your head around the corner and there he stands, confidently leaned against the doorframe of his door, arms crossed, wearing a different shirt for a reason that you can very easily imagine after that video. He wears a self-satisfied smirk on his lips when he sees your head peak around the corner and nods his head to you. Your cheeks burn and you barely even notice Kieran standing there. You try to nod back at him as casually as you can but there's no saving you now. So you just head back in and wait for Tara to follow you in hopes that it won't look too strange. 

'What was that all about,' she asks, following you inside. You shrug and venture further into your apartment. 

'Do you want tea?' Tara frowns and closes the door behind her a little too loud. She seems more concerned than angry, just as she had this morning. 

'Ma’am, what is going on,' she demands, standing with her hands on her hips in the middle of the living room. If you hadn't know what kind of person she is, you might've taken it more seriously but with the way your brain is fried you fear you might not even be able to hold a normal conversation. 

'He's rude,' you blurt out, your filter completely gone. Shit, your brain really is fried. 'Anyway, what movie should we watch?' 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'What was all that,' Kieran nearly cries out like an excited teenage girl while trying to hit Sylus’ shoulders. Not that he can. Despite his size, Sylus is incredibly fast. Blame years and years of boxing for that. 

'I have no clue what you mean,' Sylus says cold, calculated, monotone, but the slightest flinch of the corners of his lips give him away. He quickly turns to his bar cart to pour them all a drink, but then he spots the bottle of whiskey you gave him and his lips twitch up again. 

This time Luke also catches it. He turns on the couch, clutching the back and pulling himself up in a chaotic attempt to climb over and tease Sylus like there's no tomorrow. He fails miserably when Sylus looks back at him with one warning look while pouring the whiskey. 

Kieran sits down in one of the two big lazy chairs while Luke spreads out on the couch. 'Did she come over?' 

'She got me a housewarming present,' Sylus muses, trying to keep his composure as he grabs the three glasses of whiskey by the rims and walks them over to the coffee table. As soon as they're set down, Kieran and Luke shoot up to claim their glasses. 

'A housewarming present,' Luke says in a teasing tone while wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicking from Kieran to Sylus and back a few times. Sylus sighs and pinches his brow, still trying so damn hard to make it seem like everything is the same. 

'Whiskey,' he says to explain, 'she got me a bottle of whiskey.' 

'And you made her throat burn,' Luke teases once more, but this time even Kieran cringes. 

'And you wonder why you're single,' Kieran sighs. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘ 

'Come on, out with it,' Tara demands. Throughout the last two hours, you've been dancing around the topic under the guise of choosing a movie, making tea, putting facemasks on, painting each other's toenails, etcetera, but you're dead out of things to keep Tara busy. So you just give in. Well, you give in a little bit. Can't play all your cards yet. 

'He's hot okay,' you groan, 'he's fucking hot and I have a fucking dry spell.'  

That was clearly not what Tara expected you to say after you told her he was rude to you. 'Wait, back it up, I thought you were joking about you and Zayne just being friends.' 

'No, we're really just friends. We've kissed once to see if we wanted something more but neither of us felt anything.' She nods. 

'And Sylus is your type?' 

'Well,' you mumble, a blush forming on your cheeks, 'I guess. I've always liked them tall. Can't say I've ever met anyone like him before, though.' Mentally, you beat yourself up. This man is a sex God and you're sitting here, one measly wall away from him, blushing like Sylus and you are the main characters in a slow burn k-drama. 

'Fair enough,' she agrees and suggests, 'I can give him your number under the guise of telling each other about parties and stuff. Like what you did with Zayne.' 

'I don't think he's the kind of person who likes having his hand forced,' you note uncertainly, 'besides, he's a grown man. If he wants something, he can get it himself.' And shit, the way you would give it to him. They'd have to add a new level to the Richter Scale after you're done with him. Or he's done with you, whatever he prefers to say. You're not picky as long as you can feel his hands all over you. “Wait, stop, you're still with Tara. Calm your ovaries woman,” you mentally scream at yourself, hoping the blush on your cheeks still seems as innocent as it had a bit ago but you can feel your ears flush.

Tara agrees with a nod, seemingly not noticing anything: 'You're right. And he did seem to like you.' 

'That's probably just because I gave him whiskey as a housewarming gift.' 

'No, I don't think I've ever seen him look at a woman like that,' she says absentmindedly. You suddenly feel your heart pounding in your chest once more. Truly, your heart is trying to be your undoing. You're not supposed to like this person after meeting them once but at the same time, you've been watching him for ages. When you think about it, it actually feels a little bit weird. 

You've been watching him, he doesn't know you. And yet, he seems to be the more confident one.

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[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

And once again, you are now acknowledging that there is at least a sliding scale from 'lacking legal protections' to 'actively being exploited', but you did not do that initially - you went straight to "definitely being exploited, so I get to be condescending and judgemental."

I STILL know more about this place than you. I am deliberately not giving details for privacy reasons - theirs and mine - but I know so, so much more than you do about this. I also did research before I went for the first time about what signs to look out for in case of a modern day slavery situation, and not only have I never seen even a hint, I have seen plentiful pieces of evidence to the contrary, including the fact that every time I go I pay the workers directly into their own bank accounts, they all have their own phones that they can use whenever they like (a little too much, in the case of one who once kept stopping my massage to text a friend), and that plenty of them have left and gone into other fields. I literally still have Chris' number. What do you have? A handful of incredibly small talking points that you reckon might mean something.

On top of that, I don't know where you're writing from in the world, but brothels cannot officially operate here. That does not automatically equate to Definite Exploitation, as you immediately decided.

Honestly? I think you can interrogate for yourself why you have identical instincts to a SWERF with white saviour desires. But the bigger issue here, frankly, is that ultimately your motivation with that response was that you just wanted to feel self-righteous and get to be a dick to someone. If you actually gave a shit about the hypothetically exploited people you invented in your head, your response would have been "Hey, I am concerned about possible exploitation. Have you noticed any signs?" And, you know, a list of signs. Not the prissy, sanctimonious comment you went for that did nothing except try to broadcast to the world how Enlightened you are.

Rapidly losing patience in this conversation. I strongly suggest you just take the hit and walk away rather than trying to dig your heels in while subtly trying to walk it back with each new response and pretend you weren't being as black-and-white pseudo-authoritarian as you actually were.

Search is turning up nothing, but that's Tumblr even if there is something, so:

Have I told you guys about my many adventures with the brothel massage parlour around the corner from my house yet?

[genderqueerdykes]

ive been reading a lot about transmascs/trans men throughout history (alexander durov, one eyed charley, albert cashier etc) and many of them from what ive seen were able to get pretty far without having their sex discovered and im just wondering how? i know you don't really need much to pass even in 'modern days' and that you don't need to medically transition to pass (i passed a lot before T in front of strangers)

does it really only come down to just not telling and the men around them not caring for their voice?

its a bit harder to research since so much of history involving transmascs are either scrubbed or they're deadnamed and misgendered once they're gone

idk maybe im just lowkey jealous because many of them rarely got questioned from what ive seen and they were generally respected while they were alive

you know, that's a good question

if i had to guess, i think part of the reason people are so focused on gender right now is because we have recorded media to refer back to. instead of referring to people in our real lives we know, people tend to refer to the highly scripted people they see on the television, tablet, etc. we are fixated on what women "should look, act and sound like" and the same for men because we have multiple industries pushing this narrative. the internet is probably also likely a huge problem.

instead of people pointing to someone they know in their life and going "oh yeah i knew a guy like that before, he just had a high pitched voice!" (<- is actually talking about a trans man who isn't publicly out) they refer to the sculpted, scripted, preened and airbrushed people they see in shows, movies, games and popular content on YouTube. i think we're becoming way less accepting of the diversity humanity offers by being continuously lambasted with what "conventional attractiveness" and gender roles should look like.

it may also have to do with the fact that trans rights and trans people only really became known to the general public within the last 100 years. cishet people really just did not know about or consider the idea of a trans person anywhere near as much as they do now. i have a feeling its a lot of backlash from the civil rights movements of the past and present. i think people may have just minded their business before they became painfully aware of the existence of trans people.

those are my guesses, anyway. i'd love to hear more from other people on this!

