#and how that affected his life and his other relationships

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[fallenclan]

wow! it feels weird for this moon (and ravenstar's leadership/arc to finally be over)... i have some Thoughts, particularly about the exiled trio!

patchback -- i like that, of the three, she's the only one who looks genuinely angry. the same is true when ravenstar is killed. levi and sleepydawn look more surprised in that instance as well. given her history, this is the SECOND time patchback has been exiled. i imagine that she enjoys being a part of a clan. possibly, being exiled for the first time was the worst thing that ever happened to her, so when cherrystar gave her a chance, patchback chose to try and "adapt," to be whoever cherrystar would accept. but then ravenstar gave her the room to be herself... surely, with his support, and levi as deputy, then patchback will never have to fear exile again? ha! wrong.

levi -- levi only joined fallenclan after realizing an opportunity to hold power awaited him. i highly doubt levi cares about clan life. i think he's disappointed/annoyed, but not particularly "devestated" in the way that i imagine patchback is. levi will just... move on with his life, and try to find power somewhere else. i think he and patchback will stick together, since they're friends, and there's power in numbers. i believe levi likes power, but doesn't like to be the one making decisions (he likes his second-in-command spot imo). so, with ravenstar gone, patchback becomes his first-in-command. better yet, i imagine levi enjoyed ravenstar, but didn't like him. levi actually likes patchback, so being her second-in-command, backing her up, or better yet, being her partner is especially appealing.

sleepydawn -- he just looks numb. after ravenstar's death, i imagine he quickly resigned himself to what his fate would be. it's also noteworthy that his mate, ashblink, won't be joining him. ashblink could easily have chosen to leave with sleepydawn, but didn't. their relationship felt very shallow from the beginning. while i do think they care about each other, i think sleepydawn's loyalty to ravenstar would always come over his affection for ashblink, and ashblink would ultimately realize that sleepydawn isn't looking for love. within their interactions, ashblink is shown being caring/supportive (as best he can) towards sleepydawn, who looks bored/disinterested or rebuffs him. sleepydawn doesn't know how to be in a relationship. he needs to sort his own shit out before having a boyfriend. i think there's a 50/50 chance that sleepydawn will set out on his own, and try to "find himself" while also seething in bitterness and grief, versus deciding to throw in his lot with patchback and levi.

silly idea: patchback starts her own clan (ravenclan? after the first cat to ever """accept""" her for who she is) with levi as deputy. sleepydawn joins. teeheehee. it would be funny, but in all likelihood, i think the three of them will just have to face reality and Cope rather than getting any sort of resolution they would have hoped for.

anyway, yay wolfstar!!! yay kestrelfeather! yay pondshine and flamefall and cloudtuft!! yippee!! i love how happy wolfstar looks for once, and i was delighted to see broccoli and pepperswipe <3 i know sweetclover is so proud... but also trying to be there for her parents

also finchbeak kits next moon! is the father chumtail or flamefall? or a mysterious, third cat... comment down below! /j

-🐉

MY GOD dragon once again you have hit the nail perfectly on the head... i don't even need to make an explanation post you got it in one. incredible

[avelera]

I see a lot of posts and fanworks centered on Jayce's affection/pining for Vik, but not so much of the other way around! Jayce is very physically touchy and expresses outright, often, what people mean to him.

What I've picked up is that Viktor touches *objects* with tenderness, potentially especially when thinking of other people. The gear, the hexgate, the exchange of the runestone, wearing that gaht dahm blanket the whole season... But nevertheless he's still much more reserved. It's easy to conclude that the feelings weren't mutual, or not to the same extent (maybe canonically they aren't, but... :') we can [hextech] dream) - but what if they're just much more subtle on Viktor's part?

Thoughts on this?

I think it's very clear that Viktor loves Jayce just as much as Jayce loves Viktor. We have a lot of instances of proof for that.

1 ) The biggest, most dramatic has got to be the implications of Wizard Viktor resetting the timelines who knows how many times to ensure that he and Jayce meet. There could be an element of selfishness to that, in theory, because he needs Jayce to show him, "There's no prize to perfection, only an end to pursuit," and save him from a fate literally worse than death. But I think given Wizard Viktor's tone and delivery there's a lot of implication buried in there that without Jayce in his life, Viktor just doesn't see it as worth living. Considering that Jayce appearing is also what paused Viktor's suicide attempt in S1, I think we've got multiple scenes to support that Jayce gives Viktor a reason to live.

2 ) I've been meaning to talk for awhile about how we can use the (actually bogus for real people) "Love Languages" idea as a framework for understanding how Jayce and Viktor love each other and I think it's a useful way to answer your question now.

Quick version:

Jayce's love language is (obviously) Physical Touch.

Viktor's love language is (more subtly) Quality Time.

Let's dive into this and what that means for how Viktor shows love to Jayce in more subtle but just as meaningful ways throughout the show.

To start at the beginning of the relationship, Viktor's love langue being Quality Time why he's so touched that Jayce immediately folds him in as a partner in Hextech and clearly begins to feel affection at the very least right away for Jayce based on their working together on Hextech.

But I think there's a more tragic flip side to Quality Time as a way of Viktor showing love, because he also uses that language to hide his love when he thinks it would hurt Jayce. As his illness progresses and his body fails, he withdraws more and more, I believe to spare Jayce the pain Viktor is going through. Jayce notes that Viktor often disappears for long stretches of time without explanation, which I think further hints that Viktor is hiding his declining health from him.

Viktor also withholds knowledge from Jayce of the experiments he's doing in a way that I think is meant to shield himself from Jayce's possible intervention, sure, but which I also think is to shield Jayce from possible prosecution if for example Viktor was found with Shimmer on him and that he's doing illegal experiments. I personally believe that Viktor puts himself through a lot of pain in S1 in small part because he's worried about Jayce's potentially negative reaction (which indicates love and fear of losing Jayce's love) but in much larger part because he wants to shield Jayce from the fallout of his admittedly reckless actions (which indicates love as well).

As Singed says, Viktor's actions might lead to him losing out on love and legacy. Viktor's immediate thought is that this can only mean Jayce, but he trusts Jayce to understand. I do believe Viktor's certainty wavers based on the encounter on the bridge, and he wants to live more than he wants to risk Jayce shutting him down, but as we learn in their final scene, he needn't have worried. Jayce did understand. Viktor's first instincts about Jayce were 100% right.

But as for more ways Viktor shows love I'd point to a few:

He's always in the lab, which is their shared space. If we take Quality Time as his love language, that in part is him always making himself available to Jayce. It's one reason why I think he gets increasingly hurt in S1 when Jayce spends less time there, it makes Viktor feel neglected when he's offering himself in his own language. Jayce saying he'll return to the lab in S2 shows at least some understanding of this and that he messed up and wants to fix it. Unfortunately, for a variety of reasons some of which might be beyond Viktor's control like the Hexcore controlling him to some extant (we'll never really know), it's too late by that point, and Viktor withdraws (the outward sign of) his love by leaving.

We can see Quality Time being a way Viktor shows love too in the way he smacks Jayce's hand away on the bridge (without having to look, btw, he just knew where it would be which is nuts) and then, as soon as Jayce apologizes, allowing the touch once more. He knows Jayce's love language is Physical Touch and he accepts Jayce back in to his Quality Time very quickly once he gets that (admittedly very needed) apology.

I'd argue one reason Viktor doesn't show as much verbal care for Jayce in S1, like asking how he's doing or showing more understanding for the fact he's overworked as a Councilor, is because Jayce's overwork is a symptom of him denying Viktor his Quality Time as a love language. Viktor is only human. It's hard for him to be understanding and sympathetic to the fact that Jayce is overworked when that overwork is the reason Viktor feels neglected right now. Like many people, he would rather show his disapproval and hope that expedites Jayce coming to the realization that he should stop overworking and come back to the lab and Viktor, rather than offering comfort Jayce might need if it theoretically prolongs Jayce's absence or gives the impression that Viktor in any way approves of his time away from the lab.

To jump forward to their final scene in S2, I think we can also use Viktor pushing Jayce away and telling Jayce to go as showing Quality Time as a love language. Namely, that Viktor is willing to deny himself love and happiness to keep Jayce safe, in a selfless demonstration of love in Viktor's love language.

And finally, Jayce fully understands the Quality Time love language because he replies with the fact he's not going to leave, that they will spend what could be these final moments together. And we get Viktor fully parsing that Jayce's love language is physical touch because he accepts and reaches back for Jayce's touch in those (potentially) final moments.

Oh and as a final note, I do love your point about how Viktor caresses objects that remind him of Jayce, and I think that is still Quality Time. The blanket represents the embrace they shared before they parted and Jayce's love for him, which Viktor holds close and wraps around him even as he descends into being more and more inhuman. It is the mark of his humanity and the symbol of his enduring love for Jayce that he won't let it go. In a real way, he's spending "Quality Time" with Jayce's love by keeping it constantly wrapped around him. Similarly, the cog shows he is thinking about Jayce and missing him too, holding that memory close.

Even as the Cult Leader and post "Evolution", Viktor shows that he wants to spend time with Jayce again and he's baffled when Jayce point blank refuses him, not connecting until the final scene that the pursuit of "perfection" was what was keeping Jayce from his side when Jayce really did want to be there, which was particularly baffling for Viktor because he thought the pursuit of perfection was what he needed to win Jayce back. Once he set it aside, Jayce was literally waiting there with open arms to take him back.

[stellarsecrets86]

Sun In Signs Of Groom Persona Chart

Other posts you might like:

Masterlist

[PS: These are my own observations. For entertainment purposes only. Have fun.💚]

🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩🪩

(Sun in a groom persona chart represents his core identity, ego, and how he presents himself as a husband. It is symbolic of his willpower, leadership qualities, self-expression, and the life force that he brings into the marital relationship. The position of the Sun in the signs shows what kind of energy he carries, how he would handle responsibilities, and what role he would play in the union.)

Sun in Aries

In the groom pc, having Sun in Aries attracts bold, energetic, and passionate spouse. Most likely, he would be the head or the dominant in the relation. It makes him very adventurous, enthusiastic to try everything new in this marriage, but his individuality could overpower him and cause impatience or dominance. He is the protector of his woman, even taking on the role of "hero" when it comes to his girlfriend or wife. He is independent and may require a partner who can appreciate their energetic vibes while maintaining emotional equilibrium. His leadership can be inspiring, yet it should also be modulated to include his partner's needs.

{Spouse likely has a sharp, angular face with prominent features and a high forehead, exuding confidence and energy.}

Sun in Taurus

The Sun in Taurus makes the groom a practical and reliable person as he values stability. He feels good if his environment is comfortable and secure, and he works hard to make his partner feel valued. Taurus Suns are sensual and base a lot of their marital satisfaction on physical connection and comfort. They can be resistant to change and love routine and tradition. They are loyal partners but at times can be possessive. The beauty, luxury, and finer things in life are truly appreciated by this groom, and he often strives to create a beautiful home.

{Spouse may have a round or oval face with soft, symmetrical features and a pleasant, earthy charm.}

Sun in Gemini

He is curious, communicative, and versatile. He brings intellectual excitement and humor into the relationship, never a dull moment. Versatile and sociable, he likes to share ideas and enjoy lively discussions with his mate. His restless nature may at times make him appear inconsistent, absent-minded, and so on. He needs a partner who can appreciate his lively mind and understand his varied interests. This groom does well in relationships with good lines of communication and shared curiosity.

{The spouse could have a narrow, oval face with expressive eyes and lively, youthful features.}

Sun in Cancer

He is deeply nurturing, empathetic, and protective. He values emotional connection and creates a sense of home and family in the marriage. His intuitive nature makes him highly attuned to his partner's needs, often going out of his way to provide comfort. At times, he may struggle with moodiness or clinginess. A Cancer Sun groom needs a partner who understands his sensitivity and shares his desire for a close-knit family life.

{A moon-like, round or soft face with gentle, nurturing expressions is typical for the spouse.}

Sun in Leo

He is charismatic, warm-hearted, and proud. He looks at marriage as a stage on which to shine and generally assumes a leadership role in the relationship. Generous and loyal, he loves showering his partner with affection and admiration and expects admiration in return. While his confidence can be inspiring, he may at times come off as self-centered. This groom does best when his partner supports his ambitions and shares his enthusiasm for life.

{The spouse often has a regal, well-defined face with strong bone structure and a radiant, magnetic presence.}

Sun in Virgo

Husband is practical, detail-oriented, and committed to his self-improvement project. He brings stability and dependability into the relationship, many times going out of his way in order to solve problems and make good order. He loves his partner who shares an appreciation for organization and hard work. Sometimes, he could make his partner's life hard through being too critical or perfectionist, which might be a tense source in their relationship. When a Virgo Sun husband is appreciated for his work, he thrives.

{Spouse may possess a delicate, heart-shaped face with fine, symmetrical features and a refined appearance.}

Sun in Libra

Husband is charming, tactful, and loves to establish a marriage that is just harmonious. He prefers justice and desires a balanced partnership wherein both parties are equal. His love for aesthetics and romance alone can create a beautiful and loving environment for his spouse. Nevertheless, his need to evade conflicts may at times elicit indecision or repression of his own needs. A Libra Sun husband thrives well in a relationship where mutual respect and collaboration are established.

{The spouse likely has an oval or symmetrical face with balanced, harmonious features and an attractive, graceful demeanor.}

Sun in Scorpio

Husband of a Scorpio Sun in the groom pc will be an experience of depth, passion, and an almost irreversible commitment. Pressing into intense intimacy, or a probe into the depths of life, are the ways he might pursue his partner. He desires transformation for himself and from his partner. This could mean he sometimes can become possessive or controlling. A Scorpio Sun needs trust, honesty, and emotional toughness from his wife to have a successful marriage.

{Spouse may have a square or intense face with piercing eyes, strong jawlines, and an enigmatic aura.}

Sun in Sagittarius

The Sagittarius Sun in groom pc husband is free-spirited, optimistic, and adventurous. He has fun in the relationship and gives his partner an urge for new experiences. Freedom is important to him, and he needs a partner who will respect his need for freedom. While his enthusiasm is contagious, his lack of focus or commitment to some routines may frustrate the spouse at times. A Sagittarius Sun husband really thrives when his mate loves adventure and personal growth as he does.

{A long, oval face with high cheekbones and a bright, adventurous expression often describes the spouse.}

Sun in Capricorn

Ambitious, responsible, and intent upon building a stable future, the Capricorn Sun groom regards marriage as both an obligation and an opportunity to extend his role of provider and protector. Practical by nature, he works hard to assure a successful long-term partnership, though at times his work or responsibilities may make him appear a little distant or serious. An Capricorn Sun boyfriend thrives in an appreciation of his efforts within a relationship and feels supported on his journey to success.

{The spouse may have a chiseled, rectangular face with defined bone structure and a mature, poised look.}

Sun in Aquarius

The groom with the Sun in Aquarius is a nonconformist who values independence and individuality in his marriage. He brings a unique twist into the relationship and mostly confronts conventional standards. While intellectually and socially attached, he values a partner who sees his vision for progress and change. His detached nature may sometimes make him emotionally unavailable. This groom thrives in relationships where freedom and mutual respect are emphasized.

{Spouse could have a unique or unconventional face shape, often oval, with sharp features and a futuristic vibe.}

Sun in Pisces

The Pisces Sun is the groom pc is compassionate, dreamy, and emotionally intuitive. He marries with the utmost romanticism and idealizes his spouse. His creative and emotional nature makes him a tender and caring partner. Since he can sometimes be very imaginary and flee from strife, he can create misunderstandings. A Pisces Sun feels most happy with a spouse who can share his emotions and creativity.

{A soft, rounded face with dreamy, delicate features and expressive, soulful eyes is common for the spouse.}

[Each Sun sign brings with it the peculiarities of the groom and his peculiar influence on him within the marriage. Understanding such dynamics will help nurture compatibility and a deeper connection.]

[godzillabreath]

unfortunately I do have more to say about wwdits.

I think one of the most egregious things about the development of the show over the seasons is the tonal shift. I was watching it from the beginning to convince myself I wasn’t crazy for feeling the first three seasons were better, and I felt vindicated.

