#and has no social knowledge on how to navigate that so he just keeps fucking smiling at him

[minijenn]

Me: Lol idk man Stedip isn't canon or whatever

Also me, in literally the first actual chapter of the fic:

“What was that?” Steven glanced back at him, smiling. 

“Uh, n-nothing,” Dipper looked away, suddenly flustered for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

[onlyplatonicirl]

helllloooo *appearifies in your ask box* it is i, the headcANON. its been a while ive been busy (doing nothing). anyways today, we are discussing our favourite little gremlin man, ink :) hes one of my favourite little scrimbly bimblies, he is so me fr

has an encyclopedic knowledge on all forms and genres of art. if you show him a painting, sculpture, song, poem, whatever, he knows who made it, how they made it, when they did, the meaning behind the piece and the style it was done in/never take him to an art museum, bro will stay there for hours. he will have to be escorted out by security

he just loves creating, no matter what it is. he loves cooking and tending to his garden. he loves putting a bit of himself into the world no matter how small, no matter if it will not be remembered.

one of his favourite genres of art is ephemeral art, more commonly known as temporary art. art which doesn't last long, it is experienced in the moment and then it disappears. this style of art includes things such as ice or sand sculptures, which will eventually melt or be swept away by the shore

he has a lingering thought in the back of his mind that he truly comes from nowhere and means nothing in the grand scheme of anything, when he dies that will be it, that will be all he has ever been

has an existential crisis every two days (same bro), deals with it by doodling

i think when he was with the council he was probably required to undertake therapy, if your council is made up of incredibly strong, near god-like figures its probably a good idea to make sure theyre doing good mentally (LMAO THAT DIDNT WORK OUT HUH?)

he has a small bag he carries with him at all times, in it contains his essentials, his phone, a notepad, a sketch pad, and pen. he uses the notepad to write down anything he needs to remember but knows he will forget, as well as his schedule. this way, he can keep track of his days and make sure he takes his meds on time (paints)

comyet never specified which paints correspond to what emotion, some are a bit obvious, simply because its what we've come to associate that emotion with: red - anger, yellow - happy, blue - sad, pink - love. heres my personal interpretation of the other colours: orange - anxiety, green - calm, purple - curiosity, white and black dont do anything, instead theyre more like catalysts, black intensifies the emotion, white nullifies the emotion

his ectobody and blush too is normally just a clear white but upon drinking a paint of any kind it will tint it that colour (if he drinks more than ine he can turn into a lava lamp :0 )

his eyelights correspond to the current emotion he is feeling, but theyre very abstract and appear to simply be a random smatter of colours and shapes, there is no consistency to it

i imagine the council prescribed him a mixture of emotions to help get him through the day. they help him socialise and respond 'correctly'

he is so autism coded. it's insane. my man can not emote in a socially acceptable manner, needs an outside support to help him navigate social situations, experiences sensory seeking and underload (i need sensory shit or i will explode/dissociate), he has strict and rigid routines, experiences memory loss and brain fog, has a special intrest in art and has a flat affect when he isnt actively using his emotions (masking), canon (idk if its canon actually) aroace - not necessarily a trait of autism but holy fuck it is so common in this communtiy. undertale au sans makers be like hmm how do i make the most autistic bitch possible

struggles with empathy for others but has hyperempathy for inanimate objects (this is actually semi canon), if he knocks or drops into something, he'll apologise to it and hug it. similar situation to animals

no sense of taste. just none. tries his best at cooking but often ends up over salting things or adding too much spice

likes food based on the texture, thus he loves stuff like jelly and yoghurt

loves movies but has a really poor attention span and has to take breaks throughout the movie

texts like a boomer lol, really bad at spelling and overuses emojis and unfunny gifs

is a polyglot, can speak french (native language), english, japanese, and spanish

his house is an engineer and architect's worst nightmare. shit is liminal as fuck. long stretching hallways with doors that are unaligned, many of which lead to incomplete rooms (he forgot to furnish them and now can not enter them because white spaces scary), some of the doors are raised several feet above the ground and simply can not be accessed through normal means, staircases that lead straight into a wall, random open areas revealing a courtyard which can actually exist... a room would take up the space and yet doesnt. the floors are also all inspired by a particular style, one floor is art deco, the other industrial

is also a goopy boy, albeit far more solid than paperjam, when stressed or upset his form becomes 'looser' and his face can appear distorted

doesnt have a favorite animal per say, he just likes the colourful ones, mainly birds like parrots and peacocks

he can play an impressive array of instruments, including the guitar, drums, piano, cello, and flute. he picked up the flute from dream

has always liked hanging out with dream because of his positive aura, it doesnt make him feel happy, but it makes him feel relaxed and safe

on the other end youd think he wouldnt like hanging out with nightmare because would make him feel stressed and in danger, but Ink doesnt really know what its like to feel endangered. he has been in dangerous and life-threatening (or as close as you can get as a magical skeleton thing) scenarios, but it doesnt really affect him, he just doesnt have an eros drive.

he met nightmare and dream a few times when they were younger, and he taught them how to draw and they taught him how to play music. Ink would listen to their concerns and do his best to try and help them, albeit he lacks empathy, so he would always try and come up with a way to solve their problem, which isnt always what people want when they come to talk to you about that stuff

visited dream when he was stoned (lmao) a lot, was also there when he broke free and comforted him the best he could, i like drink a lott but the best way i can describe their relationship is like childhood friends who are also soulmates but also star-crossed lovers

- headcANON

HEADCANON THESE ARE SO REAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK YES SO MANY OF THESE ALIGN WITH MY VIEW OF HIM AS WELL !!!!!!

- Canonically he is aroace, and in this story I keep that as well. I never said it on tumblr but as we further explore the relationship error and ink have you’ll learn it’s closer to a qpr and that there are a couple of very funny misconceptions that were had about them as an audience. Ink has a much different sense of romance than most allo and aro people due to his ability to kinda just change it whenever he wants but I’ll get further in depth later in the fic.

- you are extremely right about the aesthetics in every room of the house changing depending on the room. The house is a nightmare. ink can just edit it like a sims house with zero limits so he just makes the most insane shit. They gave him like a couple of miles of empty land and were like “ok go hog wild” and he did. He’s never really had a consistent home before so he got excited to make himself a special place and lost his mind.

- definitely has an art special interest

- the council actually did give him emotions to be more regulated, but they are not as strong or enjoyable as the ones he gets from the “wild” (the ones he gets off of the AUs)

- I think his relationship with NM and Dream is something really cool and unique, and I wanna elaborate on it more

THANKS FOR THE HEADCANONS MWAH 💋

[porcelain-siscon]

do you ever get so fucking tired that you just wish you could live in a nice cottage by a lake but specifically one of those cottages that's basically a full on single-story house but it's far away from everything so people call it a cottage and one day somebody from your past shows up and you're just there wearing a flannel housecoat and you're treating it like a social call even though you know it's not a social call especially because he's being flanked by two military officers and you actually don't want it to be a social call anyway because this cottage was supposed to be for you and your wife but she died three years ago and you never really let go of that and you just can't stand being in this place anymore so when he tells you that they found where mendoza's been hiding you feign a lack of interest

in getting vengeance on the squad of men he betrayed and left for dead back in the jungle, something you were the sole survivor of and practically immediately you're on a plane to some unspecified south american country and the plane you're in clearly isn't the plane they just showed in the scene transition but it's not like you have the budget for a matching set and it's not like anyone but aviation nerds will notice anyway and soon enough you've landed not at an airport but in an airfield in some literal actual field and you're told this will be a solo mission and the government will disavow any knowledge of you so if you're caught you're caught and you know this and on some level maybe you want to get caught and have it all just end but you

can't because those men you lost to mendoza need to be avenged so you push on through the jungle and you come across a patrol and you recognize the armbands they're wearing because they have the same design on them that mendoza has tattooed on his chest so you just stab one in the throat and take his gun, shooting the other two and stealing the uniform off one of them, preferably the one without blood on it and you hope nobody heard the gunfire but you can't bank on that, but you push on anyway because you won't let this go and some of these trees have clearly been repeating because you only have filming rights in a real small area and it's just too hard to navigate the cameras and lights through most of the brush and now it's nighttime even though it was broad daylight but that doesn't

matter because the compound is in sight and you recognize how they're making so much cocaine here but you don't care about that because the drugs aren't what matters, mendoza is, and you can hear him laughing it up somewhere down there but then the laugh stops and you immediately see just where he is as a gunshot rings out because he's just shot some worker in the head for some reason because mendoza is just a real piece of shit like that and so you sneak into the place because you won't pass a checkpoint but that uniform you're wearing will at least keep anyone from scrutinizing you too much when you're on the inside and soon enough you've right outside mendoza's office and you just can't take it anymore

because you're flooded with thoughts about your lost squad and how much you hate the monotony of your day to day life and how much you miss your wife and how you can practically hear the way she laughs but you actually are hearing how she laughs and you realize she's here and you don't know how or why she's here but she's here and so you kick the door down and there she is, sitting right on mendoza's lap and you just can't believe it and mendoza's laughing at you and she's just horrified because she thinks you're going to kill her but instead you expertly dispatch each guard in the room before pointing your gun at mendoza's head but just before you pull the trigger he flings the wife who betrayed you in the path of the bullet and you kill her even if it's by accident, you've killed your wife just like she thought you would and mendoza just laughs at this too with that

nasally, sleazy laugh of his because he thinks you're too distraught to kill him now but you just look at him with an almost completely neutral expression as you take a grenade out, pull the pin, and toss it in the office before walking away while muttering a one-liner and somehow this causes the entire facility to explode but hey you may not have had the budget for an accurate plane set but you sure as fuck made up for it with the pyrotechnics budget and after a fade to black it's daytime again and you're being congratulated for taking a real monster out of the world and how you've successfully crippled the drug trade coming across the border but how can you feel good about anything now that you've lost your wife twice even though the fact she was alive at all makes no sense and you're pretty sure the guy who showed up at your cottage was played by a different actor but it's too late because the credits have already started rolling on blood country 4: mendoza's return or is that just me

[piratefalls]

hi. i’m new here. i like making lists and i’m reading too much fic, send help.

a leaf falls on loneliness by iimpossible_things

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

Those Two Firefighters by DarkFairytale

#thosetwofirefighters starts to gather a following on social media, as everyone tries to figure out if those two cute firefighters from the 118 in LA are a thing or not.

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by morganofthefairies

“You should just move in,” Eddie said one night.  They were already laying in bed, Buck’s face half-buried in his pillow.

“Where would I sleep, Eddie,” Buck deadpanned, sleep heavy in his voice.