[raayllum]

Right in front of our faces

So I've been thinking about self-eating a lot. Not only because it's weirdly on brand with everything in Claudia's arc (drinking her own blood, treating her own body basically as dark magic parts just for other people's metaphorical consumption, at least in her head, rather than for her own desires) but also because... Why, y'know? Why have this be a thing, why reserve it for the third arc, an arc wherein with the Archdragons gone Aaravos' main goal will be to dismantle the Cosmic Council?

In some ways, I think I was so focused on Aaravos' side of things—the easiest way to get revenge on the Stars (since they don't care about the destruction of their creation, not really, according to him) would be to kill them but he, for whatever reason, cannot do that—that I was missing the obvious other side of things.

Aaravos asks in 7x08, "Are you watching?" but wouldn't it be really bad for him if they were? What is stopping the Cosmic Council from transporting Aaravos to the same place they took Leola and permanently killing him, since permanently killing a Startouch elf is something we know the Cosmic Council, uniquely, can do? He couldn't stop them before when he was more powerful than he is now as a 'Fallen' Star.

Aaravos' plan hinges on eventually getting the Stars' attention, and they are presumably still at their full power, just no longer involved with Xadia. He is seemingly never concerned, even when making the choice to live and plot against them, that the Stars would just kill him the way they did with Leola.

Or maybe, perhaps, he already has a reason that they can't.

As he collapses in tears at Leola's trial, Aaravos' chest star is complete and right side up. After, presumably, 100 years of weeping, his star is inverted and the centre piece is missing when the Merciful One comes to see him.

The reason I brought up self-eating is because we see it's used as a form of chasing immortality, even beyond what Kim'Dael does. I've long speculated that Aaravos purposefully carved out his chest piece, whether to place it in something or to help create dark magic. He may not have done anything with it, even if it was on purpose, but I wonder... if he ate it, in order to ensure that the Cosmic Council couldn't kill him.

This is especially noteworthy since from what we see of Leola's trial, her destructive glow begins in her chest star and then spreads to her fingers, and the destruction of Aaravos' mortal form is radically different.

This doesn't really make sense. Leola was destroyed while in her mortal form, given that moments before she'd been living and interacting with things on earth, just like her father. Aaravos' destruction stems from the bite mark at first, but then begins elsewhere that's entirely separate (the foot) and never broaches the hands. Leola becomes entirely light, while Aaravos' body seems to be shattered, and does bear a striking resemblance to how dark!Callum crumbles in the 2x08 dark magic nightmares.

Furthermore, when Leola is killed and her star energy is sent down (for lack of a better description), we do see a symbol of a star being inverted, despite that not being a part of her character design.

We also know that Aaravos' body being destroyed differently in 7x09 isn't due to dark magic use, at least not in terms of his body. As of season seven, he hadn't done any dark magic in his new body, which is a soft reset. However, we also know that dark magic affects your soul/spirit (6x06) which would, presumably, be the same no matter the body in this case. Therefore, the reason Aaravos' body might've crumbled (beyond differences in execution style) might be because of the dark magic he's used that created a permanent hole in his spirit/self, and one that Leola, of course did not have.

I also think some of this in my head is connecting to the ideas of sacrifice. Other characters, especially parents, can sacrifice themselves in TDP canon in hopes of a better future for their children / the next generation (the three queens, the archdragons, Harrow, etc). Aaravos divorcing himself from the ability to sacrifice himself, especially after thousands of years with no daughter to speak of (until Claudia, but on her in a second), purposefully robs himself from the ability to make a meaningful contribution to the cycle. Death, permanent death, provides meaning and consequence, both things he's seemingly devoid of.

Sacrificing his ability to die (his heart) and at least, in theory, reunite with his daughter / no longer exist without her to ensure he can 'avenge' her is a hell of a thing, after all. And on a certain level, that seems like his endgame goal regardless. Even if all the above speculation is untrue and wily, unless he can execute himself, in destroying/killing (?) all the other Startouch elves, he will be alone and eternal... forever, with no way out, carrying only the pain of his child's death and withering satisfaction at punishing her murderers, unless he decided to eventually change.

Like I said: a hell of a thing.

[astracora]

Turning Point - Part 4

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Angst, Loss of Arm, Lots of emotional struggle with disability, Xavier Anecdote and Lightseeker Myth mentions.

Word Count: 4584

Written: 7th January 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This one was rough for a lot of reasons. Also I think about how Xavier is the only confirmed character to watch MC die in his arms, way more than I should. So I feel like guilt is an emotion he would have to contend with the most. I'm also beyond heartbroken we didn't get him sobbing or reacting in game. Also I wrote like, so many side things while I was trying to work this bit out. But I've also gone back to chapter 3 to change the timeframe for Raffy's exhibit, so I can write out the chapter for him properly. (chapter? part?)

Now Playing: Starlight, by STARSET

Masterlist AO3

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Xavier can't focus, he knows Nero is talking to him. If he had to make a guess, he knows the topic… he just can't make himself hear it.

He doesn't dislike Nero, and while he couldn't care less about the topic of Lumiere, least of all when you talk about him, he normally listens. Because Nero likes Xavier, and is comfortable talking to him, and has zero interest in flirting with you.

It's a low threshold… he's aware he's a selfish creature. If the new companions he'd acquired weren't willing to die for you too, he probably would have less patience for them. Even if sometimes they do press on the edges of his tolerance.

It's probably part of his punishment…

For not being there.

For letting you get hurt.

"Xavier?"

"Xaviiiiiier?"

"Hey!"

His nose is held, and he jolts upright, looking forwards with wide eyes at Tara and Nero who are frowning.

"Are you alright?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you."

He shakes his head, trying to clear what you've dubbed his 'storm cloud', "Just tired."

Tired. Angry. Hurting. He let you down, and now you're suffering even more.

He thinks about the you he left behind, the future he turned his back on. He thinks about the throne, and the ship he chartered.

He thinks about every life he's taken to protect yours. All the blood on his hands.

With all of his vigilance, all of his love, it took moments to almost lose you. Again.

"You should head home, we don't have any missions, and you'll just fall asleep again." Tara laughs, pushing a paper bag towards him, "And take this back for them, alright?"

He's about to do so, when he sees documents on Nero's desk. Sketches of prosthetic arms, augmented with wanderer designs. "What are you doing?"

Nero jumps, shoving the paper back but too slowly, Xavier picks it up to peer at it. Alongside the sketches are notes.

'Adjust the metal casing so it can be used as an emergency shield.' 'Nerve transmitters that work from the brain, requires less input from residual limb.' 'Bioorganic materials from wanderers reduce rejection rate?' 'Will they want patterns? Or something more skin-like?'

He looks at Nero, from all the notes, even some he can't read because the handwriting is quick and frantic, "What's this?"

The man in question looks down, his glasses almost falling off his nose, "I was talking to some of the other hunters who have a prosthetic. or lost a limb."

"I was doing the talking, Nero was taking notes."

He nods, looking a little more backed up with Tara next to him, "I wanted to find out what they could have used more when they started working again. Ways I could help them." He blinks then, looking startled, "They're coming back right?"

Tara looks at Xavier too, and he feels like he's under a microscope, because her face has changed. Fear lurking in frantic eyes.

"They will." He affirms, because you're aiming to, and he knows you don't give up. You'll stumble, trip, fall and bleed… but you'll get up and start running again.

He thinks about the you he left behind, and the you now.