It was always a dark comedy, but it wasn’t always a zany dark comedy. It had been grounded in real, everyday life. The vampires prey on a LARP group, the vampires ride a late night bus to go to a city council meeting, Nandor tries for citizenship, etc. I think once they started introducing a slew of supernatural creatures like a monster-of-the-week a la carte, the show became increasingly less focused and outlandish. There are episode I don’t like even in seasons 2 and 3 that are emblematic of this shift. The siren, the gargoyles, the troll—they just feel out of place in a story that is supposed to focus on out-of-time vampires and how they engage with the modern world. They aren’t really adding anything to the characters or the plot when they appear either. They just make a flashy CGI appearance and give some quippy line, which ultimately eats up time where our main cast that we actually care about could otherwise be on screen, doing things. And then there was a point in time where this show just did not allow itself any more sentimental moments between characters. These moments, for me, made for refreshing moments between comedic situations. It balanced the humanity in all of the main cast. But the show opted out of those moments, and it just became a back-to-back comedic situation with less and less interesting character moments to look forward to. Anyway, I just find it kind of sad that the writers completely detonated all of the characters’ inner emotional lives by the series finale. I liked to see Nadja bored in her marriage and pursuing this lustful encounter with Gregor through reincarnated generations. I liked to see Colin challenged by another energy vampire undermining his territory. I liked to see Guillermo struggling with his fractured relationship with his family, his discomfort in his own sexual identity, and his need to cling on to this group of vampires that disrespect him if only to find family and personal liberation in their company. I liked Nandor being so disconnected from modernity that he became listless and depressed and lonely and clung on to the idea that he might make himself human again. I liked the romance that the writers were building literally textually and in all of their marketing material from season 3: that Guillermo (at least) had these unrequited and very frustrating feelings for Nandor and how that affected their relationship with each other. I liked the idea of Laszlo forming these personal connections with both Sean and Colin, even if I found their conclusive arcs to be lackluster, strange, or unpalatable (baby Colin to weird co-parent Colin was a bizarre arc.) I liked the idea of Nadja wanting power and community because of the impoverished, desolate conditions she grew up under (especially the class dynamic of marrying Laszlo and how that could be at times a schism in their relationship), even if the writers did not care to expand upon this. The potential just drives me crazy. I can’t believe they opted out of tying up any of these emotional hooks. I think it might drive me crazy forever.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

More Than Meets The Eye

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Natasha stays over for a few days and kicks up drama for you and Bucky. She makes you realize that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Bucky Barnes.

One in a Million Series

Square Filled: day-in-the-life (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Natasha is usually very pristine and professional. She is widely known across the state as one of the best realtors the business has ever seen. She has clients who go for multi-million dollar homes, and she scores nearly every single sale she gets. If she acts out in public, it can largely affect her business, so she tends to keep to herself.

Not when she has alcohol in her system.

Like tonight. She’s in a fling with a musician who she only needs whenever she’s stressed, but it works for both of them. There aren’t any strings attached and they can still get their work done without the stress of a relationship. Natasha turns into a whole other person when she’s drunk. The slut in her comes out and she becomes even more bold. She’s normally shy and reserved.

Not tonight.

Whenever the musician is in town, he tends to stay at her place since he’s only in town for a few days. She texted you twenty minutes ago from a club downtown where the musician is playing. Clubs are not your thing but you’re there when she needs you. After checking in at the door, you push your way inside where there is a sea of people on the dancefloor.

You’re standing on a ledge that overlooks the club. You can either go upstairs where there are more private areas for people just enjoying the music with some drinks while the party is downstairs. From where you are, you can see Natasha and the musician on the other side of the bar.

“Natasha!” You yell even though you know she won’t hear you. You push your way through the sea of people, trying to ignore the hot sweaty bodies bumping into you. “Natasha!”

She turns when she hears her name. “Thank God, you’re here.”

“What’s going on?”

“I caught him with another woman in my bed! My bed!”

“You were gone. I have needs. What do you want me to do?” the musician groans.

“That’s my apartment, asshole! I want your shit out now!”

“I leave in three days. You get it back then.”

You can’t believe how he’s acting but you really don’t want to do this here and now. You grab her arm and pull her toward you. “Come on, he’s not worth it.”

“He’s at my apartment. I don’t want to go back there,” she groans.

“You can stay with me. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She’d be more upset if she didn’t just have nearly eight shots earlier. Thankfully, she listens to you and leaves the club with you. Your car is in a gas station parking lot since there wasn’t any parking near or at the club.

“He’s not worth it, Nat.”

“I know, but still. It’s like I’ve got no game lately. All I want is a nice man who will take care of me.”

“Well, you got me.”

She wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I do have you. You’re my best friend.”

“I love drunk you,” you giggle. Ten minutes pass and you’re at your place. In the elevator ride up, you think about what the guys might be doing. “So, listen, the guys are home and I don’t need you to be all sexual and grabby like I know you get.”

“Got it,” she nods.

“I’m serious, Nat. Best behavior.”

“I hear you. Best behavior,” she grins.

“Wait here.” You open the door and walk inside. Bucky is playing video games, Steve is trying to read a book, and Sam is blowing straw wrappers at Steve. Some of them hit him and others fly on his book or lap. “Hey, guys. I have Natasha with me, and it looks like she’s going to stay with us for a few days.” Steve perks up at Natasha’s name. “Just letting you know, she is very drunk and she’s very bold and loose with her body. I am so sorry for whatever she might try on you guys.”

You open the front door and Natasha walks in with a sly smirk on her face.

“Natasha. Wow, you look amazing,” Steve says, forgoing his book altogether.

“Thanks, baby,” she grins.

“Okay, you can sleep on the couch tonight, and we’ll figure something out tomorrow. Let me get you some blankets and a pillow.”

You leave her with the guys and walk into your room. Seconds later, you hear the stereo turn on and loud music is blasted. You sigh knowing this was a possibility but hoped it wasn’t going to happen. When you walk into the living room, you see Natasha, Steve, and Sam dancing along to the music. Bucky is still on the couch, clearly not wanting any part of this.

“Natasha, you should really get some sleep.”

“Dance first! Bucky, come on!”

“I’m okay, really. I’m going to go to bed.”

She shimmies her way over to Bucky who stands up. She pulls him into her body, and he tries to politely get her off him.

“Natasha, come on. He doesn’t want to dance.” She lets him go and he slips by her easily. He looks at you as he passes but doesn’t say anything else. It looks like she won’t be sleeping anytime soon, so you put the blankets and pillows on the couch. “Okay, I’m going to bed. Keep it down in here, please.”

Ten minutes after you leave, Natasha starts to grow tired. Steve jumps at the chance to take her to bed even though he’s not going to do anything with her. He’s a gentleman and that won’t change even if she is intoxicated. He really likes her and if he wants to be with her, he’s going to have to show him he’s not just some fling she’s used to.

“Come on, let me show you to my bed.”

Steve wraps a strong arm around her waist and guides her to his bedroom. She flops onto the bed face first and is out like a light. Steve looks around and grabs a small blanket before draping it over her body. He joins Sam back in the living room and plops down on the couch with a grin.

“Why are you grinning?”

“She’s in my bed. I overheard some conversations she and Y/N have had. All she’s ever had are flings, so I’m going to show her that I can be the gentleman she needs.”

“Yeah, because that’s a way to get a girl into bed,” Sam laughs.

“Just you wait, Sam. It’ll happen.”

In the morning, you wake to Bucky nursing his second cup of coffee. Steve is sleeping on the couch which means Natasha must be in his bedroom.

“Good morning, Bucky.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Is that all you’re having for breakfast?” Bucky shrugs and you shake your head. “Not acceptable. You’re a growing man. You need proper food. I’ll make you some.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. I want to. Do you like eggs? Pancakes? Waffles?”

“No, Y/N, I’m fine.”

“Eggs and bacon it is,” you smile. “You can have some with me. Plus, I’m sure Natasha and the guys will be hungry when they wake up.”

“I’m fine, Y/N. Stop being so nice to me. You don’t have to…”

“What?” you ask when he stops talking.

“You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Well, someone has to, right? Everyone deserves someone to take care of them every once in a while,” you smile and turn back to the food.

Bucky stares at you in thought. He nods and takes a sip of his coffee. At the smell of food, Sam and Steve wake up. The only person who is sleeping is Natasha, and you can only assume she is going to want a strong cup of coffee, so you start to brew a pot for her. Much like you assumed, she walks out of Steve’s room when she smells the coffee.

“Is that coffee?”

“Brewed a new pot for you. Extra hot. Extra strong.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Natasha. I hope you slept well,” Steve smiles.

“Thank you for letting me use your bed. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. Our couch isn’t the best, and I didn’t want your back all messed up.”

Sam looks at Steve who smiles knowingly. Natasha pours herself a cup of coffee while you plate the food. You slide one over to Bucky and smile at him.

“Eat. I can hear your stomach growling from over here.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word but accepts the food from you. After a nice breakfast, Natasha hops in the shower to wash of the stink from last night, and Steve strips his bed to wash the sheets. Natasha might smell good, better than most, but she reeked of alcohol last night, and he doesn’t want his bed smelling like that.

You get dressed in a green and white dress that goes down to your knees, and you walk into the bathroom where the lotion is. You pause when you see Sam standing by the sink with a toothbrush in his mouth… without toothpaste. Steve is standing by the towel rack looking at the large amount of products he keeps there. His hair is always silky smooth and his skin always looks amazing. He has some of the best products that you like to steal from time to time.

“What are you guys doing?”

“I’m brushing my teeth,” Sam says in defense.

“I’m just… doing things,” Steve mutters.

Bucky walks into the bathroom and pauses when he notices everyone else. “Is this a normal hangout spot now?”

“Nat, you’ve been in there for ages. Come on,” you say and squirt some lotion onto your hands.

“Sorry, I just can’t seem to find any towels that are bigger.” She slides the curtain back after she secures a towel around her body. All three men are big guys but their waists are slim, so they don’t need big towels, and all of yours are in the washer. “Oh.”

Sam stops brushing his teeth and stares at her while Steve blushes hard. He wants to look but every time he does, his face goes red so he clears his throat and turns away.

“Okay, come on. I have something you can wear.”

Bucky’s brain takes a few minutes to process what’s happening, so he freezes up when she tries to go past him. He barely gives her an inch to move, and you shake your head in disappointment.

“I am very disappointed in all of you.” You look at Bucky. “Especially you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I am sometimes.”

You walk into your room where Natasha is going through your closet for something to wear. You close the door to give her privacy, and she turns holding a shirt you got out of whim. Your style isn’t very flashy but she convinced you to get this shirt that exposes a bit more cleavage.

“No, I haven’t worn it yet. Yes, you can.”

“Thanks,” she grins.

She grabs a pair of jeans that she left over one time and puts those on along with the shirt.

“So, are we going to talk about last night?”

“I blacked most of it out. What happened?”

“You almost gave Bucky a lap dance, and it was cute to watch Steve gush all over you. That boy likes you.”

“Ooh, are we talking about boys?”

“Yeah, like your ex-boyfriend musician. Are you going to kick him out of your apartment?”

“He’s going to be gone in a few days. Can I just stay here until he’s gone?”

“Nat, that’s your place.”

“I know, but you don’t know this guy. He’s a PR nightmare. It’s best if I let him stay there until he’s gone.” You shrug. “Let’s talk about Bucky now.”

“Bucky? What about him?”

“Come on. You say Steve likes me? Bucky likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. We’re just friends.”

“You can’t be just friends with these guys. Do you really think none of them have ever thought about sleeping with you?”

“Stop, it Nat,” you sigh.

Someone knocks on your door and Bucky opens it.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m going to the store. Do you need anything?”

“Yes,” Nat answers for you. “You should go with him, Y/N, to get that thing you really need.”

“I don’t need a thing.”

“Yes, you do. You need that thing you were telling me about.”

“I wonder what that is,” Bucky mumbles.

“She’ll be right out,” Nat smiles. She closes the door on him and turns to you with a smile. “This is perfect.”

You look at her and your eyes widen. “No, you’re not doing this. You’re not going to come in here and ruin what I have with them. I’m finally happy after Jack, and I really like these guys. I think they’re starting to like me, too.”

“Do you remember telling me about your perfect man? Bucky is everything on your list. Physically strong. Check. Nice smile. Double check. Tall. Triple check. Blue eyes, kind, caring, knows what he wants, and older. Check, check, and check.” She walks closer to you. “Plus, did you see his feet? A guy’s feet always point to what they want, and his were pointing right at you.”

“How would you like him to stand?” You stand and point both feet outward like a duck. “Like this?”

“Come on, go. He’s waiting for you.”

“Hey, are you ready?” Bucky calls out.

“Be there in a sec, bro!”

“Did you just call me bro?”

You pause. “Yeah. I’m coming.” You open the door. “Talk to Steve. I think he can be good for you.”

“Only if you talk to Bucky.”

“Bye,” you roll your eyes.

The ride to the store wasn’t as awkward as you thought it was going to be, but being in the store with all these people, all you could think about were Nat’s words.

“So, how long is she staying?” Bucky asks.

He has a very short list of items to get, and he goes through the different aisles and puts them in the cart.

“Only for a few days. Her douchey ex-boyfriend is staying in her apartment. It’s a long story.”

Everywhere you look there are different kinds of couples. Older, younger, same sex… Everywhere you look, you’re paying attention to their feet. One older couple has both their feet pointed at each other while another couple has theirs pointed away from each other. That couple looks like they don’t enjoy each other’s company as much. Is she right? Bucky says something but you’re too much in your own head to hear what he has to say.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Stop taking care of everyone.”

You look down and notice his feet are pointing right at you. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“What?” You look up at him. “Nothing. What?”

“What?” You move slowly around Bucky but he follows you by moving his entire body and not just his head. “What are you doing?” You keep moving around Bucky to get his feet away from you but he keeps turning so that they’re always pointed at you. “I know she’s your best friend, but I didn't mean to insult you. I’m just saying you don’t have to take care of her.”

“I know.”

You do a complete one-eighty around him, yet he still follows you with his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to see…”

“Look, I’m sorry if I insulted you, but what are you doing right now?”

“I’m just… walking like a friend.”

“Okay, we have one more item on our list and then we can go. We just need toilet paper.”

“I don’t use it,” you say slowly.

“You don’t use toilet paper?”

You chuckle nervously and shake your head. “I mean… That’s not what I meant.” There is some right next to you so you grab the first one you see and put it in the cart. “Okay, we can go now.”

“You’re so weird,” he mutters and walks to the cashier.

Fuck, Natasha. She said something and now she’s in your head like a goddamn parasite. You two leave the store and start the journey back home. Bucky stops at the light and turns to you with confusion on his face.

“Okay, what is going on with you, Y/N?”

“Why do you have to do that? Why do you have to say my name like that?” You imitate him. “Y/N. And why do you have to wear old man clothes all the time?”

“I’m not wearing old man clothes. You don’t like the way I dress?”

“No… I just…” You fan your face. “I just need some air.”

All the windows are open but Bucky doesn’t comment on it. Just then, a woman walks up to the window carrying a bunch of red roses and is trying to sell them at stoplights like this one. You respect her trying to make extra money, but you can’t deal with this right now. All you can think about is Bucky and the fact that you saw his giant penis and the way his feet kept pointing at you.

“Roses for the lady?” the woman grins.

“You want some roses? I’ll buy you some.”

“No, I’m okay.”

Still, Bucky takes out some cash and hands it over to the woman who then gives the roses to him.

“Here, take some roses.”

“No, I don’t want them.”

“They were two dollars. Just take the roses.” You have to get out of here. You unbuckle and open the car door before fleeing. “Y/N, what are you doing? It was a joke. Get back in the car!” you take off running down the street. “Y/N!”

You don’t care if you’re going the wrong way. You just needed out of that goddamn car. It takes you an extra twenty minutes to get home when it could have taken you five in the car, but you needed the walk. You trudge inside your apartment to see Natasha sitting on the couch with a realtor magazine in her hands. She likes to keep up with what’s popular around the city.

“I walked all the way home,” you pant. “I got out of the war and walked all the way home.”

“What happened?”

“You happened, Nat. You got in my head! His feet were pointed at me the whole time.” She nods and stands up. “Is it the way I’m dressed? Is it my posture?”

“Look, I’ll talk to him for you.”

“No, please don’t. Just let me handle this, okay?”