“Here,” Eddie said, not entirely sure how Buck missed that part.  “The same place you’ve been sleeping.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow when Buck updated his address on all of the necessary paperwork, but Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what the big deal was.

~~~~~~~

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

Carnations by red_to_black

Evan Buckley has never once been given flowers in his life.

That is, until he mentions it in a fit of self-pity at the firehouse. Then they're everywhere. What he can't work out is where they're coming from.

(or: Buck mentions never getting flowers before, and a certain someone decides to remedy that.)

Leave the Light On (I’ll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says. “Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says. “I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies. “Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.” -- An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

Buy Back the Secrets by allyasavedtheday

He casts his gaze to the right, to the voice he’d heard a minute ago and the hand still on his shoulder.

And, well. Okay. So Buck may have just been unconscious for an indeterminable length of time but he doesn’t think he’s exaggerating when he says the guy leaning over his bedside is one of the most attractive people he’s seen in a long time. Especially when his face splits into a smile that rivals the brightness of the hospital lights that almost just fucking blinded Buck a second ago.

“Welcome back, hotshot,” the guy says and it sounds fond – familiar – and Buck honestly has no idea who this guy is.

His brown hair is disheveled on top of his head and his eyes look tired but then Buck notices the LAFD t-shirt so- alright. Someone from the firehouse, maybe? But he’s pretty sure he’d remember a face like that.

*

After getting hurt on a call, Buck wakes up thinking it's 2018. AKA Buck can't remember who Eddie is but he's pretty sure everyone's lying when they say they're "just friends."

don’t unfold me by iriswests

It feels a little bit like skipping church on Sunday.

Like some gradual inevitability that Eddie probably saw coming long before it escalated, but it still comes as a surprise when he wakes up one day and realizes it’s been a couple of weeks since he last went to church with his grandmother.

And then he just — never goes back.

It feels like that, only here he’s somehow still in the process of digesting the truth, and he still believes he’s going to go back, one day. He’s just too busy this week. He hasn’t slept right. Christopher’s too tired. Some combination of the three.

Buck giving his back to Eddie to focus solely on Taylor Kelly feels a little bit like realizing he’s skipped out on church for the past couple of weeks, and for a terrifying minute, he wonders if this means he’s never going back.

keep my brittle heart warm (give me peace) by extasiswings

“I think any kid would be lucky to have you as their dad,” Eddie replies. “And—I don’t know—you found her. Isn’t that some kind of sign from the universe or something?”

Buck’s lips twitch as he looks up again.

“You don’t believe in signs.”

“But you do.”

[Or: a baby girl is left at the station in the middle of winter. And everything changes.]

where the wildflowers grow by asgardium

When Eddie’s abuelo passed, his abuela turned her grief into a garden of marigolds and poppies and told him that flowers tell a story, written in their own unique language. A single flower carries a garden of weight, and she warned him not to confuse chrysanthemums with carnations.

(I love you; I disdain you with all my heart). She taught him the ones she knew, and he took it upon himself to learn the rest. Quickly, he learned, it is a language of both love and hate. Harebells of grief and black dahlias of betrayal, snapdragons for deception and hemlock for death. Yes, roses are full of love, but a bouquet of the wrong hue is laced with jealousy and “I’d rather stay friends”.

(Or; Buck is determined to woo Eddie, and Eddie finally finds a use for his fluency in flower language).

like it means something by intotheblue

Buck should probably go, he knows, but he can’t quite bring himself to. He knows Eddie’s okay, has the living proof sitting right in front of him, but the second he looks away all the tension of the week returns, the fear and anxiety mixing sickeningly in his stomach.

Christopher has fallen asleep in Eddie’s lap, head tucked into his good shoulder. Eddie himself is fighting yawns. It’s been a long day.

Finally, it’s Ana who breaks the silence, standing and pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Get some rest,” she says. “And text me if you need anything.”

It’s virtually the same thing Taylor said to him, and it strikes Buck as odd. They’ve been together, what, six months now? She should be saying more. Maybe she’s not because he’s here. Buck still can’t bring himself to leave.

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy by spinningincircles

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

(or: eddie recovers, one messy step at a time)

The Space Between Sleep by Tattered_Dreams

As weeks pass after the Tsunami, Christopher has Eddie to help him deal with the scars it left behind. He also has Buck. Buck's dealing with his own demons, but he has both of them.

Eddie's trying to keep them all together and finding out his family might not be as small as he thought.

The 118 have their few cents to add, too, because don't they always.

[proud-mom85]

Moments from the Misha, Darius Zoom:

Darius: I WILL SAY THE FIRST THING ONE WANTS TO DO IN A ZOOM TO ESTABLISH DOMINANCE IS WHEN THE BACKGROUND CONTEST.

__________

MISHA: WE BOTH MOVED TO L.A. IN -- DARIUS: 99.

MISHA: DECEMBER OF 98, RIGHT BEFORE NEW YEAR'S. WE MOVED INTO THE SAME LITTLE, YOUR AUNT'S FRIEND'S HOUSE ON THE VENICE CANALS. YOUR WIFE WAS PREGNANT WITH YOUR FIRST CHILD AT THAT POINT AND MY WIFE AND I DID NOT KNOW IT AND WE WERE LIKE WHY ARE THEY SLEEPING ALL DAY, WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM?

DARIUS: THERE WAS A GAS LEAK ALSO IN THE HOUSE. SO WE WERE ALL SLEEPING ALL DAY.

MISHA: THAT'S TRUE.

___________

MISHA: THERE WAS A TIME WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER WHEN I DON'T KNOW THAT I THERE WAS A TIME WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER WHEN I DON'T KNOW THAT I WOULD HAVE GENUINELY CELEBRATED YOUR SUCCESSES, BUT THERE WAS A TIME FOR YOU STARTED MAKING THE MOVIE "LOOT" THAT WAS YOUR FIRST BIG SUCCESSFUL PROJECT. I THINK IN THE PROCESS OF MAKING THAT I REMEMBER FEELING OVERWHELMED WITH SUPPORT AND JOY FOR YOU. I JUST WANTED YOU TO SEE THIS CREATIVE VISION THROUGH AND NOTHING WOULD HAVE MADE ME HAPPIER THAN IT TO BE SUCCESSFUL.

_____________

DARIUS: I DON'T THINK I WOULD BE EVEN REMOTELY THE SAME PERSON HAD WE NOT BEEN FRIENDS...

_____________

DARIUS: AND WE BOTH AUDITIONED FOR IT AND AS FATE WOULD HAVE IT, YOU ENDED UP IN THE LEAD ROLE OF THAT PLAY AND WITH ALL SINCERITY YOU DID AN INCREDIBLE JOB, LIKE IT WAS ONE OF THOSE MAGICAL, I THINK YOU WOULD AGREE, ONE OF THOSE MAGICAL SCHOOL PLAYS THAT JUST IS INCREDIBLY MEMORABLE. I STILL REMEMBER IT, JUST SITTING THERE AND ENJOYING IT AND WATCHING YOU KIND OF YOUR BEST. IN I REMEMBER THEN FEELING REALLY PROUD OF YOU. I REMEMBER SITTING AND WATCHING YOU ACT AND FEELING LIKE THIS IS WHAT THIS GUY IS HERE TO DO. BECAUSE YOU WERE ON STAGE AND IT WAS SO UNDENIABLE.

_____________

DARIUS: I FEEL LIKE WE HAVE HAD A PRETTY CLEAR CHANNEL OF SUPPORT FOR EACH OTHER ALL ALONG. AND I WILL SAY, HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR YOUR SUPPORT ALL THOSE YEARS MAKING SOUND OF METAL, I DON'T KNOW THAT I COULD'VE MADE IT. THAT'S HOW IMPORTANT IT WAS, THOSE WERE HARD YEARS COME ALONG, YOU KNOW, 10 YEARS OF FAITH IN A PROCESS THAT HAD NO PROOF OF CONCEPT. SO, YOU KNOW, I NEEDED THAT SUPPORT AND YOU WERE THERE MANY, MANY, MANY TIMES OVER. I REALLY HATE TO BE SINCERE WITH YOU, I FEEL LIKE IT FEELS WRONG BUT THAT IS THE TRUTH.

____________

DARIUS: ...BECAUSE HE AND I BOTH CAME FROM SO LITTLE. I DON'T THINK WE WERE THAT AFRAID TO HAVE LITTLE. I DON'T THINK WE WERE AFRAID TO SCRAPE THE BOTTOM AND KEEP SCRAPING THE BOTTOM AND SCRAPING THE BOTTOM A LITTLE MORE.

MISHA: I HAVE HAD AN INTERESTING RELATIONSHIP WITH THAT SCARCITY DYNAMIC BECAUSE ON THE ONE THING, WHAT YOU ARE SAYING IS TRUE AND I ALWAYS IN MY HEART OF HEARTS KNOWN I WOULD BE OK WITH NOTHING, I WOULD BE OK LIVING IN A TENT IF I NEEDED TO. AND THAT KNOWLEDGE PROVIDES A PRETTY BIG SAFETY NET, BECAUSE YOU NEVER WALK AROUND FEELING LIKE I NEED THIS MONEY. I KNOW I'M GOING TO BE OK.

AT THE SAME TIME, COMING FROM POVERTY, I THINK THE ALLURE OF MONEY HAS BEEN MAYBE MORE POWERFUL THAN IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FOR ME OTHERWISE. IF I HAD ALWAYS HAD MONEY, I MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN SO DRAWN INTO MAKING MONEY WHEN THAT OPPORTUNITY FINALLY CAME IN MY LIFE. AND I MAY HAVE MADE CHOICES THAT DIDN'T THAT WEREN'T QUITE SO DRIVEN BY MAKING MONEY, IF THAT MAKES SENSE. AS I'M GETTING OLDER, I AM ABLE TO FORMULATE THESE THOUGHTS AND RECALIBRATE TO AN EXTENT. BUT THERE WAS A TIME WHEN I WAS MAKING MONEY JUST FOR THE SAKE OF MAKING MONEY WHEN IT WASN'T REALLY ABOUT ANYTHING CREATIVE OR BIGGER THAN THAT, AND I THINK THAT WAS A LITTLE BIT ALSO RELATED TO HAVING COME FROM POVERTY.

DARIUS: THAT IS INTERESTING, I DON'T THINK YOU'VE EVER REALLY VOICED THAT TO ME, THAT SCARCITY MODEL YOU HAD WORKING THAT WAY. THAT MAKES SENSE ACTUALLY, AND I THINK PEOPLE KNOW THIS ABOUT YOU, BUT IT WA SA LEVEL OF POVERTY THAT WAS THREATENING. IT WASN'T LIKE WE WERE KIND OF POOR OR YOU ARE SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE CLASS SPECTRUM, YOU WERE IN A SERIOUS, SERIOUS LANDSCAPE OF POVERTY.

_______________

MISHA: IT'S FUNNY, FROM THE VANTAGE POINT OF CHILDHOOD, YOU TO ME IT LOOKED JUST AWASH IN MONEY. YOUR FAMILY WAS FUCKING LOADED. AND I REMEMBER YOUR DAD, ONCE EVERY THREE MONTHS OR SO WE WOULD ALL GO OUT TO PANDA EAST, WHICH IS BASICALLY THE CHEAPEST CHINESE RESTAURANT IN TOWN COME UP BUT TO ME IT WAS LIKE CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT WE ARE JUST GOING OUT AND ORDERING WHATEVER WE WANT AT THIS RESTAURANT? IT SEEMED SO OPULENT TO ME. IT'S REALLY AMAZING.

______________

MISHA: I REMEMBER DRIVING UP TO PUTNEY RIGHT AFTER I GOT MY DRIVERS LICENSE, I WAS 16 AND A HALF OR 17 AND DRIVING UP ON A SCHOOL NIGHT AT 3:00 IN THE MORNING JUST TO CHECK ON YOU, BECAUSE I KNEW YOU WERE KIND OF ON THE EDGE AT THAT POINT. YOU COULD HAVE EASILY NOT SURVIVED HIGH SCHOOL AND A COUPLE OF YEARS AFTER THAT. YOU WERE REALLY ON THE EDGE.

DARIUS: IT'S TRUE.

MISHA: YOU WOULD GO FOR DAYS WITHOUT SLEEPING, YOU WERE A PSYCHOLOGICAL MESS AT THAT POINT AND I DO REMEMBER GOING UP THERE AND WORRYING ABOUT YOU AND CHECKING ON YOU.

_______________

DARIUS: I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I HAVE FOUND THAT I HAVE NOT NEEDED YOU LESS AS I GOT OLDER.

_______________

DARIUS: YEAH, SO, HERE IS THE THING ABOUT THE OSCARS. I HAVEN'T REALLY TALKED ABOUT THIS AT ALL. BUT THE OSCARS COINCIDED WITH - AS YOU KNOW, MISHA, COINCIDED WITH A REALLY CRAZY TIME FOR ME BECAUSE MY BEST HAVE A VERY SICK CHILD.

- BECAUSE I HAVE A VERY SICK CHILD. SO AROUND THE TIME OF THE TIME OF THE OSCARS, LEADING UP TO THE OSCARS IS MAYBE ONE OF THE DARKEST, MOST DIFFICULT TIMES OF MY LIFE DEFINITIVELY. AND YOU KNOW I HAVE HAD SOME DARK TIMES.

SO, SO OFTEN WE LOOK AT THESE THINGS AND IT LOOKS LIKE ONE THING. AND WE NEVER KNOW THE SUBPLOT THAT LIVES BEHIND IT, AND WE NEVER KNOW WHAT HAPPENS BEYOND THE IMAGE OF PERFECTNESS AND SUCCESS.

MISHA: I THINK THAT IS EXACERBATED IN THIS MOMENT IN OUR SOCIETY BECAUSE SOCIAL MEDIA, EVERYONE IS ALWAYS SHOWCASING THE MOST PERFECT VERSION OF THEIR WIVES AND FAMILIES.

AND OF COURSE, YOU WERE GOING THROUGH THE JUXTAPOSITION OF THAT PARTICULAR MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE, AND YOU ARE STILL GOING THROUGH THE HARD CHAPTER, APPARENT SUFFERING THROUGH A SICK CHILD AND WHAT YOUR CHILD IS GOING THROUGH IS JUST SO HARD AND SO HEARTBREAKING. AND TO HAVE THAT MOMENT THAT YOU HAVE BEEN WORKING TOWARD YOUR WHOLE LIFE, YOU JUST REACHED THE APEX OF YOUR CAREER, YOU MAY NEVER AGAIN BE AT THE OSCARS, AND ANYONE WHO EVER THINKS THEY ARE GOING TO WIND UP AT THE OSCARS IS DELUSIONAL, IT JUST DOESN'T WIND UP AT THE OSCARS IS DELUSIONAL, IT JUST DOESN'T HAPPEN. AND YET YOU HAVE FOUND YOURSELF THERE AT THIS INCREDIBLE TRIUMPHANT UNLIKELY MOMENT.

DARIUS: I DID ALWAYS KNOW I WOULD BE THERE BUT GO ON.

MISHA: AT THE SAME TIME YOU ARE SUFFERING THROUGH THE MOST EXHAUSTING AND MOST EMOTIONALLY DRAINING THING IMAGINABLE, AND IT WAS ALMOST LIKE A KIND OF CRUEL JOKE FROM THE UNIVERSE, IT SEEMED.

DARIUS: IT WAS THE CRUELEST DICHOTOMY. AND I THINK WHAT WAS IMPORTANT FOR ME AT THAT TIME IS I WAS NAVIGATING A LOT, PRESS, THE OSCARS, I WAS DIRECTING SOMETHING ELSE OF THE TIME, RUNNING BACK AND FORTH AT THE HOSPITAL, SLEEPING ON A HOSPITAL COT, DOING ALL THE STUFF, THAT I NEEDED SOMETHING NEAR ME THAT I UNDERSTOOD, YOU KNOW?

I NEEDED SOMEONE NEAR ME THAT I FELT GROUNDING RIGHT THEN. AND THAT WAS ACTUALLY THE TRUTH OF IT, IS LIKE, YOU ARE THE PERSON ON THE FACE OF THE -- FACE OF THE EARTH THAT I COULD CALL ON AT THAT MOMENT AND I NEEDED IT.

____________

These are some of the moments from the zoom. It was quite emotional as you can tell from the little bit of transcript I'm posting. You can tell how close these two are and how much they have been there for each other over the years, how well they know each other. They have one of those rare life long friendships.

I do wanna say this and I'm not saying it to be rude or anything but I remember there was a cameo that Misha did and he said he was helping a friend with a sick child and the person who bought the cameo got mad cuz their question wasn't answered and they said cruel things about Misha. Well, shame on you.

We may not have had this information at the time but you never assume when someone mentions a sick kid and don't mention how bad it is, it could be nothing or it could be something major like with Darius' kid. Misha could have not done the cameo at all but he did when he had his best friend and his best friends kid on his mind and was worried about. Shame on anyone who said mean things from that cameo. Misha always does the best he can for all of us.

Anyway, I hope we get to see more from these two in the future. They are both amazingly talented individuals.

[bimbonaparte]

daddy lessons (parenting in spn vs. being human)

I have not been able to stop thinking about this for weeks and it’s making me insane, so apologies to all but here we GO. McNair (Being Human UK) and John Winchester (Supernatural) both raised their sons to be weapons in a secret war and did unforgivable things in the process, but thanks to some key differences in their parenting approach, we get wildly different kids out of the equation. To recap the middle bit of the Venn diagram here, both fathers:

Dragged their kids around the country, raising them like soldiers to fight a supernatural enemy; it’s unclear when anybody’s first kills took place, to my knowledge, but we can safely say that they were at way too young an age

Weaponized the memory of a dead mother as an excuse for their crusade

Moved them around constantly and denied them almost any outside connections; by design, their whole world is wrapped up in each other

Raised their kids (Tom and Dean most successfully*) to have little identity outside of hunting and to be entirely beholden to the cause, leading to a very upsetting self-sacrificial streak

Demanded military-esque obedience; some questions may be allowed here and there, but ultimately dad is the superior officer and it’s his call

Lied repeatedly to their kids “for their own good” and kept them on a need-to-know-basis, even for stuff that they REALLY needed to know

*(I’m generally focusing on Dean & Tom in this analysis, since I think Sam escaped some of this by rebelling against the notion of a “good son”)

Hell, they even had similar deaths (i.e., made the decision to keep their kids in the dark -- rather than, say, explaining anything or asking for help -- and walk into a confrontation with an old enemy that they knew they wouldn’t survive). But despite all this overlap, we end up with two wildly different characters: jaded & emotionally volatile Dean, who drinks & throws punches to cope with feelings and performs toughness as if there’s a panel of judges in the corner at all times; and sincere & emotionally vulnerable Tom, who is also quick to throw a punch but who talks about his feelings, cries easily, and is totally unconcerned with whether or not he’s perceived as tough or masculine. I literally can’t stop thinking about it.

If you ask me, the two diverge thanks to some key differences between the McNair and John Winchester school of parenting. Despite the NUMEROUS mistakes McNair made in Tom’s upbringing, we have to give credit where credit is due:

McNair loved Tom. Unequivocally. Thought he was the best person to ever exist. Told him this daily. Told any given random stranger who stood still long enough in Tom’s general proximity. Reinforced it with physical affection and affirmation. Tom never had cause to doubt this for even a second during his entire upbringing, and it shows.

McNair must have realized at some point that Tom was different, that his take on the world was always going to be a little bit naive. Instead of trying to change this or toughen him up “for his own good” (which I can very much imagine being the John Winchester approach), McNair seems to have thoroughly embraced this aspect of Tom’s nature.

Part of that is expressed through the "code.” McNair raised Tom to live by a strict code geared towards a) survival as nomad werewolf vampire hunters, and b) survival as Tom, specifically, who has incredible physical aptitude but struggles with other kinds of learning & social cues. The code has its downsides (namely the unquestioning obedience bit mentioned above), but otherwise functions as a sort of framework that Tom can follow for navigating the societal rules & interactions he doesn’t fully understand. (There’s also the whole “teaching Tom to respect others” thing, which I could honestly write an entire dissertation on).

Beyond the rules McNair thinks they need to survive, however, McNair seems to delight in Tom simply being Tom. This shines through most with Tom’s disarming sincerity -- which he retains largely because McNair (and society at large) never tried to train or polish it out of him. There are a dozen examples where Tom cuts through layers of conversational propriety and is just genuine, because it doesn’t occur to him to be otherwise. Where other characters (like Hal) can’t help laughing at him at least a little, we see McNair take him seriously, respond with encouragement, and even match his sincerity (see: “You’re perfect”) despite the fact that McNair was raised in a society that would frown on men talking like this to their grown sons.

We therefore end up with a Tom who earnestly says things like “virginity is like a flower” with zero self-consciousness. Who would have come along to tell him men don’t talk about sex like this? McNair certainly wouldn’t have; his top priority throughout is supporting Tom as-is, not molding his personality into some idea of what a man is or should be.