Scarred and angry, aching at the edges. He thinks of the laughter when you finish a mission, fist bumping him with glee. The photos he has of you where you're smiling. Even if you don't smile as wide as Tara does, even if the scars tug at your lips. He thinks about your eyes, glittering with mischief, as you steal something off his desk.

When you can't stop laughing when you ask to try his light blade, flashing teeth like a cat. Heated cheeks but amused. He shares a blush, but he wishes you wouldn't tease.

You're different, with overlaps in parts.

He misses your smile.

"Nero, can you help me with something?"

—-

When he gets back to the apartment building, the moon high in the sky, he wants to see you straight away… but his hunter uniform is dirty, and he wants to relax. Release the strain of the day. So he stops off, changes, and sees some of the doctor's clothes next to his bed.

He's not sure what made him offer his apartment as a secondary place to stay. He's not sure if it was the relief in your eyes when you saw them all there the next morning, or the guilt that he wasn't enough alone to protect you.

Regardless, he made a choice. Even though only the doctor seems to use it. Rafayel prefers to sleep on the floor, if he sleeps at all with his projects, Sylus drifts in and out like a ghost… he only stays when he stays next to you.

He finds himself sleeping against your bed when you do, when he's not fighting. Trying to chase out the guilt with his sword.

As he makes his way back to your apartment, he sees a note on the fridge.

Plate in fridge, reheat it.

With a sketch of a round crow… he thinks it's wearing a neck ruff?

"Courtesy of kitten," The voice is even, and he sees Sylus at the kitchen table. Prosthetic in hand, as he goes through motions they all know. Cleaning and tending to it. "The crow, that is. The food is me. An extra plate is easy."

Xavier would question the intelligence of eating food made by a criminal, but if he trusts Sylus' food in your hands, he doesn't fear it in his own. "Thanks." He doesn't want to think too hard about this. About the state of things. The people around him that he never would have met without you.

He fractures at the idea that he can't be enough to protect you.

He'll eat it later, when guilt doesn't turn his stomach.

"If you're going to check in on them, do it quietly." Sylus doesn't look up at him, content to ease leather with careful hands and cloth, "They finally got to sleep."

He bristles a little, at being told to be careful with you, eyes narrowing and cold, but it is not received. The man even has the nerve to begin humming, low and under his breath. Out of tune. Xavier doesn't think he's ever met another man so impossibly unbothered by the world around him.

The words are ignored, received with a huff, and he walks past, towards your bedroom. You're alone today, no Rafayel lay on the bed with you, sketching, no Zayne, reading in the dark, as you sleep. You are curled around a large plushie of a narwhal, arm clutching it to your chest as you mutter through your dreams.

It is a relief to see the steady movement of your breathing. Though he still does not settle down until he places a hand on your cheek, feeling the exhale. You're alive, you're here, and you're under his hands.

The guilt calms down, as he reminds himself of that.

Instead of going back out to eat, Xavier settles down on the floor, back pressed to the bed, cheek on the mattress. Watching you. It is one of the few times he is relieved for his ease of sleep. So he can drift off, watching you live.

—----

The next morning, he places a cup of coffee next to your bedside table, and gives a nod to Sylus who has been reading one of your books, before returning to the Hunter's Association. He comes face to face with an excited Nero.

He almost takes a step back. Very nearly turns around and walks out, before he remembers he asked for something, "Xavier!"

Tara is following close behind, hiding her laughter behind her hand, "He's been waiting by the door for you."

"Three people responded that they're interested in talking to you. They're also happy to have notes taken, so I can help."

He wasn't sure he'd hear anything this quickly, he supposes he shouldn't be that surprised. Nero fixates on something, just as much as you do. His fixation tends to come in bursts of problem solving, yours comes in biting and tearing and clawing to the solution.

"Alright, let's go."

Jenna gives him time to talk, and he walks with Nero to a room where the three people are sat, chatting between themselves.

They still, and watch as he hesitates. An older man chuckles at him, waving his one hand, "Sit down, lad. We don't bite."

It moves his feet, into a chair, but not his mouth. He needs to move forwards, but he's not sure how.

What can he say? How can he help you? What words are there to help you move forwards?

He thinks about the trembling in your body, the tears that won't fall in your eyes. He is stuck. Xavier is stuck, like he's holding you under a meteor shower again. Shaking you.

Begging. For something.

A miracle.

"Nero already told us about your partner." A woman speaks, she sports a flexible keel prosthesis, "Not that we don't know about UNICORNs, you lot don't half make some noise." Her voice is cool, level, but she has a small smile. Warm eyes.

It eases him. "I wanted-"

"To ask questions right, lad? I can talk for hours for you."

So he lets them, as he listens. The old man works in analytics, collating information for the Association. He was born without his hand. Tried prosthetics, none took, he didn't want to keep trying.

"I accepted it straight away, my husband stood beside me. There are problems, but we work through them."

The young female hunter is from one of the Beta teams. Lost her foot in a fight with a wyrm, saved her partner in the process.

"I thought I'd accepted it, took the prosthetic training, everything went well. It was two years later, when I woke up one day, burst into tears. Couldn't stop." She fidgets, toying with her fingers for a moment, before straightening up, "Sometimes I still get sad, like I'm finally processing it, but normally it's just another day. It's a tool, not part of me, but it gave me most of my independence back. So even when I'm sad, I hold to that."

The third hunter twirls a pen around their prosthetic fingers, they're an arctic hunter, in the area for training. There's a large scar down their eye, and they don't react visually to the others, but leans forward to speak. They don't reveal how they gained their prosthetic.

"Didn't accept it, not for a long time. Woke up everyday angry, got reckless. Almost died." They exhale, deep, slow, tired, "Sometimes I'm still angry, but I'm still a fighter. I can still help my squad. So it's worth it. Took me longer to get around to using it than most, I dragged my feet, didn't want to learn for ages. It was my partner that got me moving, came to check in on me. Called me a fool, 'one life, idiot, keep living it'. So I did."

"It's hard sometimes, but people handle it differently."

Xavier sits and listens, they give tips on coming back to working as a hunter, they share everything he could even think to ask. Warm and ready, and understanding. They ask to meet you when you're back, tease him about his name and yours.

You're one of Jenna's best for a reason. Those hunter's reels certainly get watched a lot.

He tries not to think about the advertisements he's had to star in, either alongside you or alone. He's just relieved he doesn't get recognised as Lumiere.

That conversation would be even longer.

Hunters live a job at risk, he's aware of that… he can't stop thinking about it.

"Kid." He looks up, wants to correct the man, decides against it, "It's alright to be struggling, worrying about your partner. They're not gone though. Don't sit in the past. Get help yourself, but remember to share with them. Let that partner of yours know how you feel, they'll feel less isolated."

His shoulders jump, the chill in his back. He's been fatalising. Acting like you're broken when he knows that's what you're fearing. Thinking of you like you're gone, when you're right in front of him.

Stuck in the past…

Guilt and pain and worry making him think about you like he'll lose you if he stops.

You're alive, and you're moving forwards, and he needs to as well. With you. "Thank you." This thanks, he thinks, feels more honest. Like he's not biting his tongue to say it.

When Xavier returns home, he doesn't mind the plate left in the fridge for him.

He doesn't mind that the most wanted man of Philos is chuckling with your head in his lap, because he joins you on the sofa, and listens to you tell them about your sessions.

He has to remember you're capable of protecting yourself, you've always wanted to stand equal. Protecting others, as much as they protect you. Stubborn, and proud, to a fault sometimes.

As you smile, small and crooked at him, he offers you the notes he and Nero finished compiling.

You read them, eyes wide, and glimmering, before wrapping your arm around his neck.

"Thank you Xavier."

It's good to not be alone, he thinks. It's been far too long. Too many he's had to lose… That he's forgotten how to reach out, how to even take a hand, let alone stop himself from holding too tight out of fear.