The door opens and Bucky walks in with the groceries. “Okay, what the hell happened, Y/N? I’ve been driving around for the last thirty minutes looking for you. We were in the middle of traffic and you just got out and ran away.”

“I was hot,” you mumble.

“You were so hot that you had to jump out of my car and run?” You lean to the right and fix your posture. “Why are you standing like that?”

“This is how I always stand?”

“I’ve never seen you stand like that.” He shakes his head. “Look, I was worried about you, okay? You can’t just… Don’t do that again, okay?”

Bucky walks away and Natasha grins at you.

“Are you even listening to him? He’s trying to tell you that he likes you.”

“No, he’s just saying he cares about me as a friend.”

“Let’s go ask him.” She takes two steps and you jump on her back to stop her. She turns into the fighter that she is and starts to wrestle you, and you two go crumbling to the ground. “I am trying to help you, Y/N!”

“I don’t need your help, Nat. I like being friends with him. Yes, he has a giant penis that I saw. Yes, he saw me naked. Yes, he might be my dream guy, but none of that matters. He’s my friend and all that will go away if I bring this up. What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t like me?”

“A big part of my job is reading people. How do you think I managed to score as much as I have? I’ve managed to talk down narcissists and misogynists to buy more than the selling price. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You never make the first move.”

“I have before, Natasha. I’ve been burned too many times to let it happen again. I like living here and that might go away because ‘you can read people’. I know you want to take care of me like I take care of you, but I have to handle this. Me, not you.”

“Fine,” she huffs out. “Thank you for letting me stay, but it’s best if I kick Troy out of my place. You got your boy drama and I have mine. Plus, I have a showing later in Beverly Hills I can’t miss.”

“You’re always welcome here.”

She leaves the apartment and Steve comes out of his room.

“Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she is.”

Steve sighs and flops onto the couch. “I don’t know how to do this. She’s not like any woman I have ever met. I thought we had a moment while you were gone, but it’s like it never happened with her.”

“Natasha has been hurt so many times. She had flings because in the last relationship she was in, he… I shouldn’t tell you this, but I will say this. She’s going to make you work for it.”

“That’s what makes it worth it,” he smiles.

“Good luck. She could use a guy like you.”

You’re exhausted by the end of the night, so you do your nighttime routine before going to bed. The first thing you do is brush your teeth. The door opens and Bucky walks in just as you start. You lightly blush just as Bucky grabs his toothbrush. You stand there in silence for a few minutes before you spit out the toothpaste in your mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry for how I acted before.” Bucky looks at you. “Nat said something that freaked me out, but I’m good now. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay,” he says with a mouthful of toothpaste.

He turns to the sink again and continues brushing, and you notice his feet move away from you and back to the sink. To hide your smile, you continue brushing your teeth, and your heart flutters.

x

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[tealvenetianmask]

Is there stigma about mental illness in Hell?

Personal bit: I've had chronic depression and anxiety for my entire adult life, and I used to guard it as this big secret, but now I have friends and coworkers who are understanding and have their own issues. And I work in a helping profession where I see that dealing with this stuff is just really fucking common. But recently I've had a bit of culture shock hanging out with my family, and realizing that... oh wait, we still treat our mental health issues like deep dark secrets and refuse to talk about them and/or seek help. And that's the only acceptable way to act. Okay. Thanks guys.

Personal ramble aside, yes, mental health stigma is still an issue in America, 2024 (obviously). And thanks to Sinsmas, I'm convinced that it's an issue in Vivzie's Hell too, in a way that's pretty reflective of how real contemporary society treats it.

Stolas chooses not to tell Blitz about his happy pills. We find out as the episode progresses that he never told Via either.

And plenty of arguments could be made about Stolas just not wanting to burden the people he cares most for. Not wanting Via to worry about him. Not wanting Blitz to be put out financially by tracking down the pills. But I think there's a level of embarrassment here too, and here's why.

Stolas has spent his life being told to bottle up his emotions, and we have evidence of this. We've also seen him struggling to hide his emotions from Blitz before, turning his back in The Full Moon, and straining when forcing himself to stop crying in Apology Tour.

Is the cultural aversion to displays of emotion just an upper class thing in Hell? I think the answer is "sort of." There are ways in which a Goetia is expected to behave, and lower-class demons have more freedom.

BUT

It's not really that simple. We saw toxic masculinity coming from Millie's parents and from Crimson, and that kind of attitude sort of goes hand in hand with mental health stigma. We also saw Verosika say this-

Which shows a certain attitude toward seeking treatment . . .

And Blitz ALSO has a preoccupation with acting like he's fine and can handle things without help that seems very grounded in sort of a working class, "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" attitude. (Bye to all that by Ghostfuckers..)

This has all been a very long way of saying that yes, mental health stigma in Hell is significant and affects our characters.

So what role does discovering Stolas's pills play for Via?

She takes them as confirmation of her fear (one she already had a lot of evidence for, to be fair...) that Stolas stayed in a miserable marriage for 17 years just for her. And more- that she was "never enough" to make him happy.

And she's right but. She's oversimplifying it. She did make her dad happy. When someone's suffering, from abuse, from mental illness, from . . . literal society . . . one wonderful relationship is still not going to make their life a happy one.

Beyond Stolas's specific situation, people with great lives sometimes need happy pills. People's lives are multifaceted, and that's a lot for a young person to understand sometimes.

So if Octavia had grown up in a situation where people . . . idk, talked about mental health and didn't stigmatize emotions . . .?

Yeah, I think she'd react differently to the happy pills. But more importantly, the level of secrecy wouldn't be the same. Stolas would have been more open about his range of emotions and about needing pills, and in countless other ways this situation would have played out differently.

And now I'm tying myself in knots trying to imagine Goetia culture WITHOUT mental health stigma. I don't think it would exist in the same way at all. Quick, someone get an army of excellent mental health professionals and assign them to every single member of Hell's aristocracy.

[tropes-and-tales]

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise.  A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes.  You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck.  Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups.  You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little.  But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look.  It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago.  Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like.  He knows what you taste like.  He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it.  He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all.  He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn.  Otherwise, it gets messy.  Feelings develop.  Misunderstandings happen.  People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn.  No spending the night.  No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together.  You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat.  Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway.  You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules. 

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you.  That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him.  That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough.  The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place.  The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all:  because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations.  He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends.  From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes.  Numerous boyfriends cheated on you.  One stole your car.  One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them. 

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really.  The whole bad-boy schtick bores you.  It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order.  That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors. 

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed.  And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood:  the only child of two career Army parents.  Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested.  Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough. 

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month.  Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too.  Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching.  Watch them sober, watch them drunk.  Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually.  Quiet, reserved.  Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs.  Plays pool when someone needs an opponent.  Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home.  He’s so stable and pulled-together.  You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car.  Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way.  Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome. 

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband.  You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with.  It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works.  It’s exactly what you were looking for.  Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was:  reliable, steady.  He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before.  He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything.  He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man:  a clean bill of health and a hard dick.  Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that.  The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful.  It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems.  Calibrating you.  Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again.  Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm.  Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him.  It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end. 

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye.  That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect.  Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence.  He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend?  If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date.  Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach.  If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks.  If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be.  To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed.  It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead.  He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once. 

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him.  For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him.  It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play:  tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is.  He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility.  If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck.  You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk.  Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl.  The guys egg him on for details.  Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts:  have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure.  Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers.  He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar.  Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question.  It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either.  Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve.  He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks.  “Hell, Baby on Board.  Keep it to your room.  I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face.  He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side.  “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says.  “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you. 

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes.  When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text.  No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur.  You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you.  You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is. 

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him.  He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses.  “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head.  His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you. 

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath.  “Sure, but….like, how?  I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head.  “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.” 

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist.  “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!”  You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob.  I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t.  I promise.  It’ll be fine.  But I want to do this.”  His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core.  “Please.”

*****

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together.  Perfectly coordinated, in sync. 

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together.  Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play.  As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him.  It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him.  You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you.  He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him.  There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you.  He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end.  You hold yourself back, hover over his face.  He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him.  The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls.  “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second.  Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping.  You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood.  There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him.  You’ve murdered him, and you scream.  You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts.  You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks.  Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room.  There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him.  When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.”  The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals. 

“You scared us, Baby on Board.”  Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?”  The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm.  Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly.  “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.”  Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening.  “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer.  He feels…rough. 

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not.  Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts.  Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear.  “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R.  They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh.  “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him.  “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck.  I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream.  I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out.  She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.”  He claps his hands together.  “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it.  Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him.  “I’ve been bouncing between you and her.  It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods.  “Dislocated nose.  Slight concussion.  Embarrassed.  Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself.  “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in.  “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues.  “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.”  Bob breathes out a reedy whistle.  “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone.  Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks. 

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed.  “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement.  Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head.  “How so?”

“She has all these rules.  To keep it clean.  To keep feelings out, you know?”  He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage.  “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face.  She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?”  The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod.  “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens.  “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you.  He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked.  One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you.  You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer.  Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender.  And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it. 

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall.  “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know.  I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.”  He sips his own coffee, smiles at you.  “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand.  “Whoa.  All the Daggers bet on you.  It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together.  Others bet that you wouldn’t.  Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is.  You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room.  You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people. 

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer.  “I nearly killed the guy.  Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed.  “You didn’t nearly kill him.  You only lightly injured him.  Then Bradley lightly injured you.  It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice.  It’s not funny at all.  Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman.  You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice.  “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you.  “Shit happens.  The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.”  The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.”  A beat.  “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy.  He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave.  He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee.  He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly.  “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?”  The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does.  His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy.  So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve.  You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes.  Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.”  He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can.  “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful.  He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first.  His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said:  his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt.  It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man.  That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured.  That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you.  Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them.  Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay.  I’m okay.  It’s fine,” he repeats.  You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay.  He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You shake your head.  You’re not okay at all.  You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit.  You watch him, wary.  You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure.  You just have to push through and say it.  Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies.  He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?”  It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it.  He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it.  “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back.  “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.”  He gestures with his free hand at his face. 

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts.  “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?”  The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting. 

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.”  His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again.  “Me and you.  For real this time.”

“I, uh…”  You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away.  You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together.  Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit.  Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words.  “Guys who don’t have their shit together.  It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you.  I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy.  Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…”  You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently. 

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.”  He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him.  “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him.  It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace.  His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers.  “And then maybe a second date.  I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile.  “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night.  Let me make you pancakes in the morning.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place.  Shampoo, extra clothes.  So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer.  “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.”  He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back.  “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh. 

“The worst.”  He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable.  His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious.  “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression.  You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again.  “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says.  “And yes, I’ve considered it.  First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you.  You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him.  His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it:  he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry. 

[yokelish]

About Lucanis and Neve

I need someone to make a valid argument to convince me this relationship isn't' doomed the moment Elgar'nan dies. Especially if Lucanis is the hardened one.

Either way, one of them gets hardened. Neve still retains more leniency when hardened (Rook can pursue her), her complex about attachments to people is made worse. Rook would have to actively dismantle walls to be able to pursue Neve romantically. Neve (hardened or not) sees the Venatori wounds on Lucanis and refuses to poke them. In her own way, it's out of consideration, sympathy. To her, it's kindness. Venatori wounds are painful like bones that never fuse together properly, and she isn't exactly a healer (pun intended). She doesn't like anyone poking into her Venatori wounds either.

Lucanis, while passionate, is just isn't' very good with people or feelings. He isn't good with his own emotions in terms of processing them. He is great at compartmentalizing but that mostly means an emotion is put on a shelf and never touched again. It takes Rook, romantic or platonic, to literally speak into his mind so he has no choice but hear: this is NOT how you deal with complex feelings or trauma. You can't just put it on a shelf and forget about it. You will have to stare down the abyss if you want the abyss to stop haunting you.

Hardened Lucanis is an even bigger can of worms in terms of romantic entanglements. Because via the virtue of Veilguard writing, the man is denied healing. He not only denies Rook a possibility of romance (which isn't the best writing choice, hardened Lucanis romance could have been mindblowing, but I can understand the choice to cut off romance). Lucanis denies himself the possibility of healing. There is a prison inside his mind he could start to dismantle after Inner Demons quest, but hardened Lucanis will fucking ignore the prison's presence and will internalize continue carry it like it's a vital organ and not appendicitis.

And in Neve/Lucanis pairing one of them IS hardened, no matter what. Which is nice! You deserve love and affection even if you've been through shit. But the virtue of Veilguard writing, either Neve or Lucanis gets the short end of the stick in terms of character growth.

So you either have Neve who has drawn the line in the sand, built a wall upon it, and decided that certain depth of a relationship with another person is just a bad idea. It's like underwater pressure: at certain point you just need to stop swimming deeper. She will dedicate to her pursuit of helping dock town, but if LI Rook hasn't carved out a hole in that wall and climbed through-- it is solid. Only people who got on the other side before the wall was finished (Rana, Bellara, Harding) will get to stay behind it.

Hardened Lucanis is...What kind of deep relationship do you expect from a man who actively sees himself as a danger to his romantic partner? That's a man with a broken leg refusing to get a cast. And Neve will not be able to watch this happen. Neve tells Lucanis they are both terrible at letting go and he shouldn't adopt that quality, but Hardened Lucanis not only adopts it, he cranks it up to 11. She will ask him to put on a cast, he will refuse. They'll argue about it. No one will give in, they are both incredibly stubborn. Maybe it happens once, maybe twice or thrice, but Neve will not do this to herself and simply watch a man she cares for, however deeply, sinking into misery. And Hardened Lucanis kinda comes across as miserable, even his speech of reclaiming his life after the war is over is underlined with 'or I'll die trying'.

Both of their romances require Rook to display incredible patience and understanding of the past wounds on either Neve or Lucanis, to encourage either to stop wearing the shackles of past traumas as part of armor. Those are shackles, they do not protect unless you seek protection from a fuller, richer life.

But in Hardened Neve/Lucanis this will not happened because Lucanis, while passionate and kind, just isn't fucking good with such things. He will come across an obstacle in his relationship with Neve and is just about as likely to think it belongs there as he is to make it awkward. It's a talent and a skill that will take years to even begin to master. Hardened Lucanis/Neve is just a bit of a nightmare for my girl, honestly. While they claim to take their romance slow, it will definitely take a few years for those problem spots to star showing. And I hope either Lucanis or Neve get the help they need before their romantic relationship with each other combusts like an ancient elven relic.

On that note, it is ENTIRELY A FUCKING CHOICE that you have the ability to forgive and push a man towards healing, when said man has:

a. Committed genocide via Rite of Tranquillity b. Tried to tear down the Veil twice and all with disastrous outcomes where thousands died c.Once accidentally killed his friend and twice very deliberately d. Betrays both Player Characters even if you are have been nothing but a friend to him e. Used blood magic on your to alter your mind

Butt you cannot push your companion, your friend, person you trust with your fucking life and the fate of the world to, to heal if you do not save his city. Even if the other city might be your home. it's a fucking choice, to be honest. Lucanis could have still hardened and healed and perhaps started to choose himself over other people finally but nooooo.

[rrezshifts]

theodorian, the son set to inherit a multi-million dollar wine company, made headlines for bringing a date to a grecian celebration. it’s not common for the son of one of the richest men in athens to bring dates to these types of events. when he had though, it was his friends and clearly stated as such. most of the man’s quote-on-quote relationships, never made it past the bedroom according to gossip articles.

the last the public had heard of these relationships was through gossip that the man had found a new paramour, a different person than who theo is seen with now. however, the greek was said to have been seen leaving parties alone less than a week after that gossip came out. more weeks went by as social media pages were dry with any gossip on theo and who he may or may not be with.

now, not too long after the celebration, theo has come out as in a relationship with the date he brought that night. that date has no reports of being a long past partner of the man either. theo and this man have graciously agreed to do an interview on their relationship with me, in hopes of satiating the fans need for gossip and information.

< interviewer > hi! it’s great to meet the both of you!

< theo > you too!

<???> great to meet you too!

< interviewer > let’s start with what everyone wants to know, who are you?

<???> my name is chrysanthos of athens, you can just call me chrys though.

< interviewer > do we get any other information on who you are?

< chrys > um… go ahead.

< theo > he is an actor! and a damn good one. he’s so incredibly talented! he’s a kind man, caring, and determined. he’s also very honest and he’s a hard worker!