The end result of all this is a very sweet, very straightforward, emotionally vulnerable killing machine. “Always be polite and kind and have the materials to build a bomb,” indeed. Tom is obsessed later on with being “a success” in a very performative way, but -- as all the characters around him repeatedly remind him -- this is not something that McNair ever cared about or put on him.

What I would love to do next is a) also acknowledge the incredibly profound ways that McNair wronged Tom (starting with killing his parents, which cannot be glossed over) and how this fucked him up; b) contrast all this with the John Winchester approach to raising child soldiers (SIGH) to see how it is that we ended up Dean; and c) look at Dean and Tom’s perception of their respective fathers. BUT. I unfortunately have to go do actual work stuff or I am gonna be in big trouble (plus this is getting LONG), so I’m gonna be revisiting this another time. In conclusion tho: Tom McNair fascinates me beyond measure, I cannot get over this, and I do not want to. TBC.

[rouiyan]

𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘐𝘊𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ jeno's installment of the keep your cool collective ⧐

synopsis: he likes to think it's romantic how he always finishes your sentences for you. you think it's annoying that he keeps interrupting you.

✧ ice hockey player!lee jeno x (fem.) tutor!reader ✧ college au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slightly suggestive ✧ word count : 4.4k ✧ disclaimers : mentions of sexual activities, swearing

✧ author’s note — same universe as my puck in your goal which does not need to be read first but can be. also, hi @crownily i did it :)

let's just say jeno sucks at school and that the one thing he doesn't suck at is hockey, ice hockey. and let's just say that you're his tutor, strictly for tutoring purposes. yet, here you find yourself at his doorstep at 3:47 in the morning, or so your phone says.

he opens up to see you clad dressed down, different from the neat tee and skirt he's so used to. to be completely honest, jeno has never felt anything towards you and even he himself finds that hard to believe since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive but he isn't attracted to you, per se.

jeno wished he would though, especially now that he's suffering from what he called you here for in the first place: an extreme case of breakup.

one hand leaning your weight on the doorframe, the right of your shit rides up. jeno bites down on his lip, retracting his eyes to your face. "let me get this straight, you called me here, at this time of night, to get me to help you with what exactly?" so what if he thought fucking you would be a good way to keep his mind off things? too bad he didn't think any further than that. the words come to his as he speaks, "i just thought that- that...you- you would be awake at this time! because you know- you like to study…did i interrupt anything?"

donning a dreary expression, you nod in clarification, "yeah, you interrupted my studying."

"right, okay, i'll let you get back to that," he turns in haste as if to close the door behind him but you catch it with your heel, a scowl making its way across your face at what you were about to say, "forget it, jen, i'm already here. what do you need help with?" you stare into his back, his widening eyes unbeknownst to you. he turns again, now deliberate in motion, just to give him as much time to get his bearings together. lifting one shoulder in suggestion, and truthfully confusion, his voice is a pitch higher when he responds, "...studying?"

and that's how he finds himself staring into the crack between the wall and the far end of his desk, your figure hovering above him but not in the way he'd planned for, planned poorly for. jeno is on edge and frankly, he feels incredibly bad because he doesn't understand anything that comes from your mouth and the words you jot down on his paper before him all seem to collide and blur into each other. that's when he realizes he's started crying.

and that's when you're rendered speechless as the boy sits there, the little tracks running down his face wetting the paper you were teaching off of. "jeno, oh my god. fuck, you good?" you don't want to come off as prying so you avoid the whole 'why' notion but you're not that socially inept to miss that he didn't call you here at such an ungodly hour of morning just to get some unpaid tutor hours in and he certainly isn't crying because he doesn't understand shit. 

a hand of his is sifting through his hair while another rubs harshly down the side of his face. "i don't think you should- i'm just gonna go get you some tissues, i'll- i'll go get that." you turn on your heel and navigate your way from his room to the kitchen you'd passed on the way in. it's dark and you know he has roommates, you were less than willing to make your presence known. to your dismay, the kitchen was currently being occupied by a man whom you've yet to identify, being only two steps in when you stop in your tracks. 

he identifies you first, "y/n, what are you doing here?" and you pick up from the voice that it's donghyuck. your foot hits a cabinet before your eyes get a chance to adjust to the lighting, "fuck, yeah i'm here with jeno, well i'm not- not like that, we're just studying."

"just studying?" there's no way to see it but you swear the cock of his brows is apparent as it would be at day. you hum in response, fingers trying to make out the paper towel dispenser you were sure you caught a glimpse of on the way in. "so you're saying," he pulls out his phone and the light that emits from the screen is enough to guide you in the right direction before he shoves is back in his pocket. "that you booked a tutoring session with him at 4:19 a.m.?"

tearing one, then two, from the dispenser, you distractedly let a disbelieving, "yup," past your lips. hyuck scrutinizes you in the dark and his next words nearly shock you out of your skin, "is he fucking you because he just got dumped? is that why?"

you swivel at lightning speed, "he what?" hand over his mouth, donghyuck seems genuinely apologetic, though you wouldn't put it past him if he was not, "shit, you didn't know?" folding the paper towels two times over in your hands, you gingerly across the room to where the boy is seated, "i mean, i know that he didn't call me here just to study but that's legitimately what we ended up doing." he doesn't answer for awhile so you follow up with a question, "you think he wants to fuck me?"

hyuck looks you straight in the eye, "yeah, yeah i do." it hangs unsaid in the air between the two of you, but it's within both of your knowledge that jeno only wanted you here for sexual relief from his frustrations, that whatever else could be denoted by the deed was simply inapplicable for this situation. you shake your head of the thoughts, "so, what are you doing up this early?" you know that there is a weary and weeping jeno you have to get back to but you also know that your presence is somewhat unwelcome there, uncomfortable even, while he wades in his fit of tears.

hyuck replies with a heavy tone, "he gave me some things to think about too."

and you jump to conclusions all too quickly, "he wants to fuck you too?"

"god, y/n, no."

a weak laugh lining your demeanor after the last of the interaction, you reenter jeno's room to find him sprawled wide, his back to the bed. "hey," you preface as you round upon his bed, setting the paper towels on his nightstand. it seemed his tears had run their race and his eyes were now staring lethargically into the ceiling. perching yourself on the edge, you reach to place a hand atop one of his, giving two reassuring squeezes. "need anything?"

only now does jeno seem to take note of your arrival, his eyes hooded eyes flit to you for half a second before resolutely tugging you by the hand you had clasped within his. "what-" your breath is stolen from you as your back hits his chest. jeno drapes his arms across you front, "jeno, what-"

"i need a pillow, that's what i need."

you blink, trying to make sense of your thoughts, "did you ask me here to fuck you numb?" his body goes rigid underneath yours and you're right to assume that you've pinpointed the answer. "i'm right, huh?" eyeing downwards, his fingers are fiddling for you to see. after a few moments laid in bated breath, he lets weakly, "sorry about that, it's not gonna happen."

"yeah no shit," is said dulcetly despite the denotation. you feel his chuckles reverberate beneath you. "i'm really sorry, i swear i don't think of you that way." a smile upon your own face, you turn in his arms to place an expression to his voice. propping your head up on your folded arms, your arms atop his chest, you peer into his eyes sincerely. there is much that needs to be said, the reasonings behind his unexpected breakdown and the closeness you suddenly feel with still have to be addressed. but at this hour in the morning, you can't bring yourself to. 

instead you query, "should i stay the night?" he peers into your eyes with equal sincerity when he responds, "it's already early morning, you'd probably be off better sleeping here." giving a soft nod and a few moments to rearrange your thoughts, you perk up again just as he's about to fall asleep. he isn't annoyed in the slightest, rather he smiles at that, your voice, "do you have practice tomorrow?"

it's his turn to give a nod in response. "wanna come watch?" your arms move around his chest, encasing him like how he's encased you. hiding your smile in the front of his sweatshirt, your voice comes out muffled, "i'd love to but i'm a bit busy, jen. next time, maybe."

at your response, it's the first time that jeno feels, acknowledges, that his heart drops, even though it's in the slightest. there's an image of you in the stands, your textbooks in your lap and glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose. the image moves as he moves cross the rink and you look up when he passes by, eyes bright and a small smile and thumbs up in encouragement. from then on, it's that image that's plastered in his mind every time he thinks of you, that one self-conjured image. 

jeno feels his heart drop even more when he awakes to an empty bed. he finds that the text that you've sent in departure isn't nearly enough to repair his spirits, he wishes you were there instead.

practice sucks ass the next day and the day after that, he doesn't pay it any mind, knowing more than well enough how renjun whispers of the news of his breakup among the members. he doesn't hold it against him though, after all, his ex is his teammate's best friend. jeno thinks it hurts the most when his ex shows up at the next game, the one he'd invited you to when you'd crossed paths on campus a few days ago. he finds himself in a weird predicament between trying to forget about a girl and chasing after another one. he can't tell if he really likes you or if he just needs a rebound.

today, jeno decides it's the latter because he's fuming the entire game at how hyuck would send winks in her direction, how he would skate up to the edge of the rink to converse with her during their breaks. jeno hates how she's moved on all too easily and he feels and urge to prove that he can do the same. he wants to prove to himself.

he's let almost every goal in by the time the buzzer signals the end of the final round. the coach reprimands him because at this point, he might as well be from the opposing team. the helmet is off in a split second, he showers for the briefest of moments, only allowing the water to slosh across his body one time before he's patting himself dry. jeno slips the towel from his shoulder throws on a hoodie in its stead. he's out the locker room in bare minutes where he comes face to face with you. you, with the little sheepish, apologetic smile on your face. you, who'd just arrived from your shift at the local cat adoption center, late for the game but in just time for him. you, the only person he's been aching to see the whole day. but even now, he's unsure of exactly why. 

"y/n, hey," he's by your side in an instant, hesitant in his actions but words tumbling out nonetheless, "you came. late, but...you came."

you meet him in the middle, hands coming up to your aid and waving nonsensically as you speak, "i'm so sorry, my shift was extended and i forgot to tell my boss beforehan-"

"it's fine, i'm just glad you're here." he readjusts the bag onto his shoulders in a nervous fit. he barely manages to make eye contact with you and he wonders when he started to feel this way about you or, again, the desire for a rebound, his need for a taste of vengeance is willing him to act this way. jeno shrugs off the thought and fills the silence with an offer, "so do you wanna go...do something together?" 

jeno should know by now. the little sparkle that glints in your eyes and the way his stomach upturns itself in response. he should know by now how much you like him too. hyuck exits the locker rooms in that instant, he greets you in passing as he joins a girl up ahead. you turn back to jeno, momentarily distracted, only to find his gaze hardened and fixed on the girl. a sickening feeling erupts within you as you begin to piece one and one to make two. 

he turns back to you and you avoid his gaze. the shift in your countenance jolts him as much as his had jolted you. you lick your lips before looking back up at him, your own eyes guarded. he wishes he knew why. "jeno, i'm gonna have to rain check. i just- i thought of something- something came up. i have to go."

you're stalking away from him before he can even process it. he's lucky that his strides are long because he catches your wrist right before you get to the exit, "y/n," he tugs gently so that you turn to him but he's caught off guard even more when he sees the tears that have begun to form in your eyes. "why are you like this all of a sudden? what happened?"

you shake your head at him, hurriedly swallowing the sobs before you can embarrass yourself even further, "nothing, jeno. i just realized something." you stare down at his wrist expectantly but he only clutches it tighter, "then, what did you realize?"

he lets go of your wrist now and you feel like your heart couldn't get any heavier as you answer, "i realized that i'm just a fill-in until you get over her." jeno sucks in a breath as he watched the words leave your mouth, as he watches you turn and leave, and he hears more tears bubble from your frame, the sounds receding the farther you walk from him. for some reason, it's only when you tell him so that he understands that he feels the exact opposite.

it's only when you shove it in his face, your own face scrunched up in tears, that he's only going after you as a rebound, when he sees his feelings for what they really are. honest, jeno finds it hard to believe that he's never felt anything towards you since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive, he finds you attractive. fuck it, he likes you.

fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, your next tutoring session was scheduled for just a few days after, just enough time for him to get his act together and enough for you to cool your head enough sift through the thirty or so voice mails he'd left you. most of them seem to contain the same rueful, repentant tone, though a few seem to be displaying his slow spiral into self-deprecation. you're pretty sure the last is a mistake, a butt dial maybe.

jeno's not proficient with the knife, definitely not with how he's cutting the pears right now. he thinks he would've been better off bringing bananas but that would've seemed too insincere, wouldn't it? his thoughts are jumbling and sludging against one another when a finger of his slips and the fine edge of the knife is pressed on a knuckle. "fuck," he swears, his other hand already reaching over to the sink to run the cut under cold water. the sting is piercing and he looks away from the cut to the clock overhead. "double fuck," he mutters this time. the last thing he needs right now is you thinking that he stood you up. 

with steadfast athleticism, he finishes off the last of the pears with one hand. he's sure you'd laugh at the whole debacle if you were there though he's thankful you're not. jeno faces the fear that he sucks at everything except ice hockey, and he's barely getting by these days. he only ever feels confident on the rink with his stick in hand, crouched low so his eyes were level with the ice. he's never felt that much control over anything else, much less confessing to a girl and trying, somehow, to show that she was of much more worth than what he'd made it seem like. 

the library is a ten minute walk from his house, a three minute sprint. yes, he had sprinted. 

he knows for a fact that pears were the right way to go when you let the tiniest of smiles adorn your face at the sight of him setting the tupperware in front of you. you check your expression back into taut impassivity before he can indulge in his victory any longer. he knows you're not half as mad as you present yourself to be but that doesn't mean he'd take his mistakes lightly and go about this sleazily. jeno needs your trust. 

you resist the urge to reach over and flip over the hair that stood upright on the wrong side of his head. reverting your eyes onto the computer screen before you, "let's get started." not a half hour into your session, you're spaced out, eyes zoned onto the way jeno spins his pen between his fingers. maybe it's the lack of sleep that's getting to you.

"y/n? you good?"

you swallow thickly, removing your gaze from his hands, from him, from his paper, from anything that has to do with him. you notice how your chair has inched closer to his, or his to yours, you notice the finger-wide distance between you and him. shivers are sent down your spine. "let's take a break, is that fine?" jeno, from beside you, yawns and for a brief second you think he's about to pull the stretch and hand around shoulder trick. you blush unknowingly. 

jeno speaks before you can ask to resume the session, "can i say something?"

"is it work related?" you give your best efforts at keeping your voice level and head turned somewhat in his direction. in your peripheries, he cocks his head to the right, "...no, but we're on break." almost letting a huff escape your complexion, you relent, "fine then, shoot," figuring he would say it anyways.

"i want you to come to our next game."

you're lucky you had the whole scenario thought through, at least something can be harvested from your late nights spent tossing and turning, "i don't think i can-"

"y/n, i haven't even told you when."

"okay fine," you wrinkle your nose in distaste and hand out the truth for him to see, or hear, "i just don't want to." jeno is doing his best, he really is, but he knows that you've heard all that he has to say, if not once, then twenty-nine times over. the last one was a mistake. "did you get my voicemails?"

sighing, you chance a glance at him to see that he isn't the slightest bit annoyed, face drawn into a frown of sorts. you'll never admit that even just the sight could soften your set mindset. consideration replays in your irises when you answer the yes or no question with a decisive nod.