He doesn't want to forget your future.

Even when Sylus smirks, calls him a little knightling, and he debates if you really need a support system that includes the criminal.

—----

Progress is steady. You struggle, and you stumble. But you remember the laughter in the kitchen and the beast dropping off your back to curl about your ankle.

You think about the notes handed to you by Xavier, carefully recorded accounts of acknowledgment, support… life.

You think about Tara, Simone and Nero. How much you want to get back to standing alongside them.

You think about gentle hands taking care of you in the bathroom while you shivered, and warm meals with arguing voices.

You think about Caleb. What he'd say if he were with you.

And you take one step at a time.

When you are not in front of Doctor Rin, clinging far too tightly to whoever's hand is turning bone white in your grip, you are practicing at home.

She's asked you what your goal was, the point you're aiming for.

It is easier, she reminds you, to have something to achieve.

It's an easy question, you want to be back in the field again, you want to make your life mean something. You want to fight alongside the people you trust, and not leave them to flounder alone.

When you are a hunter again, and taking on missions, that's when you'll have achieved your goal. You tell her, hand in a fist.

Her smile overlaps with Gran's, the day you'd told her and Caleb you got into the academy. You think about the way he'd poked you in the forehead, then ruffled your hair, 'Way ta go pipsqueak.'

You think he'd be pulling your hand, running forwards, if he were here. Just like he pulled you forwards everytime you got injured in a fight. Just like he pulled when you wanted to give up.

The memory keeps you from stopping.

Over the course of weeks, you set yourself challenges.

It starts with challenging yourself to hold your prosthetic.

It's not as heavy as you think it should be. The logical part of your brain reminds you that it's built for hunters specifically, and is replacing your arm.

It's that logical part of your brain that stops you from throwing it away from you. It is a tool, you tell yourself. Something that will ensure you can still be a hunter. That eventually, at the end of this, you will be able to go back to doing what you should be doing. Using your life to help others. No matter how short it is.

Some days it feels like it burns you when you place your hand on it. Those days, you leave your room, and sit by Rafayel as he paints. Watching him work, seeing the world he sees. 

You ask him questions about his work, even though part of you worries you'll disturb him. He never indicates you are, answering you happily. You think he's happy to share, you hope he is. You're happy to listen.

One day you see his open sketchbook.

For a second, you see a sketch of you, worn and tired… but alive. Your body scarred, but you tremble to see yourself looking like art on his page.

You close the book, placing it back by his canvas, and go back to the prosthetic. To try again.

You learn to wear it, for short periods of time a day, to build up to throughout the day.

You start off, managing twenty minutes, before you have to rip the thing off. Relieved when Zayne catches your hand, stopping you from doing any damage to it. Before he helps you ease yourself out.

The straps are easy to adjust with one hand, but when you want it off, it feels as though you are on fire. Tearing at clothing melting into your skin.

He sits next to you and massages your residual limb, fingers easing hair from your face, tracing lines on your cheek. The fire in your body settles at the cool touch of his hands, and you settle again.

Later, you try again. When it burns, you remember the ice of Zayne's touch, and keep going.

The next stage is to clean it. You learn the motions, you study how to do it. Sat in the living room, tools to your side, figuring out how best to do it with one hand.

There are days when you drop the tools. Trying hard not to sob as they tumble to the floor. Choking back tears as your hand doesn't work the way you want it too. As you fail to follow the steps correctly. As you spill leather conditioner on the table, or the carpet.

In those moments, someone will join you at your side. Sylus will pull the tools away, and sit next to you, running through the motions he's been learning as he's watched you. Overtime, it becomes routine. He masters the steps before you do, assisting you, cleaning out the inner socket alongside as you gently clean the leather straps. Other times, Xavier, hesitant and unsure about touching your prosthetic, joins you. Head in your lap. You speak the steps out loud, running through them so he can learn them with you. The next time, he does it himself, calm and kind and warm. Smiling at you as he does so.

Everyday is a day to take your medication, your wounds are healing well, and with the care of those around you, you are coming away with scars, but no longer bleeding through bandages.

The final challenge is the practice, the movement and the acquainting yourself with the movement of your limb.

You sit in the hospital room you can't stand, hand anchored in Sylus', who has joined you for today. It is another day, and the weight of walking through corridors has eased somewhat. You know the passage of time means things become easier, you're used to that. The flow, the adjustment. The steps forward, and stumbles back.

Your heart has given you some experience in this.

Doctor Rin greets you easily, awaiting your arrival. As soon as she sees you, she smiles. It is that same warm smile that makes the ghosts lurk at your shoulders. It is an exhale to steady you, before you return it with a half smile. Hard enough to offer expressions, without the added grief pulling you back.

It passes easier than you expect. An introduction to the exercises you need to practice, information about not forcing yourself until you hurt. To take breaks and come back to it, if you fail five times, stop. Try again later.

To practice every day. It is a skill you have to learn. Not unlike when you were learning to use your weapons, struggling to learn how to aim. Falling down everytime you swung a claymore.

It is simple things. Can you open and close your new hand? Can you rotate your wrist?

It is a mountain, one you are scared to try to climb.

There is the stable hand in yours, a man who chuckles at you as you look at him, seeking out something in molten eyes. You don't like being weak in front of Sylus, despite him offering you the space to be yourself. It is a long standing fear.

You are more scared to be alone, however, so you turn back to the doctor.

You remind yourself of boxing training with Sylus, who teases you when you don't punch fast enough, but takes you in earnest. Rights your stance. Watches you practice. Praises you for improvement.

Challenges you to be better.

This is another tool you can use, something to enable you to fight again. To stand by him and fight again.

So you follow the doctor's instructions. It is an almost unconscious feeling. She has explained how the transmitters work, but you don't want to think about it too much. Understanding is something, you need it to be instinctual. If it's not, you won't be able to fight again.

Still, you feel yourself overextend. Overcompensate movement where it was once easy. The hand stares back at you as you watch it, and you try to remember what you used to do. Extend. Feel where the muscles should tense along your shoulder. Close. Open.

It reacts, but it is slow. Metal fingers steadily opening, closing. You try to twist your wrist, but it doesn't move the way you want. Frustration builds. You try again. You feel your shoulder twitch but nothing happens.

Your teeth grit, and you try again.

"Kitten." The voice calls you back, a firm grip takes your chin, turning your head to focus on his molten eyes again. There is a twinkle in there, his normally ever present smirk has evened out. Serious but calming. You watch the red of his eyes swirl, and you feel him smooth his thumb across your cheek. "Don't chase your tail, take a deep breath, try again."

He pushes you forwards. Always. Testing your limits, watching you grow.

You think about ways you'd trained your body to fight, ways you made yourself stronger. Running with Zayne, practicing with the blade with Xavier, maneuvers with Rafayel, strength training with Sylus. You are not going to stop until you learn how to use this.

Until you achieve that goal.

This time, when you try, it comes a little easier, as you calm yourself down. Heart settling into a steady rhythm and you watch the hand move. Twisting the wrist, opening and closing it. Pride settles in your chest, as you grin at it. Relief and satisfaction, that you haven't failed. You turn and you twist and watch in awe.

The fingers open a little quicker, you practice moving them but the individual movements are sluggish, and you try to pick things up, but you drop them more than you hold them.

When Sylus nudges you with his shoulder, smirking at you, you take on the pride in his eyes, and you keep moving forwards.

You hit a wall when you have to stretch it out properly, bending the elbow joint, but you settle.

You take the challenge.

It is a mountain you will learn to climb.

You learned how to be a hunter, you can learn this.

As you walk home with Sylus, twisting the arm despite your fatigue, he chuckles, "You look like you've received a new toy. You're like this when I get you a new gun."