< interviewer > is that so?

< chrys > he’s better at describing me then i am. i gave him permission to answer those kind of questions before hand.

< interviewer > to start, theo is a well known name in greece, but especially in athens. did you know about him before you met?

< chrys > not much… i would see newspapers with his face on it and a headline talking about his love life. i had assumptions, but i didn’t think of those assumptions too much. i was more focused on my career, and i was never one for gossip.

< interviewer > did those assumptions affect your first time meeting him?

< chrys > *chuckles* very much so. i met him at his family’s party, i’m rarely invited to parties, especially ones this lavish and big. and i had caught him staring at me numerous times throughout the first couple hours of this party. i had assumed he wanted to sleep with me. so when he approached me, i was expecting confidence and boldness. but instead i was met with awkwardness and stammering. he shook my hand, introduced himself, and when i introduced myself back he said, and i quote “i know.” i raised an eyebrow at him and he rambled out an explanation before making up an excuse to run away. i was shocked to say the least.

< interviewer > do i get an explanation on how you knew chrys’ name?

< theo > why not! a week prior to this party, i had gone to see a play at Dionysus’ theatre as i do regularly as a devotional act for Dionysus. it was a play i’d seen many times before. and every time the same actor played the main character. that night however, chrys had taken his place. i was entranced by him and his talent and the way he performed on stage. i had grown a crush in those first 5 minutes he was on stage that continued until the end of the show. i ended up looking in the plays program to find the slip of paper that explained the veteran actors replacement and what his replacements name was.

< chrys > he had looked me up on social media too.

< theo > no stop! that sounds creepy *covers his face with hands*

< chrys > *chuckles* and i later found out he was the reason i was included in the theatre troupes invite to his family’s party that night.

< theo > me staring at him for two hours straight was me just trying to work up the courage to talk to him.

< interviewer > from the stories the public has heard about you, some would say that’s very unlike you.

< theo > it is! he just made me very nervous. because this time i cared if i fucked it up… shoot! can i swear?

< interviewer > *nods* yes you can theo

< theo > oh okay good! he was one i couldn’t risk fucking shit up with in any way. and it felt like i did! i was terrified! i just ran away convinced i ruined everything!

< interviewer > so how did that first meeting turn into where you are now? or another way to put it, how did you find out you didn’t ruin everything, theo?

< theo > after about 15 minutes of me panicking and anxiously rambling to my best friend, i had felt a tap on my shoulder. when i turned around it was chrys. he wanted to know if we could continue talking somewhere. i looked to my friend and she just motioned for me to go. i told him yes, and he asked if there was somewhere more quiet so i took him to the balcony, which is usually locked during our parties.

< interviewer > chrys, were there any plans going into asking theo if there was somewhere more quiet? sounds very risqué.

< chrys > oh my god, no! it was just really loud and i think i was starting to hear moaning, and i’d never been to a party like that before, so it was more of just a chance to escape.

< interviewer > theo did you think he was trying to get you into bed with him?

< theo > honestly i don’t know what i was thinking other than panicking, trying to focus on my breathing and be as calm as possible. but i believed him when he told me he had no plans to try and seduce me.

< interviewer > so what did you guys talk about on that balcony?

< chrys > i asked him about himself, he asked me about myself. we talked about our family and our childhood. we talked for what felt like hours, but the party still had not died down. half way through someone brought us wine, i barely noticed, didn’t ask. but we both drank away. he asked me about my dreams, offered to talk to people and pull some strings to get me a better leg up but i refused. told him why-

< theo > and i fell for him ever harder because of it.

< chrys > *chuckles* yes, he tells me all the time how much he adores my ambition, and my need to succeed on my own.

< interviewer > and how did the night end for you two?

< chrys > it barely did if we’re being honest.

< theo > *awkwardly laughs* well as you can expect after numerous glasses of wine, and mutual interest, flirting began between us. nothing raunchy more so just…

< chrys > romantic. i would say at least!

< theo > yes very romantic. we would compliment each others appearance in soft ways, compliment each others personality even… then he escalated the flirting to more than just romantic, and next thing i knew i was grabbing his hand and leading him around the corner of our wrap around patio, down the stairs that led to the second floor wrap around patio, and brought him straight into my room.

< interviewer > so you two slept together that night?

< chrys > yes… to be fair though, he did tell me we didn’t have to, that we could just talk in his room. though, fun fact, when i asked if he took all his hook-ups to his room this way, i also found out that his hook-ups think they’ve seen his room, but in reality only see a guest room on the fourth floor.

< interviewer > oh wow! so chrys was important to you, huh theo?

< theo > very much so! he spent the night, ate breakfast (or more so brunch) with my family, and stayed a little into the day until i finally let him leave muahaha !! though i was scared he wouldn’t want to see me again. i brought up seeing him again at breakfast, and he told me, “i was hoping i meant more to you than just one night given that i’m sat in your sleepwear eating omelettes with you at 12pm.”

< interviewer > so i assume you two saw each other again due to our current setting *laughs*

< chrys > *laughs* yes, we saw each other again.

< interviewer > how did you two view your relationship prior to the red carpet event where you, theo, took chrys as your date?

< theo > from the beginning i viewed him as so much more than what any of my past encounters have been. the goal was never just sex with him. i just wanted him in my life, no matter if it was just friends or if it was more. when things evolved, i don’t think there was a label that could be assigned to it. but i basically viewed him as my almost boyfriend, i mean if he asked me to be his boyfriend any time after we woke up the night after, i would have said yes… which some say would’ve been dumb. *laughs*

< interviewer > and you chrys?

< chrys > at the beginning, i was worried i was just one of his conquests. i knew his hook-ups were never just one night for him, and i thought that was my fate. i viewed it this way until, not long after, he asked me to hang out. not have sex, but hang out. then i thought… maybe he wants friends with benefits? which then got quieted down as theo began singing my praises in the most romantic ways, as well as when i began noticing how he looked at me in the most heart wrenching ways. and these actions were consistent, he told me he was seeing no one else, and that he didn’t plan on it either. it was just me. and soon i saw it the same way he did… we were almost boyfriends! until he asked me out the same day he asked me to be his date to the event.

< interviewer > so what was the timeline of you two first meeting and then becoming boyfriends?

< chrys > i would say… theo saw me preform. a week later we met. three to four weeks later he asked me out.

< interviewer > that’s so short! i can’t imagine how sure you two have to be with that timeline! it’s very cute. are you worried about what people may say when they see that timeline?

< theo > personally i am not because i’ve lived through this kind of attention and constant scrutiny from the public my whole life. but i understand chrys has not had that kind of attention and i know he’s worried. which makes me worried for him. i wish i could make that shit not affect him, but that’s not how it works, so i’ll be there for him when it does.

< chrys > there’s so much i know i have to be ready for, and i know it’ll suck. but it’s worth it to be with theo, truly. as long as we’re happy, i don’t care.

< interviewer > that’s very sweet, i wish the best for both of you! thank you so much for speaking with me!

< theo > thank you so much, it was a pleasure.

< chrys > yes, thank you.

genuinely thank you if you read all or any of this !! i’m also genuinely so proud of this even if it’s a bit ass. so thank you if you gave it even a little of attention 💕🫶

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Wassup y'all, I'm back from lowkey radio silence with another hot take.

I've been trying to figure out lately why my multishipper ass dislikes a lot of ships within the fandom- more specifically a lot of greaser/soc pairings, and I realised at the core of it it's because there is no conceivable universe where they work without completely changing canon or the personalities of the characters. or at the very least their loyalties and motivations. Narratively, the novel is very clear about this, it even throws Marbit in our faces to prove it, showing (greaser) Two-bit his absolute dream girl who is beautiful and fun and likes him too , and yet is forever unattainable because she's a soc.

"Oh but Lovely, you ship Marbit! And you've written Parry! Obviously you're just hating on our ships."

No, I'm not. I very specifically DON'T hate on any ship, because that makes fandom less fun and more toxic and that is the LAST thing I want to do and because everyone deserves to have their blorbos and their ships that make them happy, I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum. And I realise my claiming I can't see greaser/soc pairings and using Marbit as an example of why while also actively shipping them looks very hypocritical. That said, I ship both Marbit and Parry in a very specific way, that would work canon compliantly, or at the absolute minimum still within canon verse without changing the tensions or the history between the east side and the west wide, or the characters as people.

Do I think Marbit could work in canon (in a post canon verse)? Absolutely I do- but not with Marcia staying a soc, or (more unlikely) Two-bit staying a greaser. If it's going to work- and I think it will because they are each others person, in any universe, whether it works or not- then Marcia either needs to fully acccept that the man she's in love with is a greaser and will always be a greaser, he is from the east side, and he has nothing set up in terms of a future, and no family money to keep him safe and sheltered. She needs to accept it, and accept Two-bit in the process, and embrace a life where she is ok with it being her future, particularly if she and Two-bit ever want to date in the open, and definitely if they ever want to get married. If Marcia wants Two-bit she needs to be prepared for the judgment she will face from her peers for marrying a man so far 'beneath' her, has to be prepared for potentially being disowned/cut off by her parents, needs to be okay with the realities of east side life becoming her reality. In a slightly different reality, Two-bit needs to be prepared for marrying Marcia meaning he needs to clean up his act, needs to realise it will entail being forever looked down on by her family and friends (if they stay in contact), be prepared for Marcia's parents to pull some strings and get him a decent job, not a soc level one but one available to the upper middle class and definitely not poor kids. If Two wants Marcia he needs to recognise that it will mean no more petty thieving and no more booze and being viewed as a class traitor by the majority of his neighbourhood. In either version he has to be ready to deal with the people who will tell him he's ruining Marcia' life, that he dragged her away from her life and her potential, will perhaps have to grapple with those feelings even if they come from no one but himself.

But I still could see them working in canon, and working as themselves, but their relationship would always be affected by soc and greaser dynamics and if they work out, one of them will forever be viewed as a class traitor, and it will absolutely not be smooth sailing no matter how much they love each other.

Parry is a little bit different, but it's still a greaser/soc ship I could see fitting in canon, or in universe without egregiously changing the characters or class tensions, and a big part of why is because it's a clandestine relationship that is doomed from the start, and is doomed in every universe. It's a first love, a secret gay relationship between teenage hypermasculine football players in the 60s. Here, class tensions probably caused tension in the relaionship, but outside pressures would be less because Darry was well liked by even the rich kids and known to be going places, and also because the relationship itself never saw the light of day. The reason I ship Parry but only when they're doomed is because it very obviously could happen: Darry could kiss Paul in secret and still be a greaser loyal to this neighbourhood, and Paul could snog Darry and still be an upstanding upper class golden boy without looking like he's punching down, because no one knew they were dating in the first place. They could have truly loved each other when they were together and in canon it means nothing except the fact that their fight was a bit more personal than any other at the rumble, because neither of them ever intended for their relationship to be anything but a secret. They knew it would never be real in the sense they could have a life together, so it fits in canon because they characters were only ever going to be themselves, and as themselves their social classes make it so they are fundamentally incompatible, even if homophobia wasn't a barrier that it so obviously would have been. Darry and Paul work as a plausible couple because they never plausibly would have ever made a go of a serious relationship, and they both know it.

"Oh but Lovely," you say "by that logic any greaser/soc gay ship works in canon verse or canon adjacent verse. You should be able to see/ship any of them." To which I say no, not necessarily. First of all, not every queer person throughout history was okay with having a secret relationship- quiet ones sure, but gay people had 'roommates' in the sixties, and i think textually there is a lot of evidence to support that the majority of the Outsiders characters, were they queer, would not be particularly interested in being anyone's dirty little secret. And even if that weren't the case, and they'd be fine with a secret relationship, the fact remains that the greasers and the socs don't like each other. In fact, they canonically despise each other to the point where violence between the groups is commonplace. Darry was in a very unique position as captain of the football team and boy of the year, to form a connection with Paul that would be able to blossom into romance. He had a level of comfort and familiarity with the socs that the vast majority of the greasers don't have, and would never attempt to or even want to attain. The average greaser sees the socs as a danger and the reason they always get the short end of the stcik, and the average soc sees the greasers as ruffians and thugs, dirt under their shoes that belongs there. Yes, the book makes the point that all people are just people, but from what we see textually the chances of a greaser and a soc- particularly of the same gender- getting close enough to form a romantic attachment is slim to none unless both sides got really cool with a bunch of stuff really quickly after the rumble.

ANWAY if anyone is still here thank you for listening to my rambly unedited thoughts from 2am, these are my reasons for not shipping the majority of greaser/soc pairs, I hope they make sense

[celticcrossanon]

Why do you think Camilla's unable to accept she's not liked and people still see her as "the other woman" to this day? I think Camilla's problem is the public didn't know her until she was publicly outed as "the other woman" during Charles and Diana's marriage and first impressions matter. Plus, Camilla didn't seem to do anything with her time except be with Charles until she married him 12 years after the affair was exposed. That's a long time for public perceptions to be baked into the cake.

Hi Nonny,

The general public knew about Camilla long before Prince Charles's marriage. She was one of his 'special ladies' and regularly featured in the newspapers as his partner at events, both before and especially after her marriage, along with Lady Kanga and others. When Prince Charles was looking for a bride, there was open speculation about if and how this would affect his relationship with his 'special ladies'.

See point number 4 in this article, https://people.com/royals/camilla-duchess-of-cornwall-life-in-photos/, and don't believe the 'just friends' nonsense - the newspapers of the day knew exactly what was going on and alluded to it constantly.

Camilla has a reputation as Charles's mistress before he married Lady Diana, and the public soured on her when it became known that instead of doing the decent thing and ending the relationship, they continued in a tight emotional affair that became physical again a few years later. Charles called Camilla every day on his honeymoon, gave her expensive jewellery, and was reported to be unable to go a day without having some sort of contact with her (as per Charles's valet). This is not the actions of people who are focused on making a success of their marriages, this is people who want to have their cake and eat it too.

Remember Camilla and her husband did not divorce until 1995, after the publication of the phone tapes called 'Camillagate' in Jan 1993 and the revelation of their secret phone messages, including Charles wanting to be her tampon) one and half years after he married Lady Diana in July 1981 and before the birth of Prince Harry in 1994) . So Camilla was quite happy to be Prince Charles's mistress (emotional and/or physical affair) for all that time and to cheat on her husband for all that time (from whenever their affair started, through her marriage until divorce). Again, this is not someone (someones if we include Prince Charles) who are interested in making a go of their marriage (because if they did want to make a go of their marriage, they would not commit adultery, let alone for such an extended period of time).

Living rent free in crown property as Prince Charles's official mistress/girlfriend after his divorce didn't help her much either. Neither did getting Charles to give the contracts for decorating his properties to her sister. She did get points for carrying out a few events in the face of the (completely understandable) outrage directed at her.

So Camilla has a long, long history of being in the public eye and influencing Prince Charles to favour her and her family above everyone else. Her being exposed as the 'other woman' (which everyone suspected) and the revelation of her power over Prince Charles and her influence and constant presence in his marriage to Lady Diana are, for me, the reasons the public turned on her. No one likes a person who behaved as she did (except Prince Charles, obviously).

EDITED BECAUSE I STUFFED UP THE DATES

Charles and Diana married in 1981

William born 1982

Harry born 1984

Camillagate in 1992, tape published in 1993.

Squidgygate in 1992

I have crossed out the bit where I mucked up the dates - my point about the close contact between Charles and Camilla still stands, but the P-B divorce and the phone tape scandals x 2 were about 10 years later than I had them - sorry!

[bananarrlele]

"A Study in Affection"

plot: “mr. silvair attempts to unravel the complexities of human affection for his human partner. struggling to understand love, he embarks on a series of clumsy, awkward, and sometimes failed attempts to bridge the gap between his scientific nature and the intimacy his partner craves." established relationship, living in the otherworld, couple issues, unrequited love, slow burn, emotional angst, introspection, miscommunication/language barriers, unconventional romance, dark athmosphere, suggestive, but no actual sex (no smut). everything written in bold refers to the otherworld language. word count: 5k+.