"then i'm sure you understand why i want you to come."

jeno lets you drive him home that day, he'd be the last to complain. the ride is silent from start to finish until right when he's about to close the passenger door, the car parked in front of his shared house. an, "i'll think about it," is what he's left to brew over for the next week or so as he stares that the text, read and unreplied, that he'd sent to remind you of the day and time of the game. he's anxious but it's only to that extent.

it's becoming more and more evident that jeno is loosing his touch on ice. he hates that the only thing he can attribute it to is his dwindling love life. he finds that the enforcer is atypically rough today but he's glad that his role at the goal requires the least interaction and footwork. he'd promised his coach that he would be more wary of his surroundings but he can't help the occasional glance at the rink entrance every once in awhile. what he doesn't understand is that his definition of 'once in awhile' marks at around every thirty seconds.

the last round is the most painful, undoubtedly, because it's as if his defeat is being dragged on and on, as if the giant timer above the rink is ticking to the heartbeat of a dead man. 

jeno can is aware that he's breathing. he's aware but he has to double check when the entrance doors open for the last time that game and you've arrived. you're standing by the doorway, apprehensive, but jeno can't get it past his head that you've arrived, that you're here. he'd have gotten decked in the face had you not motioned your head in the direction of the fast approaching puck and the burly man behind it.

he blocks the shot and every shot after. there's no need to wonder why.

the buzzer rings in his head so quick that he thinks time runs on his emotions rather than the clock. his helmet is often in seconds and he's making his way at supersonic speeds to the part of the rail where you're stood. the glass fogs with his breath as he tries to get his words across. 'i'll be quick,' he mouths. 

you count two minutes until he's off ice. jeno hasn't bothered to shower, he lacks the patience for it. he sits you down on the lowest of the bleachers, closest to the rink. standing over you, he finds that he has so much to say, so many things he wants to let you know, all the feelings he's ever bottled up for the girl so obviously made for him.

he's never had much of a way with words but he thinks that the romance movies hyuck's made him watch over the years give a pretty good overview of what to say in situations like these, "i'd cross the world for you." you snort back at him, nose crinkling in distaste at his choice of words and poking fun at him with your own, "rink, jeno. you mean you'd cross the rink for me."

"y/n, i'm tryna do something here," he whines, the pout on display mimicking his displeased but light-hearted implications. you're equally as amused, "oh yeah? what are you tryna do?"

"i'm tryna," he takes your two arms in his and wraps them around his middle. you instinctively fist the fabric of his blue jersey at the back, "jeno, what are you-" you stop when a hand of his own comes to trace the lines of your face softly. maybe he can't find the words but surely he could show you. if he could just…"you keep interrupting me, jeno."

drawn from his resolution, he's snappy when he retorts, "i think as your boyfriend i ought to have that privilege."

"boyfriend? since when did you-"

"i just did," he revels in the idea that you think him to be smooth with words when in reality the 'boyfriend' was a slip up, a mirror of his daydreams. he's over the moon that it worked out in his favor. while he fixates on just how much he feels for you, you're playfully annoyed at a whole other, "stop fucking interrupting me, jen-"

"i love you."

you blink up at him. well shit. a lot of things are happening and you lack the brain cells to process them. there's only one thing you can think to do, only one think that you're thinking about, have been thinking about, will still be thinking about. 

he may be the one to steal words right from your mouth but beyond that he's oblivious, you think. the smile still plays on his lips when he follows up, "is it okay to interrupt you if i say something like tha-"

you press a smile of your own onto his lips, cutting his words effectively. a hand of yours moves up to the curve of his neck to bring him down further, the angle at which he is kissing giving him all the advantage he needs to deepen it. when you part, you aren't surprised to see how half your body is leaning on the row of seats behind you and that jeno's entire body is sprawled on yours, supported by a knee on one side of you. 

you like your lips as you feel his breath hot on yours. "how's it feel now?"

shaking his head, jeno presses his temple to yours so that the only thing you can see is him, just him. "interrupt me any day, will you?"

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — wrote this up in approx. three hours. lee jeno is so rude for interrupting all my other wips (that are also mostly for him). i hope you enjoyed because i did, i freaking love writing for him <3

[kraviolis]

im making an educated guess here that guillermo is going to have a big british adventure with nadja and the guide instead of fucking off the second they hit solid ground.

there’s going to be some plot device that keeps guillermo with nadja (tbh its probably just guillermo’s inability to just not make other people’s problems his own. the man needs to learn boundaries i s2g) and we will get to see guillermo navigating vampire spaces on his own without nandor there to hold his hand. nadja certainly is not going to have time to give a shit about his social anxiety and guillermo will either ditch the guide or she’ll fuck off to take care of her own duties.

they’ll probably have this big celebration party or something for nadja’s promotion and to welcome her to london and we’ll get to see guillermo mingle with vampires instead of just being locked in their familiar room again-- either because nadja gave him a pass, or because his reputation precedes him and a lot of the vampires there have a great amount of respect for him as a bodyguard, rather than being wary of him for being a slayer or belittling him as a familiar.

at the party there will be one very nice vampire who he will become fast friends with. it’ll probably be a younger vampire that’s like, crashing the party or is just somewhat outcast or out of place much like guillermo is. i think he either wont know who guillermo is OR he does, and he has a lot of respect for him. i think it’d be nice if this vampire had also been a familiar in the past but for some reason didn’t stick with his ex-master after he got turned (probably for reasons that will make guillermo go “huh.” and rethink his relationship to nandor)

i think an old enemy is going to show up that guillermo doesn’t know-- maybe either the vampire that turned nandor (we dont know how he got turned!!!) or an acquaintance of laszlo’s from the club he got kicked out of that was also a vampire or got turned into a vampire afterwards. those would both be very very interesting plot lines indeed.

as for guillermo’s family thing, it’s very possible that he goes back to staten island early on in the season after the plot point that he needed to be in england for. or he has family in england?? maybe he goes to the netherlands because he’s like “okay nandor is gonna be here in a few days i can catch up with him there” and he meets other descendants of van helsing. im kinda hoping he goes back to staten island because i want the family episode to be about his immediate family rather than very distant relatives. i really want guillermo’s mom to have a bigger part in the series-- im pretty sure i read somewhere that she’s going to??

ive seen like one or two people bring up the idea that laszlo meets guillermo’s mom after she comes to the house looking for him bcus he hasn’t been answering any calls or texts for weeks. im assuming he’s in semi-regular contact with her because he does seem very fond of his mom and is too responsible to not make time for her. she cares a lot for him, too, and was very welcoming for him to live at home again after 11 years away at his live-in full time job. it’s not a stretch for her to go looking for him if he just dropped off her radar for too long.

it would be very fun for guillermo to come home and see either 1) his mom and laszlo having a pleasant conversation in the sitting room or 2) his mom threatening laszlo with a stake/crucifix if he doesn’t tell her where the fuck her son is. there was specifically the mention of guillermo realizing that the rest of his family also has van helsing DNA “in a way that will make him very anxious.” which i can only imagine means something along the lines of guillermo witnessing his mother killing a vampire in front of him. or her showing a very worrying amount of knowledge about vampires and specifically how to kill them. god i hope that she was a vampire slayer in her youth, too, that would literally be so so so fucking good. silvia the slayer definitely has a ring to it.

[aiyexayen]

The ChengXian/WangXian parallel gifsets about the sad boat rides with Wen Ning made me think, once again, about how Wei Ying was worried about being the Jiang Cheng in his relationship with Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying just had so few models of relationship, and only two real models of a serious relationship involving himself--Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He saw himself as a caretaker in each of them.

Even Jiang Yanli, ultimately, though there was certainly more give and take there. He only accepted a very specific kind of caretaking from her, though, and we see how fraught that was in the way Yu-furen shamed Jiang Yanli for it.

But Jiang Cheng was the most complicated. He and Wei Ying were the Yunmeng Shuangjie. Twin Heroes. Both of them strong male cultivators. Their relationship was such a carefully orchestrated imbalance. Wei Ying had to take care of Jiang Cheng even to the point of making sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel taken care of. He was stronger, but he had to make sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel weaker.

And at the same time, he had to be able to have his best friend and brother and navigate the lines of teasing and boasting that came with those dynamics and also with his natural brash and outgoing and free-spirited personality. It’s not something that weighed particularly heavy on him until later on, of course; it’s just How Things Were.

But Lan Zhan being Wei Ying's true equal was a heady taste of something new, something he was desperate for.

Someone he didn’t have to take care of in all those tricky, sticky ways. Someone who could understand him from the outside. That equality between them--of swords and strength and wit--formed so much of their early relationship. The ways Wei Ying and Lan Zhan excelled differently weren’t seen as anything but surface-level differences, cultivation styles. They could choose to take care of each other on their own (like in the Xuanwu cave) but there were no expectations except that which they set for themselves.

The best cohesive example I can think of is the situation at Dafan Mountain. Jiang Cheng has taken off after Wei Ying, to come and find his troublemaking brother and bring him home, ostensibly being the one to wrangle and care for his brother and best friend and someday-second. But as soon as he finds them, Wei Ying is clearly the one in charge. Jiang Cheng gets locked into a shield barrier, given a verbal half-teasing pat on the head, and left behind. Wei Ying goes off with Lan Zhan to find the source of the problems and their new level of partnership is beautifully put on display through their fight (other things happen in that fight, too, but that’s another post).

Jiang Cheng was never allowed to truly take care of Wei Ying. His parents never let him. Wei Ying never let him. He tried, all the time, most of all when he gave himself up to the Wen soldiers. But even that was immediately undone, turned back around on him.

Wei Ying never figured out how to attain any semblance of true equilibrium in his relationship with Jiang Cheng, even after everything at Lotus Pier, especially after everything at Lotus Pier, either before or after the core transfer. Maybe if he had, things would have been different. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have sacrificed his core to begin with.

It’s debatable how much Wei Ying expected to keep living after his core was gone. It’s even more debatable how much he really thought about anything past his own desperation in the moment, about all the promises broken with that single act, about how that would affect his relationship with anyone else. That doesn’t seem like a very Wei Ying thing to sit and think about.

Regardless, once the core was gone, he and Lan Zhan weren't equals. It messed up his relationship with Jiang Cheng, too, of course. The resentful energy was its own kind of strength but it couldn’t make up the difference in any way that counted. It just complicated everything by a thousand times and added in all kinds of new problems.

Even though Jiang Cheng had his core and Wei Ying had nothing but the tortured screams of the lost and vengeful echoing in his head, Wei Ying was still the caretaker there.

Don’t let Jiang Cheng find out the secret. Don’t let Lan Zhan become embroiled in it or expose the secret. Make sure Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli and Lotus Pier are okay. Lift Jiang Cheng up as a leader. Win the war. Apparently still be alive welp didn’t see that coming. Protect them all. Even if it means leaving.

But as much as he scrambled for strengths and leaned on his demonic cultivation he was still weak. Able to wipe out entire outposts of Wen agents yet repeatedly brought to a point where Lan Zhan could kill him easily and we know that the only way he could hope to match him would be to use this dangerous thing that's eating his soul, so shit could really get out of hand. Which wasn't really winning in the end. Demonic cultivation for him in general wasn’t strength so much as carefully-applied weakness.

Not to mention his reputation. They got so far off-balance where reputation and social standing was concerned.

Wei Ying’s merits had been contentious throughout his life--on the one hand, they're all he had to elevate himself beyond the need for the Jiangs' charity, or anyone's charity, as his status as family was so fraught and inconsistent. Being the best made all of that a moot point as much as it could be. And it also made him able to take care of said family, fulfilling all manner of "repay debt" vibes and "I'm obsessed with justice and protection" vibes.

On the other hand, they were definitely part of what made things so difficult with Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying’s reputation outclassing Jiang Cheng’s as a prodigy, a swordsman, a hero, even as he balanced it out by getting a simultaneous reputation for goofing off and being irresponsible. He did his best to make them complementary even though they were never really allowed to be.

But Jiang Cheng said it himself when he visited Wei Ying at the Burial Mounds--as soon as he started walking a different path, all of his merits and his skills and his reputation were turned upside down and used to make him a more effective villain.

So suddenly he didn’t even have any good social standing. He was mistrusted and then hated and reviled. On a number of levels, he could handle that, because it was more important to him that everyone who wasn’t him was okay. But it put him at complete odds with the great Hanguang-Jun, which was definitely something he made a point of noting more than once so we know it really, really mattered to him.

And that knowledge crept further and further in, between the war ending, things going back to some semblance of normal when he...couldn’t, and eventually him ending up in the Burial Mounds.

It was inevitable. He was the weaker one between himself and Lan Zhan, in every possible way. He knew of only one way that could go down.

It's a fear that got tangled up along with the rest of his paranoias, insecurities, traumas, resolutions, and twisted certainties pre-timeskip. On top of that, he lost a central piece of his identity and had no idea how to replace it.

If he isn't himself, who else can he be? Who else might he turn into? Someone who needs to be taken care of? Someone who might have his agency circumvented by a stronger person who thinks he knows better?

He sure did that to Jiang Cheng, and he never really had to own up to that piece of it. He never really regretted it either but he also sure didn't want to be on the other end of it.

Aside from that, Wei Ying just didn't know how to not be the strongest person. Being equal is the closest he’d ever come. He's never been allowed to be weak and taken care of unless he's play-acting and isn't that fucking heartbreaking? Fuck.

So who is he without that?

He still fought with the strengths he had and pretended to have the rest of them. And in one last great act of being the protector and caretaker, ran off to the Burial Mounds.

We do get to see Wei Ying and Lan Zhan working in tandem to bring back Wen Ning, and even though Wei Ying stumbles at the end (for the first time ever, I think, into Lan Zhan’s arms?), he does it successfully. They’re still able to work together, in spite of everything that’s happened, especially when Wei Ying is leaning into his actual talents. Even if Wei Ying’s weakness is still looming over his shoulder, as we see later.

Being with the Wens, living a simple life, leaning into his strengths, being part of a community and family, taking time to work on his scholarly/inventor hobbies, all this served to calm a lot of those fears and also conveniently take Wei Ying out of the scenarios and away from the relationships that caused them. It offered him tentative new pieces of identity to grab.

But then, of course, he lost that, too.

Post-timeskip, Wei Ying is thrust right back into a world where he has to finally face those issues. Whether you take it as he still has no core, or he has Mo Xuanyu’s really weak core, he’s not doing so great where that’s concerned.

He still has strengths. We’re not actually shown any indications that this man is weak at any point, not truly. He has a better grasp on the situation at Mo Manor than all of those precious Lan babies put together.

But we are shown that he uses a bunch of hands-on crafty tricks, talismans and spells and such. And, interestingly, in counterpoint we’re shown Lan Zhan descending from the heavens with his qin. Wei Ying doesn’t use a dizi here yet (let alone sword), and Lan Zhan doesn’t use Bichen. I do think that’s lovely.

However, Lan Zhan is still incredibly strong, in more ways than just physically: his reputation is strong, his presence is strong, his confidence is high, his mastery of the qin is unparalleled, he’s had sixteen more years to grow up and develop his golden core.