You sniff at him, poking him with the metal hand, though its clumsy and more of a full hand than a finger. Marvelling at the feeling of heat from him that comes through the prosthetic. "You just wait, soon I'll be swinging a sword again."

He pauses, looking at you, and then laughs. A chuckle that shakes his hand in yours, and then pulls you in to flick your forehead, "Alright Kitten, let's get you there."

The exercises continue at home, you move into the kitchen while Sylus cooks, to practice with a ball. The more you do it, the easier it gets to learn the motions. Every new thing you try, however, is a hurdle you feel sick to overcome.

Sometimes the movement refuses to do as you want. So you remove it, and try not to cry, try not to drown, and find a distraction.

When you try to pick up a cup, you watch in horror as you drop it, smashing it across the floor. Sylus pulls you away from the fragments, soothing the upset, over breaking something. Over failing. Over being this.

After that you stick to things that won't break, won't hurt you. It still aches when you drop something, when you fail. You're never alone in the pain for too long, there is always a constant, someone there to keep you from spiralling.

The more they catch you, the less you need catching. Until you pick up a cup, and you laugh. Pride brimming. An achievement, no broken shards. A tool you are learning to use.

Later, when you're tired, but relieved, you sit at the kitchen table as Sylus sings along to a song in your playlist as he cooks, there is no Rafayel to argue with, so he seems far calmer. Happy. He always seems happy when he sings.

"Sy?"

He hums, looking back at you. His smiles are often more warm eyes than movement of his mouth, quirks and twitches. "What's wrong Kitten?"

You hesitate, thinking about how many days you've seen him stood at the counter, preparing food for you, and the others. It is guilt on your shoulders, but it is also relief and thankfulness. He is a warm presence, always answering the phone when you need him. "Can I help?"

He shrugs, "Sure, come and stir." So you join him, it is not a hard task, but you feel a little more like you're here. Helping.

Living and not existing. The creature at your ankle stirs and purrs, eased and happy.

You haven't heard it settle in such a long time.

"Thank you." You speak, staring into the pot, watching the swirling at the end of your spatula.

The man stands next to you and shrugs, unbothered, "Not a problem, kitten. I've told you, ask, demand, request. You can be greedy with me." He reaches over and flicks your forehead, before tapping your nose. "I'm always here for you. Even if you do let our food burn."

You panic as the heat bubbles over, and quickly turn it down, and he simply laughs at you. So you elbow him in the side, and revel in the way his laugh blossoms harder.

When you eat with everyone that evening, you help ladle out food, and set the table. You don't run away to the darkness of your room, and you add the laughter around you to your collection of reasons to keep moving.

[maintitle]

Okay but this is actually an underlying theme that plays through Origins that I think is really clever and gets overlooked! Repeatedly in DA:O, the player is asked to confront the Warden's so-called neutrality. Alistair serves as the voice once Duncan is gone that the Wardens' don't become involved in politics, and you have no reason to question him for quite a while. You also really have no reason to question it when Alistair reveals his parentage, although if you're a Cousland that's likely when the first alarm bells go off. I'd also argue that's the case for Aeducan.

One of the most important additions to Origins to me is the Soldier's Peak DLC. It's cool we finally get a container for all our shit, and it's interesting as a possible cure for the Blight, but that's not at all what I mean.

The story of Soldier's Peak is not only the first time you're forced to confront the Wardens possibly being not all you were told they were, it's also a parallel for the possible consequences of your own decisions. Sophia Dryen wasn't just a noblewoman who joined the Wardens, she was a rival for the throne of Ferelden. We don't know all of the particulars, but what we do know is that Sophia lost the claim for the crown, but refused to relent, and was taken as a prisoner of war until she was offered a place within the Wardens. If this all rings as familiar, it's meant to.

What happened at Soldiers Peak was a political revolution. Sophia Dryden made a move on Arland. We've obviously been told that Arland was a tyrant, and considering we see a lot of the younger Wardens agree with that sentiment, it's probably true. But KNOWING this information is enough to make one raise an eyebrow, and ask if Sophia's decision was entirely noble. Was this her caring for the people of Ferelden? Or was it her making a move out of revenge to reclaim what she rightfully saw as hers, using Arland's cruelty as a weapon to do so? It's hard to say... but what is clear is that the decision to take someone of such royal import into the Wardens was what lead to the tragedy at Soldier's Peak, and also the banning of them from Ferelden.

Riordan is meant to be the vehicle through which you begin to see the Wardens as less heroic and a bit more opportunistic. He's more brutal, he is willing to do more to get things done the right way, he's willing to step over lines you wouldn't expect based off what you've heard of the Wardens, again through Alistair, who has idealized them, who also is in line to be King. And this man, who's rougher than the Wardens you've known, who says that Weisshaupt is too cold and brutal for his taste, and he didn't mean the environement. It's Riordan who suggests Loghain join you, who should've known this has happened once before... but there's a Blight, and the immediacy of the moment is too crucial. An issue the Wardens have always had.

It's not unlikely that Duncan knew who he was recruiting and why. Duncan was likely planning for the future. The evidence is there, and the culmination is likely not far from Duncan's own backup plans. At the end of the day... the Wardens will play whatever cards necessary to stay on good terms with nations and stop the Blight.

This is something Bioware does a lot, put the hero on the path to repeat history. DA:I is most obvious with it regarding Jaws Of Hakkon, Trespasser and the fate of the Inquisition itself, but Veilguard does it as well. I just wanted to chime in and mention that Origins does it as well, and that's sometimes a bit lost in the sauce.

the thing about the cousland origin, to me, that sometimes turns me off it completely and sometimes intrigues me, is that it says something completely different about who duncan is, what he wanted, and what the grey wardens are

[wisteria-lodge]

Male Crying in the Harry Potter Books

(this is a clean-up of an earlier post, incorporating some of the excellent feedback & additions I got.)

Men do 32% of the crying in the Harry Potter books, even though they represent 66% of the characters (pretty much as expected).* However, I’m interested in why the crying happens, and what it says about the characters. Because for the ladies, crying is pretty neutral - they all cry, and for all sorts of reasons (tired, frustrated, stressed, emotionally overwrought...) Bellatrix, Augusta Longbottom, Ginny, Tonks… all cry. Hermione cries thirty separate times over the course of the books. There is a point where where the narrative framing judges them for crying too much (Cho) but mostly it's a non-issue.

Male crying though, is something that gets mocked (by Slytherins.) Pansy calls Neville a “fat little cry baby,” and after Rita’s article (falsely) says that Harry was crying, Draco comes in with “Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” There’s also “D’you think [Hagrid]’ll cry when they cut off his hippogriff’s - ” right before Hermione slaps Draco. So making fun of people for crying is bad right? 

Let’s get into it. 

1 : Crying because of a death

The most acceptable reason for male crying. Mostly it happens *right* at the moment of death, or possibly at the funeral/next to the grave. Severus cries over Lily's letter (the ripped one which Harry later finds) which is certainly grave-adjacent.

In Book 3, Harry cries while talking to Lupin about hearing his parents dying (although the narrative voice DOES let us know that he’s kind of embarrassed about this.)

“Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.” 

This attempt to hide hide tears shows up a few more times. Sirius *also* cries when talking about Lily and James' deaths... or does he?

[Harry] was pointing at Black, who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly overbright. "Harry...I as good as killed them," he croaked. "I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. ... I'm to blame, I know it. ... The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies...I realized what Peter must've done...what I'd done. ..." His voice broke. He turned away. "Enough of this," said Lupin, and there was a steely note in his voice Harry had never heard before.