The cold little room that served as Mr. Silvair's laboratory could easily be described as grotesque. The environment seemed more like an extension of his cold and methodical mind than a space dedicated to medical practice. The stained tiles on the walls, once bright, reflected the pale light from the slightly flickering overhead lamps. Chains hanging from the ceiling adorned the room's edges, standing out as silvered, rusted threats. Moreover, the ceiling resembled a web of deteriorated pipes and conspicuous marks of grime, far from ignorable to the eyes.

In the central part of the room stood a metal table, marred by scars: cuts, scratches, and stains whose origins were better left unquestioned. On that table, the instruments of the monstrous doctor reigned supreme: scalpels, too sharp like ruthless razors, tweezers and hooks in unusual shapes, and syringes ranging in size from practical to utterly questionable. The jars and flasks on his shelves were disparate in coloration and aspect. Some were nearly translucent and strangely pleasing to the eye, while others were as dark as the pitch-black of a cursed night. Some housed creatures, or fragments of them, floating in viscous liquids that emitted a ghostly glow. Moreover, faded and aged papers lay scattered across the laboratory bench, like petals fallen from a withered flower. Their yellowed, fragile edges seemed on the verge of disintegration at the slightest touch, yet the hurried scribbles in black ink remained clear, implacable in their precision. Mr. Silvair’s handwriting was fine, almost ethereal, but hasty, as though every thought had to be recorded before it vanished into the chaos of his analytical mind. Anatomical diagrams, sketches of strange tools, and the flow of liquids in organic systems followed one another, interspersed, suggesting the persistence of carefully laid plans for convoluted practices and experiments.

These convoluted experiments were far beyond your comprehension. They had always been so, and would always remain, no matter how distressed a human heart might feel. Cold, sterile, devoid of sentiment, and strangely fascinating in its functionality. The space was an exquisite portrait of his mind and his nature, so distressing in certain lights yet profoundly intriguing. Undeniably, loving him was a painful dichotomy. The brutal precision of his mind was as admirable as it was overwhelming. How many times had you admired him, standing with his back turned, his long pale hair flowing gently like veils across his back, moving majestically as he traversed the space, immersed in his experiments? His slender, weathered hands, at times healing, at others injurious, were the object of your desire, evoking an incessant yearning that transfixed your chest. Whether watching the doctor dismember pieces of a low-sentience monster or performing sutures with an almost frightening calm, sewing living tissues and intertwining remnants of life as if it were an art, there was something about him that left you in a state of near avidity. He was there, within arm’s reach, yet he seemed so distant. His touch seemed cold and nonexistent, like trying to grasp mist. His presence was a contradiction — solid and unyielding, yet intangible, as if he occupied a space you could never truly enter.

You often wondered whether he noticed the painful chasm between you, a gap carved not out of cruelty but by his very nature. The way his sharp, attentive gaze slid over you as if examining one of his experiments was a lasting reminder of his habitual coldness. Yet still, in fleeting moments like the beat of a heart, there were times when he lingered just long enough for your senses to string together his gestures as fragments of a demonstration of his love.

But Mr. Silvair did not understand the meaning of love. Perhaps love was one of the most meager concepts capable of transcending the doctor's capacity for comprehension. He could not grasp it and would likely never manage to assimilate its ephemeral and unfathomable nature, being so obsessed with cataloging results and his own experiments.

A weary and restless sigh escapes your lips. "Such selfishness of mine. To demand that a ghost like him understand the complexity of love and the relevance of physical touch to human beings. I should be content with the fact that he likes me enough to keep me around — and I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world." That’s what you thought, your lips twisting in consternation, as you watched him meticulously suture a cut on Mr. Chopped's brow, his precise, impassive hands closing the wound without the slightest tremor.

But deep down, you yearned. You yearned for his touch, for even a single word, something to escape that clinical silence and confess that he loved you. Something to prove that he liked you, not as a domesticated experiment or a laboratory pet, but as someone real, someone who mattered.

The sigh does not go unnoticed by the doctor. His fingers, stained with dark remnants, finish the suture with an almost inhuman precision before resting Mr. Chopped on the cold examination table. The monster, inert and stitched, seems as insignificant as any of his other experiments.

Silvair straightens slowly, the subtle sound of his movements filling the sterile silence of the room. When he turns to face you, his scrutiny is calculated, as if analyzing an anomaly in a body. But this time, there’s hesitation. A minor, almost imperceptible detail suggests that he notices.

“Something wrong.”

He murmurs in his flat voice, devoid of any exceptional emotion. A simple statement, almost scientific, as if identifying a fracture or an irregular heartbeat in some random creature. Yet, for some reason, the way he says it makes your throat tighten.

It was so typical of him: noticing that something was out of place, but never understanding what it was or why.

Then, without warning, he somberly turns on his heels and picks up Mr. Chopped with indifferent ease. The sound of his footsteps echoes briefly before being lost in the silence, leaving you alone in the cold laboratory, enveloped in your own thoughts.

When he returns minutes later, the absence of the bubbly head in his arms only makes the focus of his attention more evident. Silvair stands still in a particular spot in the room, slender and upright like a somber tower of an abandoned abbey, with his hands clasped behind his back in an almost theatrical gesture, and his gaze fixed unmistakably on you, so much so that you feel your own skin burn in anticipation. His posture was clearly inquisitive, as if seeking invisible cracks he might examine and decipher.

But the uncertainties of your heart were superficial and easy to find. It was as though your chest refused to be secretive, or perhaps it was your human nature that contributed to that piercing sensation, like an unending hammer, which made you so vulnerable in relation to the doctor.

“You not well.”

He attempts to approach, his slender, angular silhouette stepping into the dim light illuminating the room.

“Something bother you.”

“Something change.”

He furrows his brow minimally. His expression remains essentially unchanged and impenetrable, but there is a shadow of discomfort there, as if being confronted with a situation beyond his control was something inexorable, distressing to him.

You don’t respond, your throat caught in a strange combination of fear and hope. The desire for him to approach and truly see you, as someone real and complex, almost hurts.

“You different. Me want know.”

The statement sounds like a challenge. An awkward silence then persists for a few seconds, long enough for him to tilt his head slightly. That was a gesture that often accompanies moments of genuine curiosity.

You try to find the right words, but the truth is you don’t know how to tell him that you want something more, something beyond the platonic and scientific care he offers. Furthermore, the language of monsters was insufficient to express what you truly felt and yearned to release. Although Silvair had learned multiple words of your natural language almost flawlessly, it was as if the vocabulary in both expressions was lacking to convey all your frustrations. You take a risk, anyway, the words spilling out like an unrestrained, dragging outpour, alternating between the two languages.

“I just wanted…” — You begin, but feel an unbearable knot in your throat, like tight vines. Silvair remains waiting for your voice, curious to dissect the cause of such profound anguish.

After a long moment, you finally let out, almost like an exasperated sigh:

“I just wanted your touch. I want your care, not just for stitching wounds or manipulating medicine. I don’t just want to be near you. Me want touch. Me want feel loved.”

The impact of the words falls like a hammer between you. Silvair recoils, a fleeting shock passing over his usually relaxed features, as if carved in marble and immortal in their imperturbable beauty. He had never heard anything like this before. For him, touching someone was merely a means to an end — a technical necessity for healing wounds or maintaining control over a specimen. Never to express anything more.

“Me confused. Me not understand love.”

His confession is almost inaudible, as if he were finally admitting his inability to understand anything beyond the boundaries of the rational.

You shrug, trying not to show how painful it is to hear those words from his mouth, even though he didn’t say them with the intent to hurt.

“I know. That’s why it hurts.” — You whisper to yourself, drawing in your lower lip in consternation in a futile attempt to maintain your composure, while those treacherous blue shards escape your eyes like tiny fragments of crystal falling from a cracked stained glass. At that moment, the fissure in your chest, opened by Silvair’s words, felt deeper than the crack slicing through one of the aged laboratory walls, where so many strange things found their way.

The doctor’s gaze drop to the ground for a moment, as if he were genuinely trying to understand, but failing. He seems lost, his hands restless before his body, and you feel a wave of compassion and frustration mixed together. He would never be able to fully understand, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t wish for something more from him.

Then, as if an internal switch had been flipped, Silvair withdraws, the sound of his heavy steps echoing through the room. The door creaks as it closes behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts and an unexpected emptiness. For a moment, you feel a deep sadness, as if he had taken a part of you with him — something you had never known you expected to receive from someone like Silvair.

The rest of the day was irredeemably dull and dragged on. You sat on the sofa in the small antechamber outside Mr. Silvair's medical inspection laboratory, absentmindedly fiddling with a Rubik's cube that Mr. Masque had given to Mr. Crawling, the latter having generously offered the artifact to you, the one he affectionately called his "favorite human." But nothing could lift your sullen mood.

You turned the cube between your fingers, rotating its colorful faces without focus, as if it were a meaningless distraction. Your mind wandered between the pain of your conversation with Silvair and the endless hours during which he vanished into the vast, gloomy corridors and pathways of the ghosts' apartment. Where might he be now, with his measured steps, the smell of formalin clinging to him, and the crimson metallic richness of blood lingering on his skin, his long locks streaked with dried, vital fluid? His scent, mannerisms, and even his voice were like precious gems in your memory — existent but not within your grasp. It was disturbing how he seemed to occupy every inch, every corner of your mind.

You tried to imagine: had he completely ignored your complaints, shrugged them off, and returned to his pragmatic experiments elsewhere? Was he perhaps even more focused than usual, desperately trying to understand what love truly meant? Or was he simply sitting, lost in some thought you couldn’t conceive?

Your gaze swept across the room, now empty and shadowy, lingering on the shelves filled with jars, scalpels, and preserved specimens. Each one seemed to carry a story, a small piece of the enigma that Silvair was. At the same time, however, the ache in your chest only grew. You had never met anyone like him — so complex, yet so incomprehensible. Silvair was the embodiment of mystery, a cold enigma you longed to unravel but always seemed just out of your understanding.

You sighed, clutching the Rubik's cube in your hands more tightly until the colors began to blur. And once again, you asked yourself: What was he doing now?

While you were engulfed in creeping melancholy for hours and hours, in another dim and desolate room, its walls as cold as a stone embrace, Mr. Silvair idly sifted through a pile of abandoned objects. It was a tolerated habit for the doctor, even though he considered most of these items irrelevant. Among organic samples and scribbled notes, he stumbled upon something unusual: a worn magazine cover with vibrant colors and an eye-catching illustration of two humans in what he vaguely recognized as a kiss.

He approached it, his pale, elongated hands reaching for the booklet with a mix of curiosity and reluctance. It was obvious who had left it there — Mr. Gap. The fissure monster was a sporadic but unforgettable presence. Gap had a habit of appearing with all sorts of items: newspaper fragments, festival pamphlets from non-existent events, and now, a human magazine titled The Secrets of Passion.

There was a small note scrawled in the corner of the cover in messy handwriting, as if Gap had struggled considerably to hold the pen:

“Kiss seems to say heart. I want heart. Give me heart. Kiss like.”

Silvair read Gap's words in silence. The figure of the fissure monster, who would occasionally appear with clippings and fragments of newspapers on the most varied subjects — ranging from trivialities like cookie recipes to stories of a serial killer wreaking havoc — was now immortalized in a curious observation about kisses and human desire. Silvair frowned. What was a kiss, after all, to someone like Mr. Gap? What did the other monster know that he didn’t? Silvair knew his studies had not prepared him for such a question. He had studied anatomy, human behavior on a physical level, hormonal responses, everything that could be analyzed and understood. But love?

He closed the magazine, his rigid hands gripping the cover tightly, trying to make sense of what was stirring inside him. Something moved within his being. Mr. Gap had once again managed to plant a seed of discomfort — or curiosity — in the doctor’s essence. For a moment, he found himself wondering if he could learn the art of kissing, or at least understand why humans seemed to find this gesture so important. And more than that: if the kiss was the key, could it be the gateway to love?

Suddenly, with a faint, restless twist of his lips, Silvair shut the magazine, holding the piece of paper in his hands as though it were a precious object of study. Deep down, he felt that something was about to change. Drastically.

Silvair had isolated himself in recent days, immersing himself in meticulous studies and attempts to understand human gestures of affection. He spent hours poring over those magazines and fragments brought by Mr. Gap, consumed by an unrelenting search for something beyond the physical, something that could truly touch the complexity of love and human relationships.

The magazine he had found held much more than scientific explanations about kisses and touches. As he delved into its pages, something else captivated him: the images. There, on the yellowed paper, he found photographs and illustrations of couples in moments of such intense affection that they seemed to transcend simple physical contact. Bodies intertwined in a way that felt almost mystical, as though they were on the verge of merging into a single entity. It was more than just a kiss, more than a loving embrace. It was an intimacy so profound, so visceral, that he could hardly comprehend it.

The images left him stunned. He observed them, analyzed every detail, every touch, every curve of skin and movement, but he could not grasp the reason behind that energy. He stared at the figures repeatedly, as if trying to decode them.

"Strong contact. Not medicine explain. Me not understand..." he muttered, running his pale fingers through his light hair, visibly frustrated.

Dr. Silvair’s Attempts

PROCEDURE I: “The Mannequin”

The mannequin stood before him, its cold and rigid structure serving as a substitute for human flesh. His sharp gaze scanned every detail of the object, with his fingers firmly positioned to replicate the gestures described in the magazine. His lips slowly approached the mannequin’s face. He pressed them gently against the plastic surface, attempting to emulate the act of a kiss. There was no warmth, no response. The chill of the plastic was a stark reminder of the distance he still had to traverse.

Observations: "Objective: Simulate a kiss on a non-living object to observe physical responses. Result: No emotional reaction observed. Conclusion: As suspected, reciprocity seems to be a crucial factor in human interaction, something that cannot be reproduced without an active second party."

PROCEDURE II: “Self-Imitation”

After failing with the mannequin, Silvair decided to try a different approach: he would be his own test subject. Sitting in front of a mirror, he repeated the motions he had seen in the magazines. His lips touched his own with almost scientific precision. He observed every micro-expression in the mirror, analyzing his own eyes, the way his facial muscles reacted, trying to detect some emotional response in his body. But again, all he felt was the absence of something. The touch generated no internal reaction, no change.

Observations: "Objective: Attempt to experience the act of a kiss in a self-conscious context, observing facial and bodily reactions. Result: No observable changes in physical or emotional responses. Conclusion: The emotional response to the action is not triggered by the mere repetition of the act. The emotional factor appears crucial to eliciting a genuine reaction. Reactions cannot be replicated without a real connection."

PROCEDURE III: “The Monstrous Rose”

Inspired by the magazine’s mention of simple yet symbolic gestures of affection, Mr. Silvair recalled his collection of monstrous flowers — his own creation, with black petals and iridescent edges, exuding a sweet and peculiar aroma that was almost hypnotic. He believed that the symbolic gesture of offering a flower could elicit a stronger emotional reaction, as humans often associated gestures like this with affection.

When he finally entered the little room where you were, half-asleep on the sofa, he observed your figure curled up like a bird with battered wings. The Rubik's cube had already rolled to the floor, having slipped from your hands. When he approached, you looked up at him, surprised.

“Me offer gesture.” — He said, his voice tinged with an unusual softness, extending the flower to you.

You raised your eyes, somewhat startled, but accepted the flower. The fragility of the gesture made your heart leap slightly, and for a moment, the smile on your lips seemed genuine.

“Thank you, Silvair.” — You murmured in your native tongue, bringing the flower close to your face, inhaling its scent of burnt caramel and polished copper. — “Beautiful. But why you bring this to me?”

He watched your reaction carefully, registering every micro-expression. He stood poised and expectant, like someone awaiting immediate validation.

“Me test affection.”

You furrowed your brow slightly, nodding. “Of course, you test. Gestures like this need come from heart, not through testing, Silvair.” You spoke in a tone of gentle reprimand, your voice tinged with lingering frailty. He captured a considerable part of your message, his expression tightening slightly.

He blinked slowly, as though processing your words. “Heart… not functional in this context. Me try again.”

You sighed as he retreated, taking the flowers with him, which now seemed like a failed experiment.

Observations: “Positive reaction observed: increased heart rate, pupil dilation. Receptiveness to symbolic offering generates some level of emotional bond but is insufficient for deep or intimate engagement.

Additional Consideration: “The symbolic significance of a gift may generate an emotional response, but it does not equate to a deeper or more intimate interaction. The flower functioned as a marker of interest but not as a gesture of complete emotional surrender.”