From the framing, and Wei Ying’s reactions, and the Lan juniors’ reactions, it’s pretty clear that’s the impression Wei Ying has. There’s an imbalance between them (along with alllll the other reasons he might have to want to stay away from/keep Lan Zhan out of things). He doesn’t see them as complementary, just as not-the-same.

He meets Jiang Cheng next and, hey, Jiang Cheng is actually really strong now, too (also he always was but meh). Again, Wei Ying uses his tricks to outwit and outmaneuver the situation at hand. Again, he’s struck by the impressive image of someone entering the scene like a badass.

And what a deliciously awful carousel of conflicting feelings. Pride? Despair? Longing? Love? Annoyance? Delight? Relief? Pain? Fear?

But as far as strength goes, clearly Jiang Cheng has it in buckets, now. Which means even if they still had a relationship, Jiang Cheng surely wouldn't even be the Jiang Cheng in it anymore. What a horrible realisation.

It can’t be helped much by the fact that Wei Ying almost lets himself get run through and Lan Zhan enters the scene to fucking save him. Even if it’s from the kid we know he just bested.

And that’s the back and forth we see at first. Wei Ying proving his strength and his character but the framing and his reactions proving that he’s still caught in the idea that Lan Zhan is stronger and better than him.

Lan Zhan is beloved. Lan Zhan is strong. Lan Zhan would never accidentally murder people he loved more than life itself. (OKay I won’t get into that but tell me he didn’t think that at any point I dare you)

He accepts it and plays it off as not a big deal, but it clearly is. In his rare serious moments, we see that.

So post-timeskip, Wei Ying has to figure out who he is and then how he can be said person. A significant part of the character and relationship development post-timeskip is about that.

He once again finds himself exploring uncharted territory of building relationship dynamics he’s never experienced with Lan Zhan. It started because he realised they were equals. It can’t develop further until he acknowledges that they still are.

He figures out how to be weak with Lan Zhan first, that it's safe and allowed and okay. There’s nothing wrong with being taken care of. It doesn’t have to define him and it doesn’t have to be about agency or about all the twisty psychological junk that was all wrapped up in his familial relationships at all.

Then he figures out that he still has the capacity to take care of someone like Lan Zhan back, that he’s still able to be needed, and not just someone to follow around and protect.

Wei Ying has strengths, strengths that were always there and always part of him as well as new ways he's grown and changed. He’s an inventor, he’s a genius, he’s a prodigy, he has his talismans and his music and his people skills and his teaching ability and his empathy and his heart.

All this definitely comes to a head on the steps of Jinlintai, by which point it feels like one of the only remaining imbalances that Wei Ying feels so keenly is their status, which of course Lan Zhan snuffs out utterly romantically.

It’s even more poignant that that moment comes right after Wei Ying gets Suibian back. And he's not nearly as good with it--Lan Zhan has to protect him multiple times in that fight and then of course he gets stabbed. But the point is still made, that he was still able to fight, and even his failures with the sword just drive home that this isn't who he is now. And that's okay.

By the time they're at the Burial Mounds again, Wei Ying has accepted the way they work as a team and that they can be complementary. And they fight flawlessly.

I love that growth for him.

He absolutely ends up being the Jiang Cheng, in a number of ways. He runs after Lan Zhan when he’s drunk to keep him out of trouble. He ends up left behind to take care of defenseless people while Lan Zhan runs off and has an epic sword fight in an evil fog bank.

He has to be taken from Lotus Pier, unconscious, in a boat, and is held so preciously in Lan Zhan’s arms.

But. Turns out it’s not so bad when the person you’re being Jiang Cheng for isn’t Wei Ying.

I swear this is not throwing shade at Wei Ying.

But he figures out, slowly, how to actually have a relationship built on even ground, as equals, in spite of being unequal in all the ways he used to think mattered. And he only manages it with someone once he’s on the weaker side of it.

I just think that’s super interesting.

And I think it sets a precedent for Wei Ying to understand the flaws in his old dynamic with Jiang Cheng. Especially once there aren’t secrets between them.

Everything has to change, anyway. Everything has already changed, almost two decades ago, and it isn’t going back. It can’t ever go back. Everything they were to each other was bound up in Jiang Yanli’s presence, in promises long broken, in dreams long dead, in a future that has already proved to not be real. In the old Lotus Pier, a lot of it, since they never really moved on from that, either, even back then.

Jiang Cheng has grown up. He’s raised a kid. He’s raised and trained disciples. He’s been a sect leader for over a decade and a half. He’s been to other people what he never could be to Wei Ying.

He’s also proven that he still wants his brother to fix things, still expects him to be able to. Still wants to fight, still knows how to cry. Still acknowledges fragmented pieces of their lost dynamic. Probably more of the healthy ones than Wei Ying ever has, too.

Jiang Cheng still, even in the wake of learning about the golden core, even after everything he’s built and has become, acknowledges Wei Ying as a strong person. As someone as strong as he is, if not stronger in many ways. As having the capacity of an older brother.

But then, Jiang Cheng was always able to conceptualise a world where he and Wei Ying were equals, complementary if not evenly matched, just as much as Lan Zhan was.

It wasn’t a fantasy that Wei Ying indulged him in. It was a reality that Wei Ying himself didn’t know how to accept and kept at a distance, carefully juggling too many separate parts of a whole he couldn’t allow to come together until they all crashed down.

But he’s been on the other side of it now and maybe it’s enough. Maybe he can take what he’s learned in building/rebuilding his relationship with Lan Zhan and apply it to other people. Especially Jiang Cheng.

And maybe Jiang Cheng has been a sect leader and an uncle long enough to not let Wei Ying get away with shit.

[plus-size-reader]

Love

Geralt of Rivia x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2005 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Geralt confesses his feelings for the reader as she’s bleeding out but when she recovers, he isn’t sure how to navigate from there.

——————————————————————————————————

Geralt told you that he loved you.

He thought you were dying, and he told you that he loved you.

However, the stab wound you’d suffered at the hands of that man wandering through the forest hadn’t been as deep as you’d initially assumed and you were nearly back to normal in a few days.

That left the three of you; Geralt, Jaskier, and you in a rather precarious position. Jaskier had taken on the tedious job of changing your bandages and making sure you didn’t tear at the mediocre stitches he’d given you while Geralt wouldn’t even look at you.

You weren’t sure what it was that you’d done but you were sure of one thing, you were sure that Geralt hated you. For one reason or another, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he never spoke to you again.

The biggest trouble with the witcher was that you barely understood him in the first place but after everything that had happened lately, you couldn’t even guess what he was thinking.

...And you couldn't even ask him because he wouldn’t be near you for more than a moment or two in passing.

So, you had to stick to what little contact you did have and talked through all your worries and concerns with Jaskier. Even now, as he was fiddling with the wrap on your abdomen, you couldn’t focus on anything more than Geralt.

“Why would he say that to me? Assuming, ah, that he wouldn’t have to ever deal with the consequences?” you asked, only stopping in the middle to wince when Jaskier pulled away the bandage from the bloodied wound a little too aggressively.

You had thought over that moment over and over again since it happened, and you still couldn’t make sense of it.

Geralt was the first one of the two of them to find you there, laying in a puddle of your own blood, the man who stabbed you long gone by then. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there, or what was happening as you faded in and out of consciousness.

However, what you did remember more vividly than everything else was when Geralt leaned down over you, holding the wound in your stomach tightly with one hand and bracing your cheek with the other as he urged you to stay awake.

The pain was numbing, but after that much time, you barely even paid it any mind.

All you could focus on was Geralt’s face, and the words that fell from his lips as he tried to keep pressure on the wound.

“You’re going to be fine, just keep your eyes on me” he begged, doing his very best to keep calm though it was hard to ignore how much blood you had lost. He wasn’t sure that there was any way to come back from that.

Still, he couldn’t help but hope that you were going to pull through. Normally, something like that wasn’t going to just slip through the cracks but with everything going on, he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t leave me Y/N, I love you”

It was so real, and even though you did end up passing out on the way back to the camp, it was the first thing you remembered as soon as you did wake up.

Geralt loved you, and there was no moving on from that...at least, not for you.

He seemed to have wanted to completely forget it, as if he’d never said it at all. However, you couldn’t let it go nearly as easily, mostly because he offered no explanation.

If he told you that it was some kind of mistake, made out of the desperation of the situation, you could get on with your life as if it never happened, though it would hurt. The worst part of it all was that you had no frame of reference for it.

You didn’t even know if he cared for you or not.

...And Geralt wasn’t exactly clarifying.

Jaskier considered his words for a moment or so, folding a shred of cloth over itself a few times to make a bandage for your wound. It was healing rather nicely, all things considered but if you came down with an infection, it wouldn’t be for long.

Luckily, he had spent a few nights with a medicine woman a few years back and that brief knowledge helped both you and the witcher on your travels.

It wasn’t much, especially seeing as he spent more time studying her body than the things she was trying to teach him, but it was enough.

“Unfortunately my dear, Grumpy out there is the only one who can answer that. Who knows, maybe I would have done the same had I found you there” Jaskier shrugged finally, gesturing outside the tent to where Geralt was.

He wished desperately that he could help you understand and that he could give you the answers that you craved but he wasn’t in a position to do so. Truly, the only person who could tell you was the witcher, and you both knew it.

...Fuck.

You had really hoped that Jaskier would be able to tell you so you wouldn’t have to confront the man yourself, but as it would turn out, you didn’t have much of a choice.

So, you finished up with Jaskier, making sure to thank him for being so diligent in your care and then made your way out to the river, where Geralt was currently staring into the depths.

He had been being so strange lately, and there really was no explanation for it, the obvious aside. The two of you had never had trouble speaking to each other before but this was different.

These circumstances were beyond your control.

“Looking for something, witcher?” you questioned first, finding that was the best icebreaker you could have hoped for. You both knew where this conversation was going, but it had to be handled the right way.

You were both rogues as a general rule, but sometimes it was easier to hide behind the social pleasantries that you usually disposed of.

“No”

That was about what you’d been expecting, but you’d already made up your mind. You were going to have this conversation, even if you had to knock Geralt on his ass to do it.

You weren’t going to just sit around like a damsel in distress, waiting for him to decide that you were deserving of an explanation.

All you could do was sigh, unable to keep your frustration a secret anymore. You had been raking your brain for days, when you weren’t in inconsolable pain, desperate to understand.

Nothing made him say it, in that moment he deemed as the last of your life, but he did anyway and there had to be a reason.

“Enough of this Geralt, why have you been so distant lately? I can’t understand” you asked, no longer paying any mind to how crazy you may have looked.

He wasn’t the only one who’d had to face your mortality. You couldn’t have died there in that moore, and still, you couldn’t get him to even answer a few simple questions.

Of course you were losing patience.

“I’ve spoken to Jaskier, he has no idea. I’ve given it every possible moment I could, but I can’t think about it anymore. I’m going to drive myself mad” you explained, both your hands rubbing hastily over your face.

You just couldn’t sit back and pretend it didn’t happen and maybe he could. Maybe Geralt was perfectly content with never speaking to you again, but you werent.

If nothing else, he was a good friend of yours and that would be a loss all its own.

Now, Geralt had been ignoring you purposefully, of course. He had no idea how to address what had happened there under that oak tree but he understood where you were coming from as well.

It truly wasn’t fair of him to expect you to forget it.

...But he just wasn’t sure how to explain himself.

Deep down the witcher knew that he was completely and irrevocably in love with you but that wasn’t even something he was willing to admit to himself so how was he meant to just tell you?

There was too much at stake on both sides. If you did happen to feel the same for him, you would be in danger for all the days of your life that you had left but if you didn’t, his heart would surely shatter.

How was he meant to approach you after that?

You had made it abundantly clear that you were in this voyage for the long haul and it would be terribly strange to have to see one another every day after this.

Still, there was no refuting the truth.

You had started this conversation, and he couldn’t very well back out of it again. He could only get away with that for so long, and it was time to own up to what he’d done.

“I thought I’d lost you” he started finally, his voice low in his throat as he tried to keep any composure he still had. These weren’t the sort of things he was used to talking about, and it was difficult.

Though, he had already made peace with the fact that he owed you an explanation, so he just had to swallow his pride and get it over with.

Whatever was going to happen, it was best to just get it out of the way now.

“As did I” you joked, not missing a beat as you tried to lighten the mood but Geralt only looked at you, those golden eyes of his silently begging you to just let him get through this.

...So you did.

You held your tongue, fiddling with your fingers as you let the man compose his thoughts. You understood that this was difficult for him but at least he was trying to tell you the truth.

It was more than you thought you’d get, frankly, when you came out here.

“I could not bear the idea of losing you without telling you the truth, and the truth is that I love you, Y/N” he admitted, his words shocking you more than even you were prepared for.

Until this moment, you could only think back in hazy memory to when those words had left his lips, but you had no confirmation that it was real. As soon as he spoke them into existence again, it confirmed what you’d believed all this time.

Geralt was in love with you.

“I was a coward, hiding behind what had happened but it doesn’t really matter. I have felt this way for quite some time” he shrugged, not once looking you in the eye the entire time.

He would never admit it, but Geralt was afraid. He was terrified of how you would react to his grand confession but that was quick to fade. You didn’t even have a chance to reject him really because you immediately found yourself in his arms, your lips pressed to his own.

It was a quick motion, something you shouldn’t have done, because as soon as you pulled away from him, the haze melted away from the two of you and you realized that you’d just really hurt yourself.

Though, Geralt beat you to it. “Your stitches” he warned, setting you down on the ground almost immediately after scooping you up.

The realization left you as quickly as it had came, but you didn’t really care. Frankly, you had more on your mind than a few torn sutures and from the tent, where Jaskier had been watching, all he saw was you, leaping into the white haired man’s arms again.

He was going to have to clean that all up, but it was best to just let the two of you have your moment for now.

After all, it wasn’t everyday that you admitted your love to one another.

[tipsydipsydo]

Erotic Product: Lube

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 600+

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fluff; Smut; tiny bit of Angst

Warnings: Sexual Language & Dirty Talk;Insecurities; Appreciation of tiny Boobs♡; Boobjob with lace bralette on; Petnames; Mentions of premature ejaculation (yes, I love that shit!)

Status: Unedited

[Links]:

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

He knows very well that this area is really sensitive and that he should watch his mouth when it comes to this topic.

Nevertheless, the product, which were in your shared Erotic Advent-Calendar today, just screams to satisfy his inner desires. He feels these urges deep down in the pit of his stomach and he knows that it's possible for his dream to come true! Just the right accessiores are needed.

In today's Advent Calender Box was a Tube of Lube. It's a nice little present, every bedroom should have Lube in the drawers of the nightstand. The Problem is just that this product is a Basic and also a little bit unspecific, so you didn't really knew what you want to do with it tonight.

Well, your Boyfriend has a really nice Idea, he just needs to convince you that it's possible despite all of your expectations!

"Hey Babe...u-uhm, you know that we've got lube as today's Calendar Gift, right? I had some thoughts over the day and I have an Idea how we can use it tonight...", he starts to mutter quietly and actually a little nervous.

You put the book, which you're reading currently, aside and look up to your boyfriend with an exited smile and curious eyes.

"Hm? Tell me, Sweetheart!", you giggle and let your fingers ran through his thick hair.

"What about... what about I pour the lube all over your breasts and we try a boobjob?"

The sweet smile on your lips fell literally out of your face, you look up to him speechless and in Disbelieve, you don't know how to react to such a statement. There it is, the biggest vulnerability you've carried around with you and you tried your best to advoid this topic.