@strawberrybasilsorbet analyzes this passage extremely well:

"Suddenly overbright" is a particularly memorable descriptor for me. What an unusual way to describe having tears in one's eyes! It verges on euphemistic. "His voice broke" is much more direct, but still relies on implication instead of mentioning tears outright — which, considering that the intended audience is young readers, could be seen as subtle. Like Harry in the example above, Sirius clearly considers crying something to be ashamed of: he turns away to hide his tears. And in this moment, the sentences also become short. Halting, stilted. The narrative voice evokes Sirius's feelings here instead of describing his actions in detail. It isn't until later in the scene, when Sirius and Lupin begin to take action, that we get a straightforward description: "[Sirius] approached Lupin and the struggling rat, and his wet eyes suddenly seemed to be burning in his face." But even here, it is an understated observation. We don't get a description of actual crying, or even holding back tears."

Sirius also cries in Book 4, while listening to Harry describe seeing the shades of his parents come out of Voldemort's wand.

At this point, Harry found he could not continue. He looked around at Sirius and saw that he had his face in his hands.

@strawberrybasilsorbet continues,

"[this] example is more ambiguous — Sirius might be crying, he might be trying not to cry, or he might just be overwhelmed — but either way, the scene reflects a similar approach to strong emotion. Sirius covers his face to hide his sorrow; the narrator makes a short, declarative observation that leaves a lot between the lines. These scenes suggest that masculine tears are most respected by the narrative when they are (1) in response to grief, (2) irrepressible, despite the character's attempts to obscure or prevent them. Sirius and Harry are the two characters who represent this most clearly, although Lupin's sudden steeliness in the PoA scene implies that he shares this perspective. (This is also reflected in Lupin's decision to switch from talk to action: he cuts the conversation abruptly when Sirius begins to cry, demanding that Ron hand over Scabbers immediately. He is likely trying to spare his friend the ordeal of further emotional vulnerability). The narrator's voice seems to share this instinct, giving Sirius the dignity of subtlety when describing his emotions. This contrasts strongly with characters like Peter, whose tears are described in vivid and humiliating detail. What I think is especially revealing is how...discreet?...the narrator's voice becomes when Sirius is the character who is crying.

There is this slight *fan dance* quality present, where we see Sirius before he starts crying, and then again after he has already cried. But really don't see him actually crying.

Harry also has an interesting, sort of delayed reaction to Dumbledore's death:

Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that terrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him. Fang began to howl. He clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes

There’s a lot going on in this moment: Harry is tired, frustrated, disappointed, overwhelmed. But we still get that note that tears are something that ought to be hidden, and that even though Harry is trying to stop them, these happen to be irrepressible.

Crying because of a death: Full Breakdown

Amos Diggory: 1 (Cedric’s death) 

Arthur Weasley: 1 (Fred’s death)

Harry Potter: 4 (Hedwig, Lily, James, Dumbledore)

Rubeus Hagrid: 4 (Dumbledore, Buckbeak, Aragog, Harry) 

Sirius Black: 2 (Lily, James)

Severus Snape: 1 (Lily)

Argus Filtch: 1 (thinks Mrs. Norris is dead) 

Xenophillius Lovegood: 1 (thinks Luna is dead) 

Fillius Flitwick: (thinks Ginny is dead) 

Ron Weasley: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral) 

Elphias Doge: 1 (Dumbledore’s funeral

2: Crying because of pain

You’d think this one would also be acceptable. But… not really? Dudley cries when Vernon hits him (but Harry doesn’t.) Peter Pettigrew cries when he cuts off his own hand, Saw style, but it gets framed as blubbering weakness.

Our last guy crying in pain is Book 1 Neville, after he breaks his wrist during flying lessons. He also “sniffs,” while walking into the Forbidden Forest for detention, which *might* count as crying? But really, Neville cries surprisingly little. We get a lot of “looked as though he might cry” and “on the verge of tears”... but that's not actually crying. And I think that’s because… early-books Neville, yes we’re supposed to see him as a little pathetic. But definitely not as pathetic as Dudley or Pettigrew. @blorger writes:

The characters who cry for pain are crying because they're just Not Man Enough (and that's wormtail's biggest failure as a character, isn't it?). Neville, to me, is the perfect encapsulation of JKR's attitude towards crying: he is constantly on the verge of crying, especially in the first books, because we're meant to feel a sort of benign pity for him, his weakness makes him amiable, yes, but there's still strength in his character (he can stop himself from crying! see, he's brave!). Neville does Suffering well, and nothing shows one's character to jkr more than how they handle suffering.

Crying in pain: Full Breakdown

Dudley Dursley: 1 (hit by Uncle Vernon)

Neville Longbottom: 1 (broken wrist)

Peter Pettigrew: (hand cut off)

Bonus almost crying: 

Dudley Dursley: Fake crying

Neville Longbottom: “looked as though he might cry” “on the verge of tears.” 

Professor Quirrell: “looked as though he was about to cry”

3: “Childlike” crying

Sometimes the people who cry are literally little boys. No one is going to judge infant Harry for crying when Voldemort is in the house, or little Severus for crying when his parents are fighting. Interestingly, when Myrtle is talking about Draco crying in her bathroom, Harry assumes she’s talking about someone much younger: 

“There’s been a boy in here crying?” said Harry curiously. “A young boy?” 

But of course, when an adult is crying in a childlike way, it immediately becomes… pathetic. Again we have Pettigrew, who “burst into tears. It was horrible to watch: He looked like an oversized, balding baby, cowering on the floor.” In the Horcrux cave, crying Dumbledore is described “like a child dying of thirst.” Which is also meant to be pathetic, but in more of a ‘Harry has to be the adult now’ sort of way. Also, the potion seems to have made Dumbledore mentally regress back to his youth, so it’s *closer* to a literal “child crying” moment. 

(I considered putting Dumbledore drinking the potion in the ‘pain’ section, but at least in the book I think it’s clear he’s mostly in emotional rather than physical pain.)

Where this gets messy is with the house-elves. House-elves are not children, but they are presented as childlike. They are small and in-your-face, direct even though their problem-solving tends to be very convoluted/not especially logical. I like the present-tense, no pronouns way they speak, but I can’t deny it is kind of baby-talk adjacent. And… house elves are *really* emotional. Dobby, Kreacher (and Winky) cry a LOT. If I had to guess, I would say JKR likes treating house-elves as childlike so it’s more of a surprise when it turns out that one of them was behind everything. But considering that they are slaves, it is gross - considering that one of the main real-world justifications for slavery was ‘slaves are childlike, and therefore unable to take care of themselves.'

There’s also Hagrid. With seventeen separate instances of crying, Hagrid easily cries more than any other guy in the Harry Potter books. And… well… he’s also presented as oddly childlike. He seems much more like Harry and Ron’s contemporary than a peer of the other professors - which is weird, since  if he went to school with Voldemort fifty years ago, he’s in his sixties now. But still, he’s helpless in the face of criticism, he’s comically out of his depth whenever he deals with the Ministry, he’s constantly letting things slip or drastically misjudging danger levels. The first three books all use “Hagrid gets in trouble, the gang has to bail him out” as a plot point, and in Book 4 his sideplot with Madame Maxime gets treated like a schoolboy’s first crush, with all these jokes about him wearing suits that don’t quite fit, and trying and failing to style his hair.

Childlike crying: Full breakdown

Rubeus Hagrid: 13

Dobby: 7

Kreacher: 3

Peter Pettigrew: 1

Harry Potter: 1 (infant)

Severus Snape: 1 “while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner.”  “it was unnerving to think that the crying little boy who had watched his parents shouting ” 

Albus Dumbledore: 1 "like a child dying of thirst"

4. Crying because of strong emotion

The difference here is... does the character try to suppress the crying, or not? If they do try to suppress it, then it stays respectable, almost on a level with grief-crying. If not well... that means that the character crying is meant to read as a little pathetic, a little femme or (lets face it)... both.

Take this example of Ron crying after he destroys the locket horcrux:

Ron was breathing heavily: His eyes were no longer red at all, but their normal blue; they were also wet. Harry stooped, pretending he had not seen, and picked up the broken Horcrux. (...) “After you left,” he said in a low voice, grateful for the fact that Ron’s face was hidden, “[Hermione] cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn’t want me to see..."