After the episode with the monstrous flowers, the night dragged on in silence, filled with a quiet tension that lingered in the air. The laboratory was illuminated only by a soft light that fell over the notes scattered across the tables and the flasks containing mysterious substances. Silvair was engrossed in his thoughts, the tip of his pen furiously scratching paper, his focus fixed on his observations. You watched him while lounging carelessly in a chair, your legs hanging over its arms. You bit the tip of your thumb absentmindedly as something churned within you, responding to his dissociated behavior. The silence had become nearly unbearable, as had his repeated absences. If before it was agonizing to witness him steadfastly preserving his immutable exteriority, never attempting any kind of affection, seeing him obsessively conducting literal and absurd experiments to determine love and turn affection into a performative, perfectly calculated act was an even more tormenting experience. You felt excluded — and more than that, you felt an ever-growing need for something more between you two, something beyond studies, the clinic, and his cold behavior.

The suffocating silence between you was unbearable, and the impulse overcame reason. You approached him cautiously, positioning yourself behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. Your fingers, hesitant at first, slid across his cold torso. Your touch was gentle, a silent invitation for something more intimate.

He finally stopped writing but did not move. His body remained rigid, motionless like a statue.

“Why so distant?” — You asked, pressing your face against his shoulder, seeking some sign of reciprocity.

“Me busy.” — He replied, his voice as cold as ever, but there was something else there — perhaps a note of uncertainty that didn’t escape your notice.

Your frustration grew heavier. You slid your hand lower, attempting to draw his attention, but he caught your wrist, halting any further progress. He wasn’t harsh, but his grip was firm enough to make it clear he didn’t want this.

“Not now.” — He said, releasing your hand and returning his focus to his notes.

You stepped back, hurt. The words were simple, but they carried a devastating impact. He didn’t lift his eyes to you, didn’t notice the gleam of tears threatening to escape as you walked away.

“Alright." — You murmured, your voice trembling. — “Sorry.”

When you left the room, the sound of the door closing echoed louder than it should have, as if sealing an abyss between you two.

Mr. Silvair remained still for a few moments after your departure, the pencil suspended in midair. His mind, normally so focused, seemed scattered.

“Intimacy…” — He murmured to himself, recalling the figures from Mr. Gap’s magazine he had examined days earlier. Images of intertwined hands, deep kisses, and bodies so close they seemed symbiotic. He remembered a note written in Gap’s erratic handwriting:

“Love strange. Bodies together, mind too. Sex? Kiss? Very strange. But good?”

Intimacy and sexuality echoed in his cloudy mind, interweaving uncomfortably. At the time, he had dismissed Gap’s erratic scrawlings as a disconnected ramble, but now, recalling your pained expression, something inside him began to shift.

“They try. Me fail?”

He shut the notebook forcefully, the sound reverberating through the empty room. For the first time in a long while, he felt something that could be described as regret.

A few days had passed since Silvair’s initial, frustrating attempts to comprehend the complexities of human nature. The tension between you had reached a silent breaking point, like a rope stretched beyond its limit. He spoke little, and you even less. But his silence always felt calculated, while yours was laden with emotions that could not be translated into words.

That morning, an unexpected accident occurred during what seemed like an innocent game with Mr. Machete — a friendly duel of blades and laughter, a competition of skill, escalated beyond what it should have. The playful match resulted in a deep cut on your left thigh, far more severe than anything reasonable for a mere game. Mr. Machete’s blade had slid more smoothly than anticipated, slicing through the skin and leaving a wound that stretched across a considerable portion of your leg.

Silvair acted quickly, faster than usual. He did not show panic, but his movements were swifter and more precise than normal. With you seated on the inspection table, he brought his tools and began cleaning the wound. Despite the pain, you noticed something different about him. His hands, which always moved with unwavering firmness and methodical precision, trembled slightly.

“You scare me.” — He murmured as he applied antiseptic, his eyes fixed on the wound as if avoiding your face. There was an irritation in his tone that you couldn’t quite define, a discomfort that spilled into his voice. — “You not should play like that.”

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible in his reprimand. “You stop this need. Not do again, not with them.” — He seemed to hesitate before adding. — “Not with machete man. Careful you must be. Should.”

“Don’t worry so much!” — You said, offering him a soft smile to ease his indignation. — “Me know you try care for me.”

“Not just about the cut.” — He murmured, more to himself than to you.

His fingers, in an involuntary movement, touched the edge of your thigh, the skin around the wound. The sensitivity of the area, paired with his gentle touch, made your body flinch slightly — but not from pain. It was his proximity, the way he seemed to feel the suffering you were enduring without truly knowing how to handle it.

Suddenly, Silvair’s hands moved up to your face, touching your cheeks with an unexpected delicacy. His fingers, cold and trembling, traced the lines of your face as if trying to understand every contour, every expression you offered, like an impossible equation to solve.

His closeness made your heart race in anticipation. His presence was intense, as though he were on the verge of doing something even he didn’t know how to accomplish. You felt the tension between you rise, charged with something ready to reveal itself, though neither of you knew how to act.

He hesitated, perhaps unsure, but his focus never wavered from you. Silvair seemed unable to withdraw, unable to let go of you, and this was unexpected. It was a fine line between desire and hesitation, between human impulse and his incapacity to comprehend it. When he finally leaned in closer, his face coming dangerously near yours, his touch against your skin seemed to dissolve the barriers between you.

The air was thick with hesitation, but without warning, he leaned in further, his lips brushing against yours softly, as though trying to understand something he still could not define. The kiss was uncertain, hesitant, reminiscent of the first time he had tried to mimic the gesture with the mannequin. Yet there was something profoundly human about it, something he, perhaps unknowingly, longed to grasp.

But this time, there was something more. A shiver ran down your spine as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving with increasing firmness, as if trying to unravel the mechanics of a gesture that had now become part of him. He explored the softness of your lips with the tip of his tongue, touching them with unusual gentleness, yet also with an impulse that spoke louder than words. Silvair tasted you, and something stirred within his chest, something he could neither name nor explain. He pulled you closer, his touch assertive, strong, commanding — yet his hands moved to cradle your face delicately, soothingly, as though he feared breaking you. One hand traveled further, gripping your waist firmly, as if to show you the depth of his desire, which he could barely comprehend himself.

The kiss grew more desperate, less measured, almost voracious, with the caresses reaching a peak of urgency. He felt your breath, ragged against his skin, quickened to match his, and with slow, deliberate movements, he lifted you effortlessly, placing you on the cold surface of his inspection table. His hands never left you, lingering near, almost possessive, as he leaned over you, his features focused and intense. His hand traveled over your skin with more confidence, touching places where he felt the vibration of your body beneath his fingers.

His tongue intertwined with yours, now bolder, yet retaining the same careful attention as if deciphering the meaning of every touch, every movement. His fingers glided smoothly, exploring the curves of your body with reverent silence but an intensity that grew, as though trying to absorb every fragment of warmth you emitted. He touched you with a tenderness that concealed a quiet hunger, as though it were his first time allowing himself to feel the warmth of affection, the discovery of care, and the growing desire for something deeper, something genuine.

As your lips parted momentarily, just long enough for him to catch his breath, Silvair kept his forehead pressed against yours, his manner captivated and almost possessive. His breath was heavy as he whispered, more to himself than to you:

“Fascinating...”

He lifted his gaze, the movement delicate, almost attentive, as if he were trying to decipher the rhythm of your breath, the scent of the air around you, every minute detail in his surroundings. The blindfold that covered his eyes was no impediment; on the contrary, it seemed to heighten his perception, creating a sharper sense of closeness, as if he could feel every beat of your heart, every soft sigh you let out. His hand slid to your waist, the touch firm yet purposeful, as though mapping your presence through the sensation of your skin.

With a slow but resolute motion, he tilted his face, planting a kiss along the line of your jaw, then down the curve of your neck, with the same curious care as before. Yet this time, there was something more deliberate in every touch.

“You make me curious. Me want… discover more.”

And without saying anything further, he leaned in again, his lips capturing yours once more, this time with an intensity that promised he was far from finished with his exploration. The promise of something more lingered in the air, carried in his touch, in the force of a desire he seemed to still be struggling to name — a desire he now seemed determined to unravel, piece by piece, like an enigma he was unwilling to abandon.

“Tell me, is this… what you wanted? What you have been waiting for?” — He asked quietly, brushing his thumb over your lips gently in an electrifying motion. “This human desire mean, yes?” — His voice, hoarse and intense, reverberated like a promise of a lost paradise, echoing in your ears as he struggled to murmur the words in your language.

You arched an eyebrow, letting out a soft, provocative laugh.

“If you have to ask, perhaps something is still missing from your research, doctor.” — Your voice was low and measured, careful to ensure he caught every meaning and syllable, but tinged with mischief, as your fingers slid to his neck, tracing short, almost electric touches. It was a gentle but daring gesture as you pulled him closer. — “Me demonstrate, yes?”

Silvair’s lips curled into a faint smile, despite being unable to see, as though he already knew exactly what you meant. He tightened his grip on your waist, his fingers firm but still containing an unexpected gentleness.

“Demonstrate?” — He repeated slowly, as if savoring the idea, his tone deeper now. — “Me think good. But you not expect me gentle all the time.”

Before you could respond, he acted. His hands, which had rested on your waist, slid to the middle of your back, pulling you against him with determination. His lips, previously hesitant, now gave themselves fully. With an almost cruel tenderness, he traced the outline of your mouth with his tongue, as if issuing a silent invitation. Each touch was a promise, a wordless request for entry. His fingers traced a slow, suggestive path along your thigh, gradually climbing toward the center of your body. Each touch, every subtle caress, sent shivers throughout your entire being, and you felt as though you might melt under his dissecting hands, arching gently like a flower unfurling in the sun on his inspection table.

Between kisses, you drew a deep breath, a faint whimper, and a slightly tense laugh escaping against his lips.

“Not bad for someone who’s learning. Fast learner.”

He paused, the laugh escaping his lips a small victory.

“Then, teach me.” The command was clear, but the accompanying promise was even more enticing. With a firm motion, he leaned you back, your body becoming an instrument in his hands. The intensity of the moment overwhelmed everything, and you realized, with a mix of surprise and satisfaction, that he had finally let himself go.

Thin, translucent tears of joy adorned the corners of your eyes, inevitably. In that moment, you finally understood that what he sought wasn’t merely understanding but surrender. And in that moment, you knew: he was learning how to love.

phew. this was laborious, but so much fun to write. giggling, kicking my feet, and twirling my hair for this man, no lie. it's really interesting to write for silvair, and I've been wanting to do so for weeks. he’s so complex, and his inscrutability and unusual gentleness are captivating. i’m sure these traits would leave anyone confused in a relationship. mr. silvair would be kind in terms of care and service, but terrible when it comes to communication and effective displays of affection, so I wanted to explore this issue in this long text. the ending is suggestive because I think that learning would inevitably lead to situations like the one narrated. who knows... maybe I’ll write more. my thirst for mr. silvair never ends :) it's christmas eve in my homeland (brazil), and for those who are reading and are in the same territory as mine, or at least on a similar rhythm/time zone, merry christmas eve! to the fans of mr. silvair out there, consider this text a gift. we urgently need more stories about this man, like, ASAP. thank you so much if you read all of this, and have a lovely day or night! ♡  (this text is open to corrections and edits. english is not my native language, and the original was entirely written in portuguese. time for some sleep, finally.)

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

i need to hear those thoughts, pretty please,

Okay this is a very late reply, but I finally feel as though I can word the thoughts I have regarding them. I want to preface this by saying that all my talks of Jayvik being queer coded stem from my own personal aroacespec perspective. I don’t perceive all forms of close affection and devotion as romantic, but the visual coding regarding Jayvik, and Meljayvik leads me down the path of ‘this is something I personally interpret as romantic’.

MelJayVik is such a deeply fascinating relationship to me because I think a lot is gained from their relationships in the series by looking at them through a polyamorous lens. It may be my own bias, I’m willing to admit that, but the dynamic feels as though it was written to be Poly.

It begins with the obvious queercoding between Jayce and Viktor, and the visual and thematic parallels between them:

Both are written as representative of Jayce’s choices, which can be simplified down to politics and science, and as characters, they inform the choices Jayce makes, and the consequences of those choices, while simultaneously being their own well-developed characters and having their own agendas. I would argue the way it’s written and depicted in the animation, taking into account a lot of the animator’s personal romantic agenda regarding Jayvik, feels akin to the setup of a typical romantic love triangle.

Two people harbour feelings for Jayce, and Jayce is given the decision between the two of them, but that to me is where the similarities between them a love triangle ends… because Jayce never actually chooses. I know some may argue he does because of the final scene with Viktor, but I don’t perceive that as the case at all.

Jayce clearly has a deep love for the both of them, seen so clearly in his actions.

With Mel and Viktor, he truly feels like he can take on the world.

Jayce struggles to balance his life between politics and science because he wants both. He wants Mel and Viktor to be important in his life, but he isn’t capable of managing that, and his own biases and privilege do begin to damage his view of the system and his relationship with Viktor, and Mel does unintentionally worsen that divide. It’s why I love the polycule so much honestly — to me it isn’t just slapping three people together to stop any ship wars, no, it’s a genuinely complex and nuanced dynamic that has initial struggles and hardships.

And to claim that Mel doesn’t care for Viktor is said in complete ignorance of the source material. Mel does come to perceive Viktor as important. Initially, she does ignore him, and treat his presence as secondary to Jayce, but that changes once she recognises the flaw in her actions and how close she was to becoming like her mother. In the final scene of season one, she smiles at Jayce and Viktor. In the beginning of season two, she says that Viktor will come back to ‘us’. Not just to Jayce.

It feels tragic almost. They could have had such an interesting relationship with Mel now wanting to connect to Viktor, but she shattered the chance of that happening. The same way Viktor’s magic repels and rejects her, he does the same.

And god don’t get me started on their magic parallels. For as much as I criticise season two, this is a compilation of my thoughts on MelJayVik in canon, and so I am willing to analyse the way they’re portrayed in season two, and the fight scene in the council room In particular makes me violently ill.

It feels intimate on both ends.

I know people focus especially on Jayce and Viktor’s scenes, and I get it, the scenes between them are particularly intimate

However, both Mel and Viktor and Mel and Jayce also show intimacy in that scene. The way Jayce holds Mel after the fight, despite their previous ‘break up’ scene, and how even though there’s conflict between them, they still can’t help but handle each other with such care and affection. It’s just how they are.

And to me there’s something equally horrifying yet beautiful in the way Viktor bypasses Mel’s own magic, no longer rejecting her, but being intrigued and fascinated by her.

“The arcane stirs within you.”

They are connected by something more than just flesh, more than just physical, and that’s kind of insane to consider.

The tragedy of Mel regarding this is she loses both of these people: the man she knew, and understood, and allowed herself to be vulnerable with, and the man she wanted to know, and to understand.

So here’s how the Noxus spin-off can fix that and canonise MelJayVik! <- lying to myself.

[niallerspayno]

About Last Night - Part 2

Masterlist

With your pregnancy and feelings for Louis now out in the open, you both navigate the challenges of your new relationship and the new life growing inside of you.

Tags: Louis x reader, just a lot of fluff really

Part 1 | Part 3 - coming soon

…

Louis gives your hand a gentle squeeze before opening the door to the hotel suite. The buzz of conversation inside fades as you both step in, all eyes turning to you. Harry is sprawled across the couch, Liam perched on the armrest, Zayn leaning casually against the wall, and Niall sitting at the table, fidgeting slightly.

The weight of their collective attention is almost suffocating, but Louis doesn’t falter, guiding you further into the room.

“Alright, lads,” Louis begins, his voice steady. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

Harry is the first to speak, sitting up straighter. “What Louis said earlier… is it true?”

You swallow hard, glancing at Louis. He nods encouragingly, so you step forward. “Yes,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m pregnant. And the baby is Louis’s.”

A stunned silence fills the room, broken only by Zayn’s low whistle. “Well, that’s a bloody plot twist,” he says, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“How long have you known?” Liam asks, his brow creased with concern.

“A little over a week,” you admit. “I wasn’t sure how to tell anyone. Niall’s been the only one who knew—he’s been helping me through it.”