You don't have big boobs, you don't even have average sized boobs. You have a Double A Cup Size and here you have the confirmation that you're not able to please your boyfriend. The knowledge that Hoseok secretly loves Boobjobs and that all his previous girlfriends had a D or E Cup Size are not helping your scattered Ego at all!

"...you're such a fucking asshole, Jung Hoseok!", you scream at him, tears are dwelling up in your eyes while you're scrambling up from the couch and on your way to leave the house.

"Nononononono, Darling, that's not what I meant, Baby Girl! Hear me out, I thought about it and I have an Idea how we can make this happen and how you can please me with your beautiful tits. Just please hear me out! You remember the black lace bralette with the stretchy underbut band? Please put it on for me, yes?"

✦ ✦ ✦

"F-Fuck yes, Baby Girl, do it just like that! O-Oh my God, it feels so fucking good, Baby, your cute tits are perfect for that! Y-You can't imagine how close I am to cum all over your boobs and face!"

Hoseok breathes heavenly, droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead and he chokes countless moans out, completely lost in the pleasure you're giving him.

His rock hard cock is angry red and precum is mixing up with all the lube he poured over the valley of your breasts. Hoseok's dick is caught between the delicate swell of your pretty tits and the stretchy underbust band of your lacey bralette, keeping him in place. The rough fabric of the lace giving him some extra pleasure, actually making him crazy.

Hoseok can't stop praising you, complimenting your tiny boobs over and over again while your pussy is seeping in need and your heart is swelling in love for him. Fuck, you love your man so fucking much!

"Baby... oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck, I think I'm cumming-"

Taglist: @yoongisabby; @cys-mental-escapades; @princessrose110297

[thisissirius]

Siri, wow, can I have Buddie with Royal AU and Soulmate AU? I love your writing!

this made me so happy! i am here for this combo ;)

blink and almost miss eddie/buck, soulmates, royalty au

Trying to escape from his bodyguards is becoming a full time job.

Lucky for Buck, he’s been doing it since he was a toddler. Bobby never learns, always puts bodyguards with too much spine on Buck duty, as if he doesn’t already know Buck hates those types. 

“it’s for your protection,” Athena always says with raised eyebrows. 

Buck gets crushed one time in a freak accident and suddenly everyone wants him kept in bubble wrap. Under wraps. Heh. 

The pier is packed with people—Buck doesn’t pick his battles as well as he evades bodyguards and press—and Buck navigates them easily. Most people don’t pay him any notice, which works for him, and he manages to hover around a couple of stalls without getting his picture splashed onto social media. 

Buck catches sight of a kid with crutches on his own, looking at the people around him. When he was a kid, fresh in the state, Buck remembers getting lost because his bodyguards have always sucked, and he knows how terrifying it can be. He can’t help himself; he jogs up to the kid. “Hey, you alright?”

The kid immediately looks up, face shifting between emotions quickly. “My dad says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

“And he is absolutely correct,” Buck says, trying to think of something that will help him get this kid found. 

The boy’s eyes widened. “You’re the prince.”

“Ssh,” Buck says, pressing a finger to his lips and crouching down. He doesn’t think anyone around them has heard; nobody’s immediately stopping and demanding his attention. “Let’s keep that a secret for now, okay? Think we can catch up with your school?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation. “I’m not here with my school. Ms. Ingrid takes care of me when my Daddy works. She gets mad I can’t keep up.”

Buck feels a momentary flash of anger but covers it with a grin. “Do you know if Ms. Ingrid has a phone number we can call?”

“No,” the boy says. “She doesn’t give it to me. She says I’m too stupid to remember but my dad says I’m smart.”

Buck’s chest tightens further with anger but he crouches down, gives Chris the brightest smile he can. “I think I believe your dad, buddy. Do you know if he has a number?”

“Yes,” the kid says brightly, then his face falls. “It’s in my coat and Ms. Ingrid left it in the car.”

Ms. Ingrid is definitely Buck’s least favourite person. “Well, I’m gonna call some people myself, alright? Wanna find somewhere to sit until they get here and help us find your dad?”

“Okay,” the kid says. “He’s a firefighter but I don’t know where.”

Filing the knowledge away where he’ll probably never use it, Buck finds a nearby bench and directs the kid to it. He doesn’t know the protocol for this kind of thing, and if anyone sees, they might think he’s kidnapping the kid or something. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. “My name’s Buck.”

“I thought it was Evan,” the kid says, tilting his head back.

“My friends call me Buck,” Buck says carefully. 

The boy’s smile is blinding. “My friends call me Chris! My name’s Chris. Except when my dad’s mad or worried.”

Buck laughs gently; yeah, he knows those kinds of problems. “My dad gets like that too.”

Chris nods. “My dad says King Bobby is awesome.”

“That he is,” Buck says. He can’t wait to use that particular adjective on Bobby. “Right, let me just call for help, okay?”

Chris seems content to sit next to him on the bench, watching people go by. Buck pulls out his phone and bypasses his bodyguards, going straight for Hen. She’s managed to dig him out of several scrapes and he kinda needs her advice.

“—Why I even bother!” Hen’s yelling decreases and Buck gives Chris a funny look. Chris giggles and Buck hears Hen’s sigh. “That the kid?”

“Yep,” Buck says. “I don’t know where his chaperone is and I know people are starting to notice me. Any chance we can find this kid’s parents?”

“Just dad,” Chris adds helpfully. “Eddie Diaz, and he’s a firefighter. Mom’s dead.”

Buck’s heart lurches painfully. “I’m sorry to hear that, buddy.”

“It’s okay a lot of the time,” Chris says, though he looks a little sad. “Dad makes it more okay.”

There’s clacking from the other end of the phone and Buck tunes back into the conversation, keeping a hand on Chris’ shoulders. “Found him. I’ll call him and the cops. Please stay where you are.”

That means bodyguards. Buck rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told and waits.  

It takes about ten minutes for help to arrive in the form of Buck’s bodyguards. Bobby’s gonna be having people fired at the end of this, but Buck’s glad to have some friendly faces around. Thankfully, they don’t try to hustle him off the pier, and Buck assumes Hen’s contacted them and managed to get things under control.

Not long after, the cops arrive with an unimpressed Chim.

“What the hell?”

“Look,” Buck starts.

“No, I don’t wanna hear it,” Chim says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Cops, Buck, really?”

“It’s fine,” Buck stresses. “Whoever’s chaperoning Chris—”

“That would be me,” an unimpressed voice says. 

Chris shifts closer to Buck and whispers, “That’s Ms. Ingrid.”

“Christopher,” Ingrid says, and Buck hates her on sight. “What have I said about wandering off?”

“I didn’t,” Chris starts. 

“And lying,” Ms. Ingrid stresses. She looks at Buck—and he sees the flicker that she recognizes him—but immediately turns to the cops. “This man is kidnapping!”

“Hey now,” Buck says. 

“No he isn’t!” Chris cries. 

“I highly doubt that,” a new voice puts in.   

Buck looks up and fuck, that is one handsome man. He’s striding through the crowd, anger clear on his face, and Chris immediately perks up from behind Buck. 

“Dad!” 

The man sweeps in, hugs Christopher tightly, and Buck’s heart hammers against his chest for reasons he can’t explain. “Christopher.”

“Told you,” Chris says, looking up at Buck, and Buck can’t help laughing. He stops as soon as Chris’ dad stands, eyes narrowing. It takes a beat, two for him to realize who he’s staring at. 

“Oh shit,” he says. “Uh, I mean, your Highness.”

“Oh god, don’t,” Buck groans. “Listen, it’s—” 

“Dad,” Chris says, smiling widely, “this is Buck! He stopped me getting lost when Ms. Ingrid went ahead and—”

“I did not,” Ingrid stresses. 

Chris’ dad—Eddie, apparently—looks thunderous. “This isn’t the first time.”

Ingrid bristles, and Buck ignores Chim’s warning look to interject. “Chris was by himself,” he says, quietly when Eddie turns the full force of his gaze on him. It sends a shiver up Buck’s spine and makes him want to do whatever it’ll take to get Eddie to stay. What. The fuck. Ignoring it, Buck continues. “I didn’t know what else to do but have someone call you.”

“I appreciate it,” Eddie says.   

“Bo—your father is going to kill you,” Hen says, coming up behind Chim. Buck groans internally. Now that they’re both here, Buck’s in a world of trouble.

“It wasn’t Buck’s fault,” Chris says immediately. “He was helping me!”

Hen looks amused more than irritated, and Buck grins, knows Chris is winning her over already. Maybe she won’t eviscerate him once this is over. “Is that right?”

Chris nods. “Please don’t be mad, Ma’am. Dad says we should be grateful to people who help us.”

“Should we?” Hen says.

Chris’ dad flushes, hands on Christopher’s shoulders. “Buddy, I think we should—”

“Please don’t go,” Buck says immediately. He knows how it sounds and can feel his own cheeks heat up. “Let me sort things with the cops and then we can talk or something, I just want—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hen and Christopher’s dad say at the same time.

Buck deflates, crouching down in front of Chris. “I’m glad we met, buddy.”

“Me too,” Chris says, looking sad. “Am I allowed to hug a prince?”

Though his bodyguards might throw a fit, Buck doesn’t give a fuck. “You absolutely are.”

Chris moves forward a step, wrapping his arms around Buck’s shoulders. Buck squeezes him gently, breathing in a scent that’s oddly familiar, though he can’t pinpoint how. When he pulls back, he gives Chris a bright smile. 

“I’m glad I met you, Christopher.”

“Me too.” Chris says. “I wish we could be friends for longer.”

Buck feels something settle in his chest, an uncomfortably tight feeling. “Yeah. But you have to do something, alright? Make sure you always keep smiling and definitely make sure to take care of your dad.” 

Chris nods and Buck doesn’t know what to make of the indecipherable look on Eddie’s face.

“This is ridiculous,” Ingrid snaps. “He doesn’t get accused of kidnapping because he’s a prince?”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Buck puts in. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, stepping between Buck and Ingrid. “I left Chris in your care and you abused it. I won’t be paying for today’s session and you can guarantee I won’t be sending Chris to you again.”

“We have a contract,” Ingrid starts. 

“Voided,” Hen cuts in. “If you like, we can talk about it with the cops.” Placing a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder, Hen steers her away and Buck lets out a slow breath.

Eddie’s still standing in front of him looking angry and Buck wants to wipe the expression off his face. 

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Eddie asks, genuinely surprised. 

“You didn’t have to step in. For all you know, I could have kidnapped your kid.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie says immediately.

Buck doesn’t want to argue, he doesn’t, but his mouth is already saying, “how do you know,” before he can stop it.

There’s a strange expression on Eddie’s face, like he’s not sure himself, but he’s shaking it off. “Chris says you didn’t. I trust my son.”

“Then I’m glad I met Chris,” Buck says, smiling down at Chris, who grins. “You have a pretty awesome kid, Mr. Diaz.”

“Eddie.” Making a face, Eddie’s lips quirk up into a soft smile. “I’m only Mr. Diaz when I have to be.”

Buck laughs at that, though he doesn’t know why; it’s not particularly funny. Something about Eddie puts him instantly at ease. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“You too,” Eddie says, holding his hand. 

It’s easy enough for Buck to place his hand in Eddie’s with every intent to shake it. As soon as their palms touch, Buck feels hot, his body burning from head to foot. He can’t stop staring at Eddie, who’s watching him back, mouth open, eyes wide. Buck wants to get lost in them, can’t help but move forward. Eddie meets him halfway, free hand coming up to touch Buck’s cheek. Every place they touch has Buck tingling and he breathes out a soft noise. 

Eddie moves forward, crashing his lips to Buck’s. It’s instantaneous, the build up of emotion and it rushes in, fills every part of Buck’s head until he’s dizzy with it. He’s accepting the bond, he knows, letting Eddie consume him, and Eddie’s doing the same otherwise it wouldn’t work and he—

“Uh,” he says when he wakes up.

“Idiot,” a familiar voice replies. Chim, Buck thinks, cracking open one eye. “Wake up, Princess.”

“Prince, actually,” Buck says, and his head is pounding. “What happened?”

There’s enough of a silence that Buck opens his eyes. He’s laying on the ground. Wood. Sounds of the pier rush in at the same time the memories do and he jerks up, frantically looking for Eddie. 

“I’m right here,” Eddie assures him, and there’s a hand on the back of his head. “You passed out.”

“Oops,” Buck says, and closes his eyes again. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

There’s a soft press of lips to his head. Buck tingles. Eddie breathes. “Is that normal?”

“I don’t know,” Chim says, sounding put-out. “Hen’s the soulbond expert.”

“Oh,” Buck says. “We bonded.”

Another silence.

“I don’t mind,” Buck says, groping around, satisfied when Eddie’s fingers tangle with his. 

“I’m a widower,” Eddie says gently, his voice low. When Buck opens his eyes again, trying to ignore the swirl of anxiety deep in his chest that he knows doesn’t belong to him, he can see the fear on Eddie’s face. Eddie swallows, looks over to Chris, who’s being looked after by an attentive Hen. “I have a kid and a shit ton of baggage.”

Buck knows what this is and he doesn’t like it. He leans in, forehead against Eddie’s shoulder and thankfully, Chim leaves them to it. “I don’t care.”

“Evan—” 

“Buck,” Buck says helplessly. 

Eddie sounds worried, but Buck can feel his heart pounding beneath his cheek, an emotion strong in Eddie’s mind that Buck doesn’t dare name. “Buck.”

“I get it’s a lot,” Buck says quietly. “I’m a prince and I’m—well I’m sure you know.”

“I read things,” Eddie admits, hand resting on the back of Buck’s head. He starts stroking, gently, and Buck wants it forever. “I don’t know you.”

“We can learn.” Buck doesn’t want to pull back, but he needs to look Eddie in the eye. “If you want.”

Eddie’s smile could light a thousand dark days. “Alright.”

“Good,” Buck says and leans in, kisses Eddie again. It’ll never get old, he thinks, and then looks up as the clatter of crutches on wood drags his attention away from what Eddie tastes like. 

“Buck!” Chris pauses. “Are you okay?”

“I am now, Chris,” Buck assures him. 

Chris looks at Eddie, then Buck, then back to Eddie. “Is Buck your friend, Dad?”

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that,” Hen says, looking at Buck pointedly.

“Bobby’s going to kill me,” Buck groans.

“As in King Bobby?” Eddie says, going instantly pale.

Buck nods. 

“Oh, shit, you’re a prince,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah.” Buck speaks slowly. “You know this.”

“Does this make Dad a prince too?” 

Oh. Oh shit, Buck’s going to die.   

Chim raises his eyebrows. “Oh no, neither of you are going anywhere. We’re going back to the palace to explain this.”

“Yay,” Chris cheers. 

“Awesome,” Buck says, heavy with sarcasm. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Eddie replies.

Buck stares at him, feels the thrum of fear from Eddie. Beneath it is a rush of warmth, pride, and adoration. Love, Buck thinks. It’s love. “We’re gonna be fine,” he blurts, hopeful.

It takes a moment, but Eddie nods, touching Buck’s face again. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 1

REWRITE OF “Can You See The Stars”

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: fear of being kidnapped Word Count: 2.4k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam.  A/N:This is my second attempt at the story everyone loved, with an actual pllot in mind this time. So, attempt number two, better writing, better story. Have at it kids.

I have tagged the old taglist for this first part. Let me know if you wanna be removed/ added

Beta: The lovely @percywinchester27​ . Thank you so so much hon :) Masterlist

Chapter One: you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night

Y/n   |  Sam

The road to independence is uphill, and Y/n knows this better than anyone. She’s done it all. She’s gone through jobs at a similar speed with which she goes through books, worked two or more of them, while also studying for college… She knows how it works, and it’s really fucking difficult to balance emotional baggage the size of a city, an underage sister and college, while also trying to keep, not only yourself, but another person, alive, under a safe roof with food in your stomachs.

Currently, she’s only working one job, at a dive bar owned by a friend of a friend as a waitress.

It’s a difficult job, and Y/n has struggled with it, but the hardest part is not the endless knowledge one needs to mix drinks –on the nights Joel takes time off and she has to take his spot behind the bar- or the carrying up to twenty pounds of glasses and drinks and delivering them at the right table without soaking herself or anyone else with copious amounts of alcohol. Any minimum wage worker will tell you the same thing- clients of any kind fucking suck. Especially if you’re a young woman at a dive bar after midnight.

Another thing she’s struggled with is not having too much money, which is why she’s needed multiple jobs in the past, so she has to use public transport- buses specifically, to go to and from work. And that is exactly where she finds herself, a couple hours after midnight, at her bus stop, five minutes from the bar, when she finds a phone which, unbeknownst to her, will flip her world upside down.

It sits on the pavement of the bus stop, limp and sad. The screen is cracked a significant amount, and for a second she figures someone got rid of it and was too much of an asshole to throw it in the trash. But the second that thought crosses her mind, the screen lights up with a concerning text.

dude where the fuck are you?!

The contact reads “Sam”, and Y/n stands over the phone staring at it. She’s concerned. What if the phone’s owner is in trouble? The device may have fallen from their pocket on the pavement and cracked because they were running from someone and never made it home, and now whoever is texting them is worried for their well-being. Anxiety grips her heart.

It’s instinct that brings her to kneel down and pick it up. She can’t possibly know when the owner lost it, or how long the phone has been sitting there, but there’s an overwhelming urge to contact this Sam person and let them know what’s going on. Of course, the voice in Y/n’s head tells her that this all could just be a product of her anxiety, but it beats leaving it there and having it be stolen by a passerby.