Hermione is allowed more tears because she is a girl, but there does come a point where she has to hide them or else run the risk of being perceived as crying too much by the narrative (like Cho.) In terms of the boys - again, we've got a moment like Sirius and Remus have, where Ron is (correctly) hiding his tears and Harry is (correctly) doing a 'I'm going to protect you from further vulnerability by kind of changing the subject / pretending that I didn't see you cry.' Also, similarly to the Sirius example, the description of Ron's crying is subtle, almost euphemistic ("wet eyes.") We are not using the word cry, or tears, or anything like that.

Look at this next excerpt, of Percy's reunion with his family, and especially at how the crying of all three characters is handled:

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father. “I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said. Mr. Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he too hurried to hug his son. “What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George. “It’s been coming on for a while,” said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his traveling cloak.

Molly is crying buckets, no problem. Arthur gets almost-crying or euphemistic crying. And Percy is explicitly crying, not trying to hide it, and even gets the slightly comedic imagery of trying to wipe your eyes without taking off your glasses.

And well, JKR respects Percy less than she respects Arthur. As @arkadijxpancakes puts it, "When it comes to Percy, I'm still surprised how subdued his crying in that scene is. Because, yeah, Rowling does respect him less. She also has a tendency to write him in a pretty feminine manner. It's still a stark contrast to his mother, however." Even though we catch him in a serious moment, he's still slightly ridiculous Percy.

So from this, we can see that this male heightened emotionality is meant to look a bit comedic - like when Oliver Wood cries when Gryffindor wins the Quidditch cup "to highlight that his weird priorities are funny and slightly ridiculous," ( @blorger.) We also don't see Hogwarts-age Severus actually cry, but considering his nickname is “Snivellus” (ie “crybaby,” since “sniveling” is a synonym for crying) I'm assuming he does. Just the word "Snivellus" is clearly supposed to funny and a little pathetic.

Slughorn has an interesting instance of crying at Aragog's funeral, not out of grief for Aragog, but out of a maudlin sense of togetherness, nostalgia, and camaraderie. It *is* supposed to be funny that he's crying over a giant spider he just met. Like Percy, Slughorn is also a bit femme-coded: a flashy dresser with lilac pajamas, who loves his treats and fancy dinner parties, and is well-connected without being ambitious the way Lucius is. He also is aligned with pureblood-supremacy, but hyper avoidant of violence and confrontation... just like Draco.

Draco of course gets a BIG crying scene in Book 6. We hear about him crying once from Myrtle, and then see it first hand: 

Malfoy was crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

The narrative voice takes a second to let us know that he was ACTUALLY CRYING, just to hammer in that this is something unexpected and not-normal. I think I want also to attribute Draco’s tendency to cry - and cry because he’s overwhelmed, scared, lonely - to the character’s slight femme coding. And the fact that JKR clearly sees him as a bit pathetic.

The most surprising person to land in this particular category is Dumbledore. I was surprised he cries as much as he does, at such unusual times, and with none of the "manliness" of a crying Harry, Ron, Sirius, or Arthur. He cries when he sees Snape’s doe patronus - because of love or just because he’s emotionally overwhelmed. He cries all through the Horcrux cave, primarily because of guilt. He cries twice during the King’s Cross Station vision-quest, once because of his complicated feelings about Harry while he asks for forgiveness, and once over … Grindlewald.

“They say he showed remorse in later years, alone in his cell at Nurmengard. I hope that it is true. I would like to think he did feel the horror and shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends . . . to prevent Voldemort from taking the Hallow . . .”  “. . . or maybe from breaking into your tomb?” suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.

I think Dumbledore gets all these tears because he is actually, deliberately queer coded. JKR announced that Dumbledore was gay just a few months after Book 7 was published, and I think she had that character interpretation in her head as early as Book 6. My proof of that is Dumbledore's increased emotionality - and also this interesting passage from Book 6: 

This younger Albus Dumbledore’s long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. “Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled.

Now, okay. Wizards out and about in the muggle world often wear unusual colors like purple and emerald green. However. That adjective flamboyantly is only used one other time in the entire series, to describe Fudge’s hand gestures. Here, it is used to describe clothes, a purple velvet suit which is honestly more than a little bit Oscar Wilde. And “flamboyantly gay” … those are two words often heard together. 

Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but I am pretty sure this is the only opinion about clothing Harry ever expresses aloud. @niche-pastiche hit the nail right on the head with the observation that "Nice suit, sir" is SO the response of a young adhd boy in the early 2000s trying not to say "thats gay." 

And so that's my say. In JKR's head, crying isn't "manly," so if you are crying, it's because you're a woman, you're a child, you're funny/pathetic, or you're ambiguously femme-coded. A noble single man tear is allowed at times of intense grief, but otherwise you have to turn your head away.

Crying because of strong emotion: Full breakdown 

Draco Malfoy: 2

Severus Snape: 1

Albus Dumbledore: 4

Horace Slughorn: 1

Arthur Weasley: 1

Percy Weasley: 1

Ron Weasley: 1

*My list of 208 Harry Potter characters comes from TV Tropes, which had the most complete breakdown. I am excluding characters from Cursed Child and the Fantastic Beasts Films. Also, please tell me if there are any instances of crying that I missed.

[thesoulspulse]

Danny Phantom Randomness (The Family Man)

Haven't made one of these in a while, but what better way to start off the new year? So this idea really hit me hard while working on one of my fanfics (plus a christmas movie I watched) and I started thinking about a timeline where Vlad was just your normal everyday guy. No powers, no fancy gadgets, no expensive suits, and nothing close to billions in dollars in his bank account.

In this AU, Vlad did end up marrying Maddie too but also became a work-at-home dad to support her dreams and help her move on after the accident with the proto-portal. This time, Maddie got upset with Jack and both she and Vlad tried to warn him not to turn it on. Furious, she threatened to storm out but as usual he didn't listen though. But instead of standing there like an idiot in front of the damn thing, Vlad managed to dodge the blast and it hit Jack who was right behind him. Jack runs off but Vlad stays behind to check on Maddie who collapses to her knees, sobbing because she blames herself for what just happened since she never meant for anyone to get hurt, especially not her best friends.

Vlad consoles her and against his better judgement they try to make amends with Jack at the hospital, however, feeling ashamed and being as stubborn as a mule he refuses to let anyone see him. Devastated, Maddie gives up researching ghosts altogether and in an effort to keep her from spiraling into a terrible depression Vlad suggests she switch her major, promising to support her no matter what. And he does just that. Giving up his tuition money to help her get into an even better college and working odd jobs to pay for his apartment now that he didn't have a roommate anymore.

Eventually Vlad and Maddie start dating after she graduates with honors, get married, and have two kids together. She's become a successful business woman while Vlad finally achieves his dream of becoming a husband and father. Problem is...he doesn't remember any of it because it all happened to a different person!

One day, Vlad wakes up in an unfamiliar house with someone nudging his shoulder, telling him the kids will be late for school if he doesn't get up. He's shocked and delighted to find out that the person in question is Maddie, his beloved college crush. That joy transforms into confusion but Vlad doesn't have time to worry about that and uses his quick wit to play along so she doesn't suspect anythings wrong. After that, for obvious reasons, Vlad tests to still see if he has his ghost powers intact and of course the answer is no. It bothers him at first, and he becomes quite a klutz himself when it comes to certain everyday things. However, apart from having a beautiful wife Vlad is also happy to discover Danny doesn't treat him like the enemy anymore. At least, no more than most teenagers do.