The boys’ gazes shift to Niall, who raises his hands defensively. “I was just trying to be there for her, alright?”

Harry’s mouth twitches into a grin as he leans back. “You know,” he says, looking between you and Louis, “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. You two have been dancing around each other for years.”

You blink, heat rushing to your face. “What?”

“Come on, Y/N,” Harry continues, his grin widening. “We’ve all seen it. You and Louis have had this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing going on forever.”

Zayn smirks. “He’s not wrong. It was only a matter of time.”

Louis huffs, crossing his arms, though there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Alright, that’s enough,” he mutters, but the corner of his mouth quirks up.

Liam’s expression softens, his initial shock melting into a warm smile. “Well, regardless of how it happened, congratulations. This is huge.”

“Yeah,” Niall chimes in, his voice firm. “And you’ve got us. Whatever you need, we’ll be there.”

You glance at Louis, feeling the courage to say what’s next because of his steady presence. “There’s something else,” you add. “Louis and I… we’re together now. Officially.”

The room falls quiet again, and then Harry lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you are,” he says, grinning. “Took you long enough.”

“I knew it!” Zayn adds, pointing at Louis. “You’ve been mooning over her for years, mate.”

Louis smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, well, better late than never, right?” he says, his tone light but the meaning behind it heavy with sincerity.

“That’s sweet and all,” Niall interjects, though his grin is teasing, “but you know management’s going to be pissed.”

“Probably,” Louis says with a shrug, entirely unfazed. “But they’ll get over it.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right. A secret relationship? Sure. A baby on the way? They’ll love that.”

“Let them be pissed,” you say, surprising even yourself with your confidence. “This is our life, not theirs.”

Liam nods approvingly. “Good for you. Stand your ground.”

“And we’ll back you up,” Zayn says with a smirk. “Even if it makes for some interesting headlines.”

The room fills with a mix of laughter and reassurances, the tension easing into something more celebratory. Louis glances down at you, his blue eyes filled with quiet pride and affection.

As the boys crack jokes about baby names and ridiculous parenting scenarios, you feel a wave of gratitude for this chaotic, supportive family. Whatever comes next, you know you’ll have them—and Louis—by your side.

…

The conference room feels impossibly cold, despite the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Louis walks beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back as you both step inside. Seated at the long table are the familiar faces of the management team, their expressions ranging from neutral to wary.

Louis doesn’t falter, his confidence unshakable as he pulls out a chair for you before taking the one beside you. The silence stretches for a moment, thick with anticipation, until one of the senior managers clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, folding his hands on the table. “We’ve been informed there’s something the two of you need to tell us.”

You glance at Louis, your heart racing. He offers you a reassuring nod before leaning forward, his tone calm but firm.

“Right. Let’s not beat around the bush,” Louis says, his voice steady. “Y/N is pregnant. It’s mine. And we’re together now.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one says anything. Then, one of the younger managers mutters under his breath, “Bloody hell.”

Another manager, older and clearly more experienced, narrows her eyes slightly. “And how exactly do you expect this to play out?” she asks. “You’re both under contract. A pregnancy—and a relationship—was not part of the image we’ve carefully curated.”

Louis’s jaw tightens, but he remains composed. “We’re not hiding this,” he states. “It’s happening, whether it fits the ‘image’ or not.”

“Louis—”

“No,” he cuts in, his voice sharp but controlled. “I’ve spent years playing along with what’s expected. But this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about my family—about our family,” he corrects, glancing at you.

Your chest tightens at his words, but you lift your chin, drawing strength from his presence. “We’re not asking for permission,” you add, your voice steadier than you expected. “We’re just letting you know.”

The room falls silent again, the managers exchanging glances. Finally, the senior manager speaks, his tone measured. “You have to understand the complications this brings. The press will have a field day. The fans—”

“The fans will adjust,” Louis interrupts. “They always do. We’ll handle the press, too. This isn’t a scandal—it’s life. And we’re not ashamed of it.”

The older woman sighs, leaning back in her chair. “And the tour? The schedule?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you say firmly. “I’ll do what I can for as long as I can, and when I need to step back, I will. But this isn’t up for negotiation.”

Louis nods in agreement, his hand finding yours under the table. “This is happening. So, you can either support us, or not. But either way, we’re moving forward.”

The room is quiet as the managers exchange looks again. Finally, the senior manager nods slowly. “Fine,” he says, though his tone is reluctant. “But we’ll need to control the narrative. A statement will have to be released, and we’ll need to prepare for the media backlash.”

“Control the narrative all you want,” Louis says, his tone icy. “But make it clear that we’re happy, and that we’re doing this together. I won’t have anyone twisting this into something it’s not.”

There’s a beat of hesitation before the manager finally nods. “Alright. We’ll draft something for your approval.”

“Good,” Louis says, standing and offering you his hand. “Then we’re done here.”

You take his hand, standing alongside him. The two of you walk out of the room together, leaving the weight of the meeting behind.

As the door closes behind you, Louis looks down at you, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You handled that better than I thought you would.”

He smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Told you, love. I’m all in.”

And with that, the two of you walk away, ready to face whatever comes next—together.

…

The hotel suite is unusually quiet, a rare moment of calm amidst the chaos of tour life. You’re curled up on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through endless notifications. Louis is stretched out beside you, one arm slung over the back of the couch. The rest of the boys are scattered around—Niall rifling through a snack bag, Liam flipping through channels on the TV, Harry lounging upside down in a chair, and Zayn perched by the window, scrolling on his own phone.

The official statement from management had gone live this morning, and within minutes, social media had exploded. You and Louis had followed up with your own posts: a sweet photo of the two of you, Louis’s hand resting protectively on your stomach, captioned with simple words: We’re so excited to share this next chapter with you all.

Now, hours later, the reality of it all is sinking in as you scroll through the comments. You’d braced yourself for backlash, but to your surprise, the overwhelming majority of fans had been nothing but supportive.

“This one says, ‘I’ve been a Louis girl since 2010, and I’ve never been prouder. Congrats to you both!’” you read aloud, your voice trembling slightly.

“Read this one!” Harry calls out from his chair, his voice muffled by his upside-down position. “It says, ‘We always knew Louis would be the first dad in the band. The rest of you need to catch up!’”

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head. “First dad, huh? Bit presumptuous. Maybe I’m already ahead of him, just keeping it private.”

“Sure, mate,” Niall teases, tossing a crisp at him.

You laugh at their banter, but the lump in your throat only grows. Another comment catches your eye: You can just tell how much Louis loves her. They’re going to be the best parents.

That’s when it happens. The tears start to fall, completely unbidden. You try to blink them away, but the floodgates have opened, and you’re suddenly a blubbering mess.

“Oh no,” Liam says, glancing over from the TV. “We’ve got tears.”

Harry flips upright, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is it the hormones? It’s the hormones, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely the hormones,” Niall agrees, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Oi, knock it off,” Louis says, his tone light but protective. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “Let her cry if she needs to.”

“I’m not even sad,” you manage to say through your sniffles. “It’s just—everyone’s being so nice. I thought they’d hate me.”

Louis tilts your chin up gently, his blue eyes warm and steady. “They could never hate you, love,” he says softly. “They can see what I see—how incredible you are. And they’re right. We’re going to be great parents.”

That only makes you cry harder, burying your face in his chest as the rest of the boys exchange amused looks.

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says, standing and stretching. “I’m getting out of here before I start tearing up, too.”

“Coward,” Harry teases, though his smirk softens as he looks at you. “Seriously, Y/N, we’re all happy for you. The fans are just catching up to what we’ve known for years—you two are perfect for each other.”

Niall grins, raising his water bottle in a toast. “To Louis, Y/N, and Baby Bathroom Stall.”

That finally makes you laugh through your tears, swatting at Niall with a pillow. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he says, his grin widening.

Louis chuckles, brushing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let them have their fun,” he murmurs. “We’ve got plenty to celebrate.”

And as you look around the room—at your chaotic, loving bandmates and the man who’s been your rock through it all—you realize he’s right.

…

The muffled roar of the crowd echoes through the arena as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, trying to steady yourself. At 12 weeks pregnant the nausea has been relentless, and tonight is no different. Your stomach lurches again, and you barely make it to the toilet before you’re throwing up the remnants of the bland toast you’d forced down earlier.

“Y/N?” Louis’s voice cuts through the pounding in your head, followed by a soft knock on the door. “You alright, love?”

You groan, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” you call back weakly, though the bile rising in your throat says otherwise.

The door creaks open, and Louis steps in, closing it behind him. His brows are furrowed, worry etched into every line of his face. “You don’t look fine,” he says gently, crouching down beside you. “You’re pale as hell, and you’ve been in here for ages.”

“I’m just—” you begin, but your stomach flips again, cutting you off.

“Alright, that’s it,” Louis says firmly, standing and helping you to your feet. “You’re not going out there tonight. I’ll call management, explain you’re sick—”

“Louis, no,” you protest, clutching his arm for balance. “I can’t just skip a show. The fans will notice. The band will notice.”

“They’ll notice a lot more if you pass out mid-song,” he retorts. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

Before you can argue further, the door opens again, and Niall peeks his head in, followed by Harry, Liam and Zayn.

“Mate, we’re on in five,” Liam says, then stops short when he sees you. “Whoa, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” you mutter dryly, leaning against Louis for support.

“She’s been throwing up again,” Louis explains, his tone clipped with concern. “I’m telling her to sit this one out.”

“Honestly, Y/N,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “I get that you’re tough, but maybe Louis is right. You’ve been running on fumes for weeks.”

“And it’s not just about you anymore,” Niall adds, his gaze dropping pointedly to your stomach. “You’ve got someone else to think about now.”

You glance at Louis, who’s looking at you with the same protective intensity he always does. The other boys are watching you, too, their worry palpable.

“I can do it,” you insist, though your voice wavers. “I just need a minute to pull myself together.”

“Y/N—” Louis begins, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say more firmly. “I’ll take it easy, I promise. But I’m not sitting this out. We’ve got fans waiting out there who’ve been excited about this for months. I won’t let them down.”

The boys exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Louis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright,” he relents, though his tone is anything but happy. “But if you start feeling worse—even a little—I’m pulling you offstage, no arguments.”

“Deal,” you say, squeezing his hand in gratitude.

“Let’s at least get you some water,” Harry says, holding the door open as Louis guides you out.

As you make your way toward the stage, Louis keeps a steady arm around your waist, his worry evident in the way he doesn’t let go.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he murmurs.

You manage a small smile, leaning into him. “Takes one to know one.”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t argue, his hand brushing protectively against your back as the opening chords of the first song echo through the arena.

…

The next day you go for your 12 week scan. The waiting room is quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of papers or soft murmurs from other couples. You sit with Louis, his hand tightly gripping yours as the nurse calls your name.

“This is it,” he whispers, offering you a small, nervous smile as you both stand.

“It’s just a scan, Louis,” you say, trying to sound calm despite your racing heart. “Not the baby being born.”

“Still,” he says, shrugging as he walks beside you. “It feels like a big deal.”

You don’t argue because he’s right—it does.

The sonographer greets you warmly and leads you into the small, dimly lit room. The equipment hums softly, and you feel a knot of anticipation tighten in your chest as you lie back on the bed. Louis stands by your side, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your knuckles.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” the sonographer says, spreading the cool gel across your stomach.

You shiver slightly at the chill, but any discomfort vanishes the moment the image appears on the screen.

“There’s your baby,” she says, her voice kind and reassuring as she points to the little blob on the monitor.

Louis sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s them?”

Your eyes sting with tears as you nod, unable to tear your gaze away from the screen. “That’s them.”

“And there’s the heartbeat,” the sonographer adds, pressing a few buttons. A rhythmic thumping fills the room, strong and steady.

Louis lets out a shaky laugh, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Bloody hell… That’s amazing.”

You glance at him, and the sight of his awestruck expression makes your heart swell. “It is,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

The sonographer continues pointing out tiny details—the baby’s head, their little arms and legs—but you barely hear her. All you can focus on is the sound of that heartbeat and the warmth of Louis’s hand in yours.

When the scan is over, and she prints out the pictures, Louis insists on holding them. “These are mine,” he says with a grin, carefully tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“Yours?” you tease as you clean the gel off your stomach. “I’m the one carrying the baby.”

“Fine,” he concedes, smirking. “They’re ours. But I’m keeping these copies.”

You roll your eyes but smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks.

As you leave the clinic, Louis pulls you into a hug, right there on the sidewalk. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” you ask, resting your cheek against his chest.

“For this. For them. For everything,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “I’m so in love with you, Y/N. And I’m gonna do everything I can to be the best dad—and partner—I can be.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, but you’re smiling as you nod. “I know you will. And I love you too.”

He kisses you softly, tenderly, before taking your hand and leading you down the street. “Now,” he says, glancing at you with a mischievous grin, “where do we go to frame these photos?”

…

The soft light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the hotel room. You’re tucked into Louis’s side, your head resting on his chest as his fingers draw lazy, soothing circles along your back. His touch is gentle, his other hand occasionally brushing over your arm or waist.

The room is quiet save for the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat under your ear. It’s a rare moment of peace, one neither of you takes for granted.

“You comfortable?” Louis murmurs, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Mhm,” you hum, snuggling closer. “I could stay like this all day.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So could I. Think anyone would notice if we skipped soundcheck?”

“They’d definitely notice,” you reply, smiling against his chest. “Harry wouldn’t let us live it down.”

“Good point,” he concedes, his fingers trailing lower, brushing over your stomach.

The motion is so natural, so absentminded, that it takes him a moment to pause. His hand lingers there, his brows furrowing slightly as he presses his palm gently against your stomach.

“Wait…” he says, his voice soft but filled with wonder.

You tilt your head up to look at him. “What?”

Louis shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as his hand remains on your stomach. “Your bump,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, astonished smile. “It’s there. I can feel it.”

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. Glancing down, you place your hand over his and press lightly. Sure enough, the small curve of your belly is unmistakable now.

“It is,” you whisper, a mix of awe and emotion bubbling up inside you.

Louis’s eyes are bright as he looks back at you, his smile widening. “That’s our baby in there,” he says, his voice filled with pure joy. “They’re really starting to grow.”

You laugh softly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… seeing it, feeling it—it’s real,” he says, his hand moving gently over the bump. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you shake your head. “I’m just lying here.”

“Lying here and growing a whole human,” he counters, leaning down to press a kiss to your stomach. “Our human.”

The tenderness of the moment overwhelms you, and a tear slips down your cheek. “You’re gonna make me cry again,” you say with a laugh, brushing at your face.

He looks up at you with a playful grin. “Pregnancy hormones, right? Can’t blame me for those.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling as he continues rubbing your bump, his expression soft and adoring.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost as if he’s talking to the baby instead of you. “But for now… I’ll just keep them safe in there.”

“And me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he promises, leaning up to kiss you gently. “Always.”

…

The arena hums with activity as the band prepares for soundcheck. Techs are buzzing around, running cables and adjusting levels, and the noise only serves to amplify the frustration you feel deep in your chest. You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly, already in a foul mood.

“Y/N, you ready?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, his mic in hand, flashing that grin you know too well.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you snap, your tone sharper than usual.

He blinks in surprise, his smile faltering for just a second. “Alright, someone’s feisty today.”

“Don’t start with me,” you warn, walking over to the stage with quick, purposeful steps. The nagging ache in your lower back only makes it worse, and it feels like every little thing is grating on you.

“Whoa, easy,” Niall says as you pass him, holding up his hands like you’re about to explode. “She’s got that scary look again.”

You glare at him, but don’t say anything, instead grabbing your microphone stand and adjusting it a little too forcefully.

“Everything alright?” Liam asks, his voice cautious and gentle.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to focus on the mic cord and not the irritation brewing inside.

Louis raises an eyebrow, his expression cautious as he walks closer. “You sure you’re okay, love? You’ve been in a mood all day.”

“I’m fine,” you bite out, irritation climbing as you continue to fiddle with the mic. “Stop asking.”

Zayn, who has been quietly watching, steps forward and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’ve been on edge all morning. What’s up?”

“I’m fine,” you snap again, the frustration in your voice ringing louder now.

Louis takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

The tension in the room is palpable now, and the rest of the band exchanges uneasy glances. Harry, ever the peacemaker, tries to lighten the mood with a joke.