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, she contacts the owner, who is perfectly safe and sound, and they take their phone back. She’s not really planning to pocket it. It’s fairly damaged anyways. Her own three year old, beat-up, 100$ phone is in better condition.

The bus arrives, and Y/n picks up the phone and boards it.

As she sits in her usual seat in the back, alone in the bus apart from an elderly man asleep with his head on a window and a cap on his head near the front, she starts speculating, eyes glued to the black device in her hands. Who’s the owner? Who is Sam to them? Perhaps a partner? A friend? How did the owner lose their phone? Why would this Sam sound so concerned, and most importantly, is the owner okay?

The heavy weight of dread weighs her chest at the thought of the phone’s owner being in trouble and without a phone. She must contact Sam immediately.

Hey, is this Sam?

As she awaits for a response, her curiosity is killing her. The intrigued part of her, reasons that she should snoop, it’s alright, she’s only looking for more information about the owner. Like whether or not they’re a woman or a man- which, sadly, matters when you’re walking alone in dark streets like the ones around this area- and perhaps their age –because, again, it matters if they are a teenager or a forty-year old adult.

The lack of passcode indicates someone older, with nothing to hide, or perhaps someone less technologically savvy, again, someone who may not be very young. The lockscreen is the most popular Led Zeppelin icon, and she instantly respects their music taste, and the home screen is some generic western movie from the 90s with Clint Eastwood. The chances of this belonging to someone younger further decline.

There’s a grand total of four downloaded apps in the phone. There’s an email app, a scrabble app, a microphone recorder and a dating app, no other sign of social media. Someone over 18 years old, definitely.

Soon, she’s tapping on the dating app, and opening their profile page. Holy shit, she thinks.

A guy, the tall, dark and handsome kind. Spiky hair and a smolder-like smile, sharp edges everywhere on his face apart from his gentle, olive-shaped and colored eyes. His lips are full, his nose straight, and his eyelashes long, dark and thick. He’s a real-life dreamboat, the kind you see in movies and Cosmopolitan articles about sex. He’s sitting on a black muscle car, a Chevrolet, with his thick thighs barely contained in blue jeans.

Dean Winchester, the app writes. 28. Male. Likes: old cars, beer, hard rock, westerns, she figured that much, bacon burgers. Dislikes: pop music, modern horror movies, uncomfortable beds. Not looking for anything serious, just a night of fun ;), and wow, okay, he sounds a bit like a dick. The very Red-blooded American Male kind, that enjoys BBQs and winking at women from across the bar. She’s had enough of those during her line of work; she can recognize them from a mile away.

Whatever the case, her moral compass couldn’t allow her to pass up on the opportunity to possibly help someone in trouble. She ignores her urge to roll her eyes, and scrolls a little, finding other pictures of the same guy, when suddenly two separate notifications appear, the phone itself vibrating. One is from the app, which has now received a picture from this girl, Jamie, one which she certainly doesn’t plan on opening, seeing as it’s followed by a winky face. The second one is from Sam.

jesus dean how drunk are you

yes it’s sam. your brother? remember?

No, this isn’t Dean, uh.

My name is Y/n. Your brother lost his phone at a bus stop, near a bar.

i should’ve figured. dean rarely ever uses punctuation.

nice to meet you i guess

Nice to meet you, too.

So basically, uhm, I thought you might help me return his phone to him? I got worried, because this was dumped on the sidewalk, I thought he may be in trouble or something.

knowing him he probably dropped it while being too shitfaced to function.

gotta admit i’m impressed though. most people would’ve pocketed it by now.

I mean, it’s not much use to me with such a cracked screen haha.

yeah i guess.

i don’t know about getting it back to him though. i’m in kansas right now so i’m not close by. i don’t think i can help you.

he doesn’t use social media either.

Crap.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this phone then?

keep it probably.

You sure there’s no other way I can reach him?

i mean i can give you his email but i’m not sure he’ll respond.

I’ll take it. Thank you :)

no problem :)

As she looks up the bus stops, and she quickly realizes this is her stop. Throwing profanities loudly enough to wake the older man at the front of the bus, she scrambles for her things, haphazardly thrown in the seat next to her, and gets off the bus. She pats herself down, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything as the doors of the bus shut, and starts down the road to her apartment complex.

She could probably navigate this road blind. There are many ways to reach the apartment she’s renting from the bus stop, but her favorite goes through the park. It’s a large area, full of big trees with thick foliage and leaves that brown in the fall. The paths are paved and winded, and the park benches are stained with dark wood stain and curve comfortably. She enjoys coming here in evenings she has off, watching the sun descend behind the top of the trees with a good book.

The air smells like oncoming rain now, and with headphones deep in her ears, she walks taking deep breaths and enjoying the clear atmosphere that seems so unlike the roads that surround the park. As soon as she spots the first raindrop falling from the sky, she pulls her hood over her head and smiles.

It’s minutes later, when single drops have picked up to a drizzle, that she gets a sinking feeling, her hair standing up on edge at the back of her neck, shoulders knotting closer to her ears. Someone is close to her.

With the wire pinched between her thumb and index, she pulls one earbud off and pays attention to the surrounding sounds. Sure enough there’s a second pair of footsteps behind her.

Fuck, if she gets kidnapped or attacked right now, she’s fucked. There are no witnesses, and at this time of night screaming for help would be futile. She checks her bag, but her paper spray is nowhere to be found.

Yeah. Definitely fucked.

Her hands go deep in her pockets, going for her phone, but as she hears the footsteps behind her picking up speed along with hers, she panics and grabs Dean’s instead. She doesn’t look for her own, there’s no time for that, so she does the first thing she thinks of.

She texts Sam.

I think I’m being followed.

what?

Yeah

wait what’s going on? are you okay? who’s following you?

I’m walking home from work. I can’t see who it is, but they’re definitely on my tail.

how are you even typing right now??

is there any buildings around?  somewhere public to get in?

It’s 3 am. Everything is shut and I’m in the middle of a fucking park, Sam.

Fuck, I’m fucked.

what are you doing at 3 am in the middle of a fucking park then?!

A hand falls on her shoulder and she goes to scream, before she’s quickly spun around. Her free hand is curled in a fist, ready to fall on the attacker’s nose, when they speak.

“Y/n! I thought it was you!”

“Connor?!” She squints and pushes her hair away from her forehead, heart just about ready to fail out of the fright she’s gotten. “Fuck’s sake, dude, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night like this?!” Rain still falls on her, grounding her to the present, the fact she won’t have to fight for her life and corporeal integrity sinking in slowly.

Her neighbor smiles a crooked smile, watching her place a hand over her heart and taking a deep breath. His fluffy blonde hair is damp under the light rain, light green eyes glowing under the street lights. She’s so angry at him right now, she legitimately thought she was gonna die for a second there.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “I didn’t think to call out to you.” A shrug.

“It’s okay,” it’s really not, but there’s no point in staying angry at him. Besides, she figures she’ll be a little safer with him walking next to her all the way back to their apartment complex.

On the way back, they catch up. Connor is back in town after a long week and a half at his sister’s wedding. He’s in a brand new relationship with the guy he’s been pining over for like 9 months now, and he got a job at the bookstore, close to their building, he’s starting next week. He was out for a drink, he offers as an explanation, and was returning home, when he bumped into her. The park is also his favorite route to take.

The key dangles from her hands and finds a home in the lock and twists, while Y/n waves at her neighbor.

“Have a good night, Connor.”

“You too, Y/n.” It’s delivered with a wink and a bright smile.

The motions of dropping her bag by the kitchen counter, dumping the keys in the small bowl and hanging her coat on the hanger are delivered on autopilot in quick succession. Shoes toed off, hair pulled out of her lazy bun, she falls unceremoniously on her thrifted couch, feet suspended on the hand rest. Emmy must be asleep, the only lights on in the house are the fairy lights over the couch, setting a soft glow over the furniture. Y/n sighs. What a day.

Seconds before she falls asleep on the couch, a phone vibrates and it’s definitely not her own. Her eyes snap wide open, and she curses, fumbling with Dean’s device.

The messages are seven, and they all share the same panicked tone. Upon reading them, Y/n facepalms and curses, guilt weighing her down. Poor guy.

y/n?

what’s going on?

are you okay?

y/n

what the hell is going on.

you’re not replying.

please text me if you’re safe.

My God, Sam, I’m so sorry.

It was a neighbor/friend, he sneaked up on me.

you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night.

I’m genuinely so sorry, Sam, I had no idea it was him.

it’s okay

you were scared.

i am starting to question your choice in friends though.

Y/n grins for the first time that day. It’s wide and full. Sam sounds like a guy she’d hang out with.

Hahahah yeah.

I promise, Connor’s odd, but he means well.

well i have to go

but i’m glad you’re safe

Again, I’m really sorry to make you go through that.

it’s fine really.

Thank you.

Goodnight :)

Night :)

 ---

Part 2

A/N 2: Tell me how you’re liking the rewrite! 

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove​ @sammysgirl1997​ @kymberlytorres​ @bambi95-blog​ @demonic-meatball​ @thekarliwinchester​ @littlekay15​ @li-m-ii​  @thinspo-isuppose​ @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker​ @marichromatic​ @illuminatus42​ @lazy-author​ @mirandaaustin93​ @hauntedsiriel​ @pilaxia​ @devilgirlsarah​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @captiveties​ @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes​ @captainmarvelcorps​ @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away​ @nellachain​

[peachyteabuck]

a king is first a man [snippet]

summary: thor’s fighting a double-fronted war, desperately attempting to quell the flames of a revolution, and is grappling with his father’s long-since murder on the battlefield all those years ago. somehow, none of that compares to the trouble of his new queen. 

this is a commission for @empyreanwritings​ who commissioned a snippet from the full work.

pairing: thor odinson x reader

words: 2507

trigger warnings: medieval au i did very little research for, brat taming that includes spanking as a punishment, allusions to breeding kink, angst related to social position if you squint. 

notes: major credit to @spacelabrathor​ for allowing me to steal this concept and write a full fic for it. she’s legit the best and i can’t thank her enough for putting up with me - both in relation to this fic and the rest of our friendship. she’s legit THE shit and deserves everything. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

She walks with the grace one would expect of someone like her: educated, precise, bored. Her back is straight as an arrow, feet silent, smile barely touching her cheeks as she hangs her head in feigned sorrow. In the dim lighting of the “secret��� (known only to the highest of servants, the king himself, and, apparently, her) hallway she looks kind, mournful. If Thor did not know better, he might have offered his regards, asked if there was anything he could do to bring one of those toothy grins back to her bright face.

Unfortunately, Thor does know better. He knows as much about her as he does his greatest enemy – what they teach all the generals to learn before undertaking something serious as war: motivations, desired outcome, what leverage she holds over the throne and anyone dumb enough to occupy it. He knows what she thinks, why she thinks it, what she thinks will happen.

Despite this plethora of knowledge and years of military training and etiquette classes and warning from those he trusts the most, Thor loses himself as he backs her into the wall, never touching her but commanding the space between them with precision – just as he yields a sword during battle.

That’s how his heart feels, too, pounding in his chest as if his ribs were the bars separating him from his captor. He can feel heat course through his body, his hands flexing as flint strikes steel in each of his veins. He wonders, for a brief moment, if he is dying – if she had poisoned him just to fall into the very seat she claimed she loathed. No – he quickly realizes. That would be too easy. If she were to kill him, were to stop his heart or slit his throat or plunge his father’s sword into his chest, then were would be no game for her to play; there would be no place for her lightning to strike whenever she wished. She – Gods forbid – would be saddled with responsibility, something her childish bones could not handle. Like a house with no foundation she’d crumble, curling in on herself as servants and soldiers and saddle hands all pried for her attention.

“What?” she questions, arms folded across her chest. Her brow is furrowed, jaw set as she breaks Thor’s thoughts and wretches him back to the moment – back to her. It’s always her, isn’t it? Always has to be her, ever since she arrived on that carriage and turned her nose up at him and refused to kiss the family ring.

“You know what,” he snarls back at her, teeth bared as he leans in close enough to smell whatever the chambermaids had placed in her morning bath. Yesterday it was lavender – light and airy as she explored the castle as if she was a ghost peering through a window. Today was something stronger, something that bites at Thor’s nostrils just as she bites at his patience. “You know you are not supposed to attend meetings of a royal nature unless specifically given permission.”

Thor watches her carefully, watches as she doesn’t even flinch as she lets out a small laugh, rolling her eyes before returning the king’s gaze. It’s odd to see someone like her – someone so young – look back at him with such fire, determination. It had taken him years to reach that level of confidence, to develop the will to stand up to someone as powerful as himself. He can’t tell if he’s furious or impressed or both. Either way, he refuses to let her get the best of him.

Thor grabs her by the back of her neck, quickly flipping her around so her cheek is pressed against the smooth, cold stone, her hands pressed against the wall near her sides.

“If you want to act like a child-“ Thor hisses as each hand pins one of her wrists. “I am going to treat you like one.

The second she’s picked up and tossed over his one of his broad shoulder, she does her best to contort an exit for herself, thrashing and kicking like a cat that had been plunged into a freezing river. Thor, though, maneuvers her as if she was some inert object he was placing on a newly dusted shelf, keeping her wrists pinned behind her back and avoiding the kick of her heel as he carries her into the large chambers they now – whether she liked it or not - share. When he steps through the threshold, he ignores her cries for a moment longer, taking in the scent of her that had filled the room as he notices mused linen bedsheets and pillows strewn across the room, despite knowing it had been made by ever-attending servants when she had gotten up from her midday nap.

Had she been touching herself before she interrupted Thor’s meeting with the council? Had she plunged three fingers into her dripping center, chasing the world’s sweetest pleasure? Had she thought of her husband while she gushed over her hand? Had she whispered his name so the servants would not hear her shameful lust, or had she screamed it – hoping one of them would call upon him to make her stop? Did she think that they thought he had that much power over her?

Thor shakes his head, returning to his original mission. The king smoothly navigates the large room while making sure his bride doesn’t knock anything over (she had ordered many a plate of treats while she was alone, barely picking at any of them, even as the carts the servants placed them on filled the room). Like the minotaur in the maze, he carries her with ease. In the back of her mind she can’t help but admire that – as if he can predict her every physical movement with precision, even before she knows exactly what her flailing limbs plan to do.  

Without warning, she’s dropped onto the center of the large bed. She sees her chance of escape, but her hope is quickly squashed when Thor grunts as he moves to pin her down, grabbing both of her wrists in one of his large, war-bitten hands. Something inside her can’t help but flutter as he manhandles her into the position Thor believes befits her behavior, one where he sits at the edge of the bed while her stomach is laid upon his muscular thighs. Her thin dress is torn without so much as a shrieking RRIIIIIPPP – as if even the fabric is surprised how efficiently it is ripped off the newly-appointed queen’s body. It sends a shiver down her spine, the knowledge of the king’s strength and size rusty in its age but easily shined with each exercise of Thor’s power.

“All you brats are the fucking same,” he growls through grit teeth as his large hands lay sharp slaps over her thin underclothes, preparing her for the punishment to come. “You push and you push and you get what’s coming for you and then you act as if you’re innocent.”

The queen gulps, still attempting to free her hands while her legs kick. Thor just laughs at her, pushing her wrists harder into the small of her back as he continues to smack her plump ass.

“Keep trying, my little morning dove,” the nickname given to her by the driver of the carriage she had road in on all those days before falls from his lips like blood after a swift kick to the face, pooling onto her back and in her center. “Eventually you’ll run out of fight and then this will go much easier.”

She huffs, dramatically yelling as the last of her fabric protection is stolen from her, exposing her to hot air in the room. “What on Earth are you talking about!? I didn’t do anything!”