This gives Vlad the chance to get to know Danny as a person, not the son of his former best friend Jack. Its unfortunate neither of them have ghost powers anymore but strangely enough, just having Danny smile at him awkwardly from time to time more than makes up for it. Meanwhile Jazz is on the debate team at Casper High and his wife Maddie owns her own business while their home is, unfortunately, a bad knockoff of Fentonworks called Masterworks where he's a mechanic that mostly repairs computers and such so neither of them really keeps anything there that reminds them of how they used to research ghosts.

For the most part Vlad's new life isn't bad despite not having money to burn and it feels like Maddie's gone all the time. It gets lonely sometimes despite being married, but he makes the most of it until one day Jack suddenly shows up after years of isolation and kidnaps Jazz and Danny! Powerless to stop it himself and knowing he can't go to the police, Vlad hurries to tell Maddie during an important business meeting at her company. He can't exactly tell her how he knows about ghost powers, relying purely on their shared passion on the subject of the paranormal back in college, but to his surprise she seems unphased by the whole thing.

That means its up to Vlad to stop Jack without very good weapons and no powers to get their kids back because again, the police can't do anything against someone with ghost powers. The thing is, Maddie isn't totally wrong about Jack since he doesn't want to hurt the kids. He just wants to duke it out with Vlad because he blames him for his life being so lonely and miserable, which is ironic.

He does his best to stop Jack with a weaker version of the Plasmius Maximus that he haphazardly made out of computer parts that can only short out ghost powers for a few minutes, but unfortunately Jack's still a tank in his own right and knocks Vlad to the ground. After that, somehow Danny unties himself and his sister and once she's somewhere safe enough to call for help he runs back in and tries to shield Vlad, who is barely clinging to consciousness. As for Jack, seeing Vlad all battered and bruised he thinks this should make him feel better but it doesn't. It makes him feel worse after realizing, he just kidnapped two innocent kids to get back at someone who tried to fix things between them, yet Jack was the one who refused to let him all these years...

The last thing Vlad sees after that is Danny's tear-streaked face, pleading with him not to die and talking about all the things they wanted to do together. Things like visiting the local planetarium, stargaze some more on the rooftop, go fishing on Lake Eerie, teach him to drive a stick shift, and go to the next Packers game together. Vlad attempts to comfort his son, accidentally calling him his little badger which isn't a thing in this timeline, then everything goes dark.

Vlad wakes up in his Egyptian cotton sheets and silk pajamas, a freshly ironed suit ready and waiting for him in the closet and the smell of his favorite cologne hanging in the air. He's home. Yet, it doesn't feel like home. For the first time in years Vlad truly feels how empty and cold these halls are without the warmth of a friendly face to greet him in the morning. And even when he had a version of Maddie all to himself, she wasn't the woman he fell in love with, just a stranger who only cared about her career rather than her family.

Then Vlad remembers Danny's face in those final moments before this dream or whatever he had just experienced abruptly ended. There was so much love there, fear of losing his father, and the familiar determination of the original Danny to protect his loved ones whether he was strong enough to or not. Now, having experienced something similar himself, Vlad finally understands what that feels like. How it feels to put someone else first before anyone else.

Eventually this leads up to Vlad showing up one day in Danny's bedroom, looking around at all the little things that hint at what loves and what his hobbies are. It makes Vlad realize, he doesn't really know Danny at all. Not the boy he is anyway, just another hybrid Vlad assumed they'd instantly share a deep connection with because of their shared trauma. Of course, when Danny does finally show up he assumes Vlad's up to no good and is ready for a fight when Vlad shocks him by asking if they can just...talk. He's suspicious at first, seriously considering refusing to do anything, but there's something in Vlad's eyes he can't quite place. Almost like, for the first time, this brilliant man seemed lost.

I could go on but I think you get the idea. Phew, I'm glad I finally got this out of my system because it really had a death grip on me today lolz. Hope you enjoyed reading it! Oh and feel free to borrow this idea for fanart or your own story if it inspires you. I'd do it myself, however, in this new year of 2025 I REALLY want to try and fully complete a couple stories before writing anything new even as a short story/oneshot.

[wingedshadowfan]

the arcane fandom will hate me for this one but i have to speak my truth !

i don't think vi is the "not jealous type":

i think ppl are just misreading her reactions in two (2) particular scenes and that's why they think so! so i'll talk abt those briefly in a sec

i think ppl have this impression of her having so little self-worth that she wouldn't care if her partned flirted w/ someone or someone flirted w/ them, which i personally hate to see! (and yes, she does have issues w/ putting her own needs first and taking what she needs sometimes, she's been shown to self-destruct in dire situations, and she'd put everything on the line to protect her loved ones but that! does! not! translate! into potentially being okay w/ your partner breaking boundaries)

the scene where she learns caitlyn is into women: first of all, caitlyn and vi are still practically strangers at this point so it's very early to say vi has any feelings for (let alone romantic relationship to) caitlyn that would warrant her feeling jealous!! there's perhaps attraction there ("you're hot, cupcake") but no possessiveness, for reasons other than "vi isn't a jealous partner"! everything in vi's behavior shows this entire sequence is power play to her and she's just toying w/ her food ("the undercity will eat you alive") - she's putting a piltover girl of status, an enforcer, in a situation where she has to do something she deems unbefitting ("i will not!" ) if she wants to achieve her goal, because vi finds it entertaining! piltovians getting their hands dirty, being desparate (think of sevika's glee when she's choking caitlyn in s2 and caitlyn bites her hand, resorting to behavior that's beneath her). vi doesn't expect caitlyn to actually do it - so when she sees her flirting with a girl, this is the first time she's proven wrong abt caitlyn! she thinks, "wow, so she's for real/she's got it in her". not only is caitlyn willing to put her pride aside for more important things, she also seems to be enjoying herself - a contrast to her previous uptight and nervous demeanor, and a sign she's going out of her shell and that this place might grow on her, as well as proof she's into women, which to vi is at least smth they have in common. (and no, i won't get into social psychology and theories of homosociality rn but we are all likely to like ppl similar to us/to what we know, esp when we're unsure of someone's personality, views or values)

the scene where caitlyn pulls away from vi mid-makeout - after vi has forgiven her and decided to ultimately take what she wants for once instead of just running after her loved ones and carrying the responsibility of their safety - to tell her she "saw someone": i wrote a separate post a while ago explaining why to me her simple wording is brilliant in making it very apparent that whatever her fling was, she was not only willing to be upfront abt it but it was also shortlived, she thought of it as a mistake, and it was now over. crucial knowledge, although it can be argued vi didn't process it that extensively at all. which, fair. but it also very much happened when vi was gone and likely hadn't forgiven caitlyn yet (despite having had feelings for caitlyn at the time, and caitlyn for her, which she was obv aware of). so her reaction (cait, i don't fucking care) was completely understandable. they'd only kissed once, before having a huge fight/fallout, and this was before they'd put (at least on screen lol) a label on their relationship - and while we don't see them do that after their sex scene either, we see them basically living together almost domestically after the war and i believe that's confirmation enough. i've also talked before abt how/why caitvi have never doubted their love for each other so i'm willing to bet vi understood the insignificance of caitlyn's relationship in her absence - vi also did some questionable shit in the meantime

so, do i think vi is the jealous type then?

short answer is: yes, at least the normal amount. (so less than caitlyn). because to me, it makes total sense that she would be!

she was so madly in love she was hallucinating caitlyn after their fight, which lead to her descend into alcoholism, pit fighting, style change, madness and anguish. and during that time she'd kept the enforcers badge and used the kiramman house banner as a blanket, like?? do you seriously think she'd let caitlyn flirt w/ others once they're in a relationship (not that caitlyn would) or wouldn't mind someone else trying to flirt w/ caitlyn?? bffr vi is not sharing

idk how relevant this is since it's not exactly jealousy but i thought it's worth mentioning that since vi has been shown physically using her body to defend or shield others (both defensively and offensively): she's definitely the type of gf to tell caitlyn "wear whatever you want babe, i can fight"