“Maybe we should all take a break before someone gets murdered,” he says with a smile, trying to ease the thick air.

“Not funny,” you mutter, shooting him a sharp look.

“Definitely hormones,” Niall comments, but his words are just loud enough for you to hear.

“That’s it!” you snap, spinning on your heel to face him. “If one more person blames my mood on hormones, I swear to God—”

“Alright!” Louis cuts in, stepping between you and Niall with his hands raised. “Let’s all just breathe, yeah? How about we grab some water and reset before we start?”

You huff, the sharp edge to your voice still there, but you don’t argue. You step off the stage, Louis trailing behind, the cool air outside the spotlight helping to calm the rising frustration. He gently touches your arm to stop you once you’re out of earshot of the others.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low with concern. “What’s really going on? And don’t say you’re fine, because we both know that’s not true.”

You exhale sharply, some of the anger slipping away and leaving exhaustion in its place. “I just… everything’s too much today. My back hurts, I’m tired, I’m nauseous, and it feels like everyone’s treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can break at any second.”

Louis’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand brushing your arm. “You’re not fragile, Y/N. But I get it. It’s a lot, love. And you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

You feel the lump in your throat, the sting of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. “I miss… I miss having fun. I miss being the person who could mess around with you guys and not be treated like I’m breakable. Like I can’t do anything without someone being worried I’m about to drop dead.”

Louis’s face softens even more, and he steps forward to wrap his arms around you. “You’re not breakable, love. I know things have changed, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still the same Y/N we’ve all known. You’re strong. And we’ll all get through this together.”

You lean into him, your arms finding their way around his waist as you bury your face in his chest. The warmth of his embrace is comforting, even as you feel the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“Yeah?” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah,” Louis says firmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And if you need to take a step back tonight, that’s okay. We’ve got this.”

You nod, the frustration slowly fading away in the calm of his support. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your hair. “Let’s go back in there. You’ve got this.”

You pull away slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Fine. But if Niall says the word ‘hormones’ again, I swear I’ll deck him.”

Louis chuckles, his hand taking yours as you both walk back to the stage, Zayn falling into step behind you. “Fair enough.”

…

Backstage is quieter than usual, the hum of the arena outside almost a distant memory as you sit in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for the night. You’ve been feeling off lately—everything is changing, and while you’re excited for the baby, the changes in your body are starting to weigh on you.

At 16 weeks your belly is no longer a secret, a small bump that seems to grow by the day. It’s still subtle, not huge by any means, but it’s there. It’s just one part of it. The rest of your body has shifted too. Your hips feel wider, your chest feels fuller, and your clothes don’t fit quite the same.

You suck in a breath, staring at your reflection, trying to convince yourself that it’s okay. But the insecurity sits heavy in your chest, that feeling that you don’t look like you anymore, and you don’t know how to feel about it.

“Y/N?” You hear a knock at the door before it opens slightly, revealing Niall. He’s got a worried look on his face, probably sensing that something’s off.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. “You alright?”

You manage a tight smile, but the insecurity is too much to hide. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… getting ready for tonight.” You adjust your shirt again, glancing at your reflection.

“Mm-hmm,” Niall says, his tone skeptical. He takes a few steps closer and then pauses, clearly noticing something is up. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“I just…” You trail off, biting your lip. “I don’t know. Everything’s changing. My body’s changing, and it’s… weird.”

Niall’s face softens, and he steps up behind you, looking over your shoulder into the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like I don’t recognize myself anymore.”

He looks at you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder. “You’re growing a little human, love. Your body’s doing something incredible. I know it’s not easy, but trust me, it’s all worth it.”

“I know,” you sigh, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “But I’m still just… I don’t know how to feel about it. I don’t feel like me anymore.”

Niall gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll always be you, Y/N. I promise. Nothing can change that.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. The door creaks open wider, and Louis steps in, looking directly at you. He’s grinning, but it falters when he sees your expression. His eyes immediately soften, and he walks over, his hand going to your back as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

“Everything alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, knowing you’ve been on edge all day.

You nod but don’t speak right away. Your gaze shifts to the mirror again, self-conscious. Louis notices, stepping closer and tilting your chin gently to face him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. His eyes search yours, and you can see the sincerity in them, but you can’t shake the doubt creeping in.

“I don’t feel beautiful,” you whisper, looking down at your stomach, feeling the weight of your insecurities.

Louis’s hands move to gently rest on your waist, his thumb grazing the edge of your bump. “You’re carrying our baby, love. Nothing is more beautiful than that. And every single part of you, every change, is part of that. You’ve got this glow about you that makes my heart stop every time I look at you.”

You let out a shaky breath, a tear finally escaping down your cheek. “But I don’t feel like myself anymore. I miss when I could just… fit into my clothes and not feel like this.”

Niall’s hand gently squeezes your arm, his voice warm and supportive. “You don’t have to be the same as you were before. You’re still you, just with a little more badass energy now. And besides, the only thing that’s really changing is you’re going to be an amazing mum.”

Louis steps in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, making you look up at him. “Niall’s right. And I’m here, every step of the way. We’ll get through this together. I’ve got you.”

You feel the weight of his words settle in, and for the first time all day, you start to feel the tightness in your chest loosen. You sniffle, wiping your eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Louis says, his voice soft but confident. “And look, if you want to take it slow tonight, that’s okay too. You don’t have to perform if you’re not up for it.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. I want to do this. I just… I needed to hear that.”

Niall smiles, stepping back and giving you a gentle nudge. “Good. Now, let’s get you out there. You’ve got this, Y/N.”

Louis gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you stand up, and for the first time today, you feel a little lighter, a little less unsure of yourself.

You glance at him, offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

He winks at you, his grin mischievous as ever. “Anytime, love.”

And for once, you believe him.

…

The small, quiet room feels warm as you sit together, waiting for the doctor to come in. Louis is next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours, and you can feel the excitement radiating off him. You’ve both been counting down the days to this appointment, eager to hear everything’s progressing well.

“You nervous?” Louis asks, his voice low as he leans his shoulder against yours.

You shake your head, though there’s a flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite shake. “A little, but I know everything’s fine. I just… I want to hear it from the doctor.”

He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s gonna be perfect, Y/N. Our little one’s gonna be healthy and strong.”

You nod, your gaze fixed on your hands for a moment, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Even though the pregnancy has come with its fair share of worries, moments like these—where it’s just the two of you—remind you how much Louis truly supports you.

The door opens, and the doctor enters, a warm smile on her face. “Hey there! How are we feeling today?”

“Excited,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you glance at Louis. “And nervous.”

The doctor nods, adjusting the ultrasound machine before setting up. “Understandable, but we’re going to take great care of you today. Let’s take a look at your baby.”

Louis gives your hand another squeeze, his excitement palpable as he watches the screen flicker to life. You both go quiet as the doctor starts the ultrasound, the cool gel on your belly making you flinch at first. The image on the screen slowly comes into focus, and you see the tiny, perfect outline of your baby.

“There we go,” the doctor says. “Everything looks really good—baby’s healthy, and you’re doing great, Y/N. The measurements are all right on track.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch the screen, overwhelmed with emotion. “That’s really our baby?” you whisper, your heart racing.

Louis presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. “Yeah, it’s real.”

The doctor smiles at you both. “It is. And you should be feeling the baby start kicking soon, if you haven’t already.”

You glance at Louis, your eyes wide. “Kicking?”

“Yep!” The doctor nods, pointing to the image on the screen. “Everything’s perfectly in place. As the baby continues to grow, you’ll likely feel those first little movements soon. It’s a thrilling feeling.”

You turn to Louis, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. “I can’t wait to feel it.”

Louis’s expression mirrors yours—genuine awe and joy. “Neither can I,” he says, his voice full of wonder.

After a few more moments of the doctor checking on everything, you finally hear the news you’ve both been waiting for.

“Do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

You glance at Louis, his smile widening in anticipation. “Yes,” you say, your voice soft but filled with excitement.

The doctor glances at the screen, then looks back at you both. “It’s a boy.”

A breath catches in your throat as your heart skips a beat. “A boy,” you repeat, feeling a mixture of joy and wonder flood through you. You look at Louis, who’s staring at the screen, his eyes shining with emotion.

“A little boy,” Louis echoes, his voice almost a whisper. He turns to you, a smile so wide on his face it almost doesn’t seem real. “We’re having a son.”

You nod, tears starting to well up in your eyes as the weight of it all hits you—this tiny, perfect little human growing inside you. The realization that soon you’ll be holding him in your arms makes everything feel so much more real.

Louis leans down, kissing your forehead again. “I’m so proud of you,” he says softly.

You smile, feeling so much love in your chest that it almost overflows. “I’m proud of us.”

The doctor finishes up, giving you both the green light to go, but you can’t stop smiling as you stand. Louis takes your hand, guiding you out of the room. As you walk down the hall together, he stops and turns you toward him, lifting your chin to look into your eyes.

“We’re gonna be amazing parents, Y/N,” he says, his voice steady but full of excitement.

You nod, your hand resting gently on your still-growing belly. “Yeah. We will be.”

…

The ride back to the hotel feels like it’s in slow motion. Louis is holding your hand tightly in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing, steady rhythm. Every now and then, you glance at him, his smile still wide, and you can’t help but grin back.

“You’re still smiling,” you tease softly.

“I can’t stop,” he replies, his voice full of joy. “We’re having a boy, Y/N. A little mini version of me.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “We’ll see about that. He’ll have his own personality, I’m sure.”

Louis’s grin widens. “I’ll have to teach him the important stuff, though. Like how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“Sure, sure,” you tease. “I’m sure he’ll be asking you for lessons on how to drive everyone crazy like you do.”

Louis looks over at you with a smirk. “I think he’s going to be perfect.”

You feel your heart swell with love as you lean your head on his shoulder. For a moment, everything feels so right. You’re both excited, nervous, and ready for this next chapter together.

The car pulls into the hotel, and you both step out, Louis offering you a hand as you make your way inside. You both feel like you’re walking on air—there’s no way you can keep this news to yourselves any longer.

When you enter the hotel suite, the boys are already there, sprawled out on the couches, laughing and talking. They glance up when you walk in, and you can see the curiosity in their eyes. Everyone’s been waiting for the two of you to return from the appointment, and there’s an energy in the room that’s both expectant and excited.

Louis clears his throat, looking around at the guys with a grin. “We’ve got news.”

The band instantly quiets down, leaning forward, eager for whatever news you’re about to share.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Niall crosses his arms, a smile tugging at his lips. “Everything okay?”

You glance at Louis, and he gives you a nod, his hand still firmly clasped around yours. You both take a breath, preparing for the big reveal.

“We found out today that we’re having a baby boy,” you say, your voice filled with joy.

The room falls into stunned silence for a moment, then all at once, the guys explode into cheers and congratulations.

“No way!” Harry grins, standing up to give you both a hug. “A boy? That’s amazing!”

Niall is already on his feet, pulling you into a tight hug. “You two are gonna be incredible parents.”

Liam, who’d been sitting back and observing, stands up with a grin. “A little one on the way! That’s amazing, mate.”

Zayn, ever the cool one, gives a wide grin and nods. “A son, huh? Looks like we’re going to have a little troublemaker on our hands.”

Louis chuckles, his arms still around you as he laughs along with everyone else. “I’m sure he’ll be an angel—when he’s with his mum.”

You roll your eyes but feel your heart flutter as you glance up at Louis. “Oh, I’m sure. The ‘perfect’ little angel.”

The guys continue to congratulate you, their voices full of excitement and joy, but amidst the chatter, you catch Louis’s eye. He’s looking at you with the most adoring expression, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” you whisper, your voice just for him.

He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers back. “We’re more than okay. We’re going to be great.”

The moment feels perfect—this tiny, beautiful secret between the two of you, shared with the band who’s become family. The excitement is infectious, and you can feel the weight of it settling in, making everything feel so real.

The journey ahead may be challenging, but with Louis by your side and the support of the band, you know it’s going to be a beautiful adventure.

…

Part 3 - coming soon

[fluentmoviequoter]

Perfect Moments

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: While decorating the tree with Tim, you reminisce on perfect moments until you find yourself in another.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, softie!Tim!! 0.8k+ words

“Did you purposely pick the hardest tree to decorate?” Tim complains as Christmas music fills the room.

“You picked this tree,” you remind him with a smile and a well-intentioned hip check.

“Because you liked it!”

“You mean because you love me.”

“Some days I really regret it.”

You exhale in faux hurt, then step back from the tree. “Looks good,” you decide with your hands on your hips. “Ready for ornaments?”

Tim nods. As he passes you, he kisses your temple. The song changes to “Snow Angel” before he returns, and you hum while you survey the tree, symbolizing a great year and the little life you’ve built with Tim.

“Here,” Tim says as he sets the container of ornaments on the coffee table. “I think we should start with this one."

You take his offered Hallmark ornament and smile. “I was terrified you wouldn’t like this,” you admit as you place it on the front of the tree. “Our relationship was so new, and I wanted something to remember our first Christmas, but had so many doubts about how well I knew you or how serious you were.”

“Wanna know a secret?” Tim whispers against your ear.

“Always.”

“I left it on my nightstand until March.”

“Such a softie,” you muse under your breath. “I take it back,” you add as Tim’s hands move toward your waist. “You’re a strong police officer and definitely not a big teddy bear.”

Tim rolls his eyes, still smiling, as he retrieves an ornament.

“Speaking of teddy bears,” he says. “I’m pretty sure this ornament was purchased because it reminded you of someone.”

“It’s you in ornament form and I’m sticking to that. The little flannel and the button heart? Absolutely reminds me of you.”

“Just get another ornament,” Tim deflects.

You laugh as you open a box. “Remember this guy?” you inquire as Anson Seabra sings, You’re my snow angel. Don’t let me go, angel.

“Remind me?” Tim asks.

Smiling, you know Tim remembers the Dodgers bulldog ornament. He picked it out during a shopping trip last Christmas because the dog was colored like Kojo and repping his favorite baseball team. When you got home, Tim took it out of the box to hang on the tree, then pulled you close to ask your opinion on where it should go. Kojo took Tim’s affection as an invitation to join you and walked through a tangled string of lights to join your side. Before you could stop Kojo and free him, he circled your legs and pulled you against Tim, knocking the ornament out of his hands. It should have broken, but it didn’t. You took that as a good sign.

“I might have a better one,” Tim says.

You walk to his side and smile at the hand-painted ornament. The pencil line separating the even halves is barely visible past the paint. Your impromptu home date night earlier in the year involved working together to create something beautiful without being able to see what the other person painted. The resulting ornament is one of your favorites.

“This is yours,” you comment as you pass Tim an ornament from his sister. “And this is mine.”

Your ornaments have slowly made their way in together, and it no longer feels like your decorations or Tim’s, but your shared memories and an opportunity to reminisce together for many Christmases to come.

“I’ll grab another,” Tim offers as you search for the perfect branch.

You nod and continue looking, then place the painted ornament next to the Dodgers bat ornament. Tim offers his hand, and you take the ornament from him without looking. Immediately, you know the square velvet item in your hand is not an ornament, but you don’t expect to see a ring box when you turn toward Tim to ask what it is.

Tim smiles up at you from his one-kneed position. With the song, he says, “I won’t ask for anything. No shiny toys or fancy things. ‘Cause I got everything I need with you here next to me. We’ve spent Christmas together, bad days and good days and all the mundane days in between, but they’re all special with you. I don’t want to just reminisce at Christmas, I want to make every single day a memory with you by my side. Will you marry me?”

You nod, the ornaments reflecting the Christmas lights blurring as your eyes grow teary. “Yes, Tim!” you answer.

Tim stands and pulls you into a kiss, then steps back to slide the ring on your finger.

“I actually do have another ornament for you to put up,” Tim says as you admire the perfect ring.

He passes you a silver box, and you extract the personalized ornament. It’s made to look like you, Tim, and Kojo are snowmen, and it says, She Said Yes with the year engraved beneath.

“You really thought of everything,” you muse. “Where should we put it?”

“Front and center,” Tim answers.

“Isn’t that where the mistletoe goes?” you joke, hanging the ornament in plain view.

“Who needs mistletoe?”

You don’t answer before Tim – your fiancé – pulls you into a kiss that warms you from the inside out while twinkling lights and merry music surround yet another perfect moment.