Thor just snorts, leaving a few more smacks against her bare flesh. “This little innocent act you’ve been playing up all these years? It isn’t going to work on me.”

She scoffs, her next inhale sharp as his favorite battle sword with one final slap being laid against her. “I…I-“

The king just laughs deep in his chest, his hand moving from the round of her ass to between her now-trembling legs. Each ounce of golden defiance that once replaced the blood in her veins seemed to disperse as he touches her there, gathering the slick that dripped onto his pants. Suddenly, the clothing feels much tighter than before (though, whether it had occurred in that instant alone was unlikely) as he watched the pads of his wettened fingers reflect the torches along the wall. His face heats as the corners of his lips turn up into a smile – though he suspects the fires are not to blame.

“You took your retribution well,” he tells her, letting go of her now limp wrists to rub at the heated skin. She moans, pressing her face into the thickest gathering of blankets her limited movement grants her, last taste of insolence drying on her tongue. “I think I should show you what those who behave are rewarded with.”

She’s unable to process his words before she’s flipped again – Thor now on his feet while she remains on the bed, though now flat on her back. She’s completely bare but finds no shame in her exposure, watching her husband with fevered attention as he rips his shirt from his body.

Thor’s barely able to pull his linen pants under his ass before she’s begging for him, mumbling something that falls between a prayer and a spell to beckon the king closer to her – words low and desperate as they’re spoken into the heated air between them. He’s so hard it hurts, like his shoulder after he gets a newly weighted sword or his calves when he rides a new horse. It’s this simmering thing inside of him, water in a cauldron close to boiling but not quite there; his whole being existing on the precipice of something he can’t quite identify.

It’s not as if he has the time for introspection, though, because the second the air hits the skin of his hardened cock and she’s grabbing at him and pulling him to her, inside of her and for the first time since he was considered too young to be king his mind is-

Blank.

His mind is blank with a white-hot fire that blinds him as his guttural moans form a symphony with hers. Neither of them speak, neither of them can, brains preoccupied with their bodies and their bodies preoccupied with each other. It feels like battle almost, some carnal instinct commanding his every move while whatever consciousness keeps him tethered to the present surrenders itself to some orgiastic impulse. For the first time in a long time the monarch feels himself lose control as his hands roam her heated skin, as his war-torn palms feels the supple flesh of her chest and pinch at her pert nipples.

She inhales sharply at the small pinch of pain, the way she clenches around him encouraging him to continue.

“Oh!” she moans, loud and unabashed.

Thor had not taken a woman in a long while, too busy with his duties as king. He had moved bedrooms, in fact, since the last time he’d bed anyone, and had no idea whether the architecture granted him privacy from the staff. However, just as you practically waltzed into his highly contentious meeting, Thor allows himself to grunt and roar and curse without pity for the ears of those within the rest of the large castle.

One of his hands plants itself in the sheets, using it for balance as the other moves to rub at the most sensitive part of her. He revels in her screams of pleasure, in her pleas for him not to stop don’t stop don’t stop it’s yours take it please take it please!

A sense of pride swells in Thor’s chest, blossoming with the soil of watching her switch from rebellion to subservience with him having to do so little in such a short period of time.

Tightening in his abdomen distracts him from his preening, hips chasing the same peak she seems to be close to.

Thor tries to piece himself together enough to ask a question he wishes he didn’t have to. “Where do y-“

“Inside of me!” she immediately gasps, voice strained and desperate. “Please!”

Just as he wishes she would, he does exactly as he is told with nearly no hesitation – unloading inside of her just as she screams with her own release.

If the palace occupants could not hear them before, they surely heard the married couple then as they both shouted in vulgar unison. Deep and animalistic and wonderful, they both pant as they fall into a breathless kiss.

Her high recedes like the lake that runs through the kingdom at the beginning of dry season – slow and deliberate and leaving her with a dry mouth. She stares at the ceiling, noticing for the first time that a map of the kingdom has been painted there. It seems, just as she views the room, that she sees the rest of the world with a sharper eye; she wonders that if she were to be escorted outside by one of those ghastly ladies in waiting outside, she would see the night sky with more precision than ever before. If she could sift through the darkness, would she be able to draw the stars? If she were to look back down to Earth and attempt to traverse the forest, could she watch the fauna as they walked through the pitch black?        

“Drink this,” Thor’s gruff voice cuts through the thick fog in her brain, handing her one of those obnoxious chalices. The metal and jewels adorning it are cooled by the chilled water inside of it, and she wonders how it stayed so cold despite the heat in the room. “You need to keep a clear head.”

She gives a little snort as she gulps the water down, small droplets spilling from her lips and down between her breasts. It takes all of the king’s minute willpower not to drink that down, too. “Why would I need that?”

Thor…does not have an adequate answer to that, at least one he can articulate. There’s a sense of dread that settles into his gut, winds its way through his gut and makes him feel queasy. He wonders if she hates Asgard just as her mother presumably hates his new wife’s home kingdom, if Thor had done something so devastatingly wrong to this poor young woman and the both of them would have to live in the choice forever.

“You know, if you’re going to spiral each time I say something like that, I’m going to need to behead you,” she jokes as she places the chalice back in Thor’s hands. Her arms shake just a little as she does so.

It takes a long while for the man to respond.

[geminipdf]

what are the extracts abt education that you just posted from? It seems really interesting but I didn't entirely understand it. No worries if u don't want to lol but could you explain what point the author was trying to make?

the excerpts are from a book by Mark Fisher called ‘Capitalist Realism. Is There No Alternative?’ which i want to kind of binge-read in one day cause it’s a good compilation of points that can be made about capitalism and its effects on our everyday lives, the economy, education, etc. it doesn’t really discuss anything in-depth but i personally think it does a good job of pinpointing the central issues with capitalist reality!

mark fisher’s point is that educational institutions are currently in a pretty fraught position and that position affects teachers, since they are the one dealing with students directly. there’s been a shift in dealing with students and enforcing discipline - the author is a college professor himself and he brings up his own students as an example - since disciplinary structures are buckling in institutions and being replaced with other kinds of “softer” modes of control, he observes that students have no motivation to work and study or even pay attention in class, they’re unable to focus, read, work on stuff that used to interest them. capitalism grips us not with rigid control, but with something Fisher describes as “systems of perpetual consumption”. once we’re cut off from the things that give us instant gratification, we become basically helpless. if we don’t have youtube, instagram, facebook, TV running in the background we become bored and fall into a stupor, if we’re not interacting with a videogame/a virtual reality, we are understimulated and depressed. we don’t really read anymore, since reading stuff online is more like data processing and has little to do with reading a book. and that’s what Fisher sees as a cause for so many students being diagnosed with dyslexia - he sees it as a political/systemic problem since it has recently become a very popular diagnosis. his own college students can’t read shit for class because they see the process of reading as something too boring, too slow, not interactive and gratifying enough.

in the case of that second excerpt with the smoking oscar isaac gif - Fisher explores the topic of the position teachers are in right now. since i am a teacher rn i really Felt it, cause it’s literally like that!!!!!!! we are supposed to be someone with authority over students, someone that tells them what to do, when, where and how, someone they listen to and respect, we’re supposed to use discipline, but discipline is outdated, so students get bored and simply ignore most of the disciplnary measures teachers can threaten them with (pls keep in mind that i would never want to punish/discipline my students in any way lol and i don’t do it, but it’s something that the system expects from teachers). at the same time teachers are burdened with providing students with enough entertainment to keep them interested in education AND caring for the students and act as people who teach them how to navigate personal life, emotions, relationships, social norms, etc., something that’s traditionally ascribed to parents. so teachers are caught between the discipline-enforcer and care-taker role which kind of fucks u up. you have to be a good, loving teacher that teaches kids how to live but you also have to test their knowledge using a standardized test that doesn’t reflect their abilities and potentials at all, and fail some of them, even though you know they worked as hard as they could, because that’s how the educational system works. it sucks :(

the entire book is based on the point made by a lot of leftist academics which can be summarised in the notion that rigid control and discipline isn’t the thing that controls us anymore. there isn’t a one Big Bad Set of Rules which, if disobeyed, disciplines and punishes us in a visible and direct way, the control that is most persistent in modern societies is of a different kind - one that allows us to choose between a lot of options, one that seems “softer”, but it can actually control us in a way more effective way because it kind of supervises every single sphere of our lives.

this got really long... but i hope i made it a bit clearer lol

[knarme-stray]

*Sips more of my Sephiroth tea*

Sssoo. We do know that one ingredient of a person’s character and personality is the natural temperament the person is born with, something affected by the genetics and neurological qualities of that person. The rest is how that biological set-up reacts to and develops with the given environment. So we can assume Sephiroth’s natural-born temperament being a mixture of that of Hojo and Lucrecia, who are polar opposites as people.

Let’s try to figure out the natural temperament of Hojo and Lucrecia, shall we?

Hojo - I’m very confident that he is a natural-born psychopath without any inherent ability to feel bad for what he does to other people. Why I think he is psychopathic (born empathy-less and antisocial vs. made that by environment, which is what a sociopath would be) and not sociopathic, is because he has a high status in society and he seems to be living his dream life, a. k. a. he performs fantastically well and plays the system to benefit what he wants (in his case, his science). This takes ability to self-regulate and follow a calculated plan on how to do things, instead of acting impulsively and having melt-downs like sociopaths do.

     And just.. Look at that bulging skull of his, - it doesn’t take much brains to guess from appearance alone how much of a natural-born capacity for intelligence he possesses. He is a genius, lacks any regard for the well-being of others and therefore his primary way of viewing other people is seeing them as inferior beings and objects to use and manipulate. If he has any shreds of  prosocial feelings and instincts within him, they’re poorly developed and don’t allow him to see other people as his equals. His own observations of his own intelligence support his view that he is above everyone and he sees no problem in it. He operates in a completely different reality than the majority of other people, and I bet he knows that, feels smug about that and so forth.

      We do know that he is curious and he feels immense joy in solving problems and discovering incredible things he can create. I would say he is almost playful in this regard (and his “toys” are all living beings...). He likes to stretch his good ol’ mind muscle around things as far as he can. Damn, he’s even creative. I think the way Hojo sees himself is someone different, someone better than everyone else who’s had the joy to be born into a world where he can do the most magnificent things with science, explore his curiosity to his heart’s content. He may be human but he views himself as very separate from others because he naturally doesn’t feel similiarly as the majority of everyone else. Sound familiar?

Also. Hojo has a huge drive, he’s really darn efficient and energetic. He just keeps going like a train. Look at the amount of monsters he has made. This man runs on his sheer inspiration and won’t sleep. He is aggressive, too, and will kill or otherwise dispose of people who get in his way. He’s ain’t no mellow fellow... He’s really dangerous. 

     Hojo scores very high in the natural psychopathy spectrum, intelligence, aggression, curiosity, creativity, drive and self-confidence. He’s a wicked, dangerous, genious powerhouse of a person. Never driven my emotional turmoil, but well-calculated intent.

...

Lucrecia - Just how different from Hojo can you get? One thing she has in common with Hojo, - being intelligent because she did make it to a Shinra scientist after all. She seems to be very poorly equipped with social navigation skills, given with how Hojo could talk her into terrible things despite her personality seeming like a more good-willed one. She gives me mild Asperger’s vibes? Intelligent but veeery unprepared for how absolutely vile and manipulative can other people be, too willing to assume good about people because she herself would rather be fair to others.

     It really, really gets to Lucrecia if she discovers she has hurt someone. She can hardly cope with that knowledge at all, it makes her self-destruct psychologically. She may have followed a poor judgement, but she definitely feels for others. She felt terrible for what happened to Vincent and I’m sure losing her baby was traumatizing for her too. (That scream of wanting to hold him was just... Heart-breaking.)

     She is also a very nervous, turbulent type of person, which makes her likely to have difficulty maintaining a good self-esteem and makes her easily affected by other people’s opinions.  She is naturally someone who’s straightforward with people, - she prefers honesty and kindness, but her judgement got swayed by manipulation.

      So, Lucrecia is intelligent, scores high in empathy, suffers from social difficulty, is nervous and likely to develop a bad self-esteem, and probably the straightforward honest type who finds it hard to grasp that some people are wicked and dishonest like corckscrews because. She may be even using her own brainpowers against herself, - to rationalize and play mental gymnastics to convince herself to believe in manipulation under heavy pressure and flattery etc. ... How do these qualities manifest in Sephiroth?

Sephy boi is...

- He is absolutely impressive at keeping his calm and composure on the outside, making him good at hiding his true thoughts and emotions. He clearly withholds this information so that he could have more freedom and avoid more manipulation. He consciously breaks rules like sparing the lives of Genesis and Angeal. He can calmly follow a plan he made and lie about things to do them differently than ordered. Hojo trait? (Ofc his nobility to help friends doesn’t come from Hojo, - that’d be a Lucrecia thing..)

- But he is also absolutely emotionally turbulent inside, leading into huge disaster once all his lines have been crossed. We have seen how Lucrecia breaks down and is entirely consumed by it, and I assume Sephiroth has the same internal tendency. It’s just that he has a waaaaayyy longer patience to be broken than what his mother had.

- He always felt different... I can completely see how both Hojo and Lucrecia would’ve felt “different” for their whole lives. Be that science-loving brilliant girl who struggles with social difficulty and navigation (Lucrecia), or be that genius psychopath of a boy (Hojo)... Either way, you’ll feel like a weird outsider even without any Jenova in you. But heck, I do bet Jenova added to that.

- He gets attached to people which he certainly didn’t inherit from Hojo! In Crisis Core Angeal notes Seph has lost weight during the time his friends went missing. Hell, he’s been feeling physically sick from the sheer stress of that and struggled to eat. He is deeply affected by these things. His entire physical health gets worse when people important to him disappear, and I could see Lucrecia being similiarly strongly attached to people. Poor Sephiroth, born to be a soft and loving person but having to deal with this bs. :c

- Even though he was basically born into being manipulated, his curiosity and intelligence make him something of an independend thinker to begin with. He sniffs out information on his own even before Nibelheim, and even considers the desertion before he has deserted. He doesn’t look up to others for judgement, - he follows his own. In this, he shows the kind of intellectual independence Hojo has. He doesn’t depend on others for giving him answers, but trusts himself the most with those. Like Hojo, Sephiroth probably sees himself as the brightest mind around.

- He is extremely driven and determined just like Hojo, like darn. He accomplishes BIG things entirely on his own.

- He is aggressive, also like Hojo, but his aggression is more impulsive and more swayed by emotion than Hojo’s.

- He will deny and distrust his own feelings until they blow up on himself. Like Lucrecia denied her own feelings when Hojo manipulated her, I think Sephiroth must’ve also lived in a lot of self-denial while in Shinra. And it was disastrous when all that bottled-up turmoil spilled over. Ta-da, Nibelheim happened.

- Sephiroth is idealistic and wants things to have a purpose that he can morally justify somehow. (Yes, even when burning Nibelheim because at that moment he had decided that humans are Bad TM...) Do you think Hojo ever gave a fuck about such things? Sephiroth would never be content being just a sword that cuts nor a vessel for a gross blob of an alien, - at all times he believed in a greater purpose and some kind of moral virtue, no matter how delusional and twisted all that may have gotten with him.