#and i am feeling the weight of days and days and days of hope and effort to get this bitch ass chapter out

[alotofpockets]

Finding comfort | Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Where you're always very timid, but open up to Katie

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

You had never been great at new environments. It always takes a long time before you are able to warm up to people you don’t know. So, being called up to Arsenal’s senior team and being surrounded by a whole new team definitely wasn’t an easy task.

The first few weeks had flown by, but you hadn’t really spoken to any of your teammates, besides giving short answers to their questions.No one seemed to mind that you were so timid, never pushing you. 

Behind your back they had spoken about it, not in a bad way, more so that they were worried that you weren’t comfortable here. They tried in different ways to make you feel more included, hoping you would start opening up more, but despite their best efforts not much changed. However, your teammates were patient with you, and you were grateful that they weren’t pushing.

“Good morning, are you ready for training?” Kim said as she sat down besides you in the locker room. You smiled timidly and nodded. Your team captain smiled and quietly got ready besides you. Around you the room was buzzing with the chatter of the rest of your teammates.

Training today was a gym session. You enjoyed gym days because for the biggest part of it, you were working individually. While yes football was a team sport, so that part was very important, the individual work made you feel more comfortable with the new environment.

You started with biking, as that was usually the equipment that everyone liked the least, so you would have the space to yourself. After a few minutes of cycling, Katie walked up. “Hey Kid, mind if I join you?” In response you nod. She sits down on the bike beside you and starts cycling with you.

After a few minutes of silence, Katie turns her head your way with a serious expression. “I’ve got an important question for you.” You turn to her, worried about what she might ask. Katie McCabe wasn’t known for being serious, so this must be something big or important.

“Do you think cereal is a soup?” You look at her in disbelief, definitely not having expected that question at all. “That’s your important question?” Your lips curl up slightly. “Yes, I need to know where you stand on the matter.” She says just as seriously as she started.

This time your smile breaks out and you start laughing. Katie smiles proudly before she joins in on your laughter. “So,” She says when the laughter dies down. “Is it soup?” You shake your head. “Definitely not and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Katie gasped, her face filled with shock. “Not soup? Unbelievable. I thought you had better judgement, Kid.” You felt the walls you had up crumble bit by bit every time she joked around. 

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of a few of your teammates in the gym. They looked at the intersection between you and Katie with smiles on their faces. Who would have thought that Katie would’ve been the one to get you to open up more?

“I will let you off the hook this time. Everyone is allowed one wrong opinion, and you have just used yours.” You shake your head with a chuckle. “Good to know.”

The two of you continued chatting throughout your bike session. The team occasionally looks over, happy to see that you are feeling more at home. Wondering what kind of magic Katie used to get through to you. 

“Do you maybe want to join me and toss the ball around?” Katie is quick to say yes, happy that you want to continue opening up to her. “Right behind you.” She says as she gets stopped by Leah on the way.

“I’ve never seen her like this. How did you get her to open up?” The blonde asks full of wonder. Katie shrugs, “I told you that I am funnier than the rest of you.” She walks off proudly, leaving Leah standing there dumbfounded.  

You had picked out the weight that you wanted to use right as Katie walked up. “Alright, show me what you got, Kid.” She stood a few steps in front of you and got ready to catch the ball. You held it at chest height as you squatted down and in your movement up, you threw the ball her way. She did the same movement before tossing the ball your way again.

Just like on bikes, the two of you were chatting. It seemed like you were getting really comfortable with Katie, and there was just one thought on the older players' mind. “Why me?” She asked out loud before thinking.

“I eh, I mean you’re opening up to me and I was wondering what made you do so with me?” She threw the ball back your way. You catch it with ease and as you squat down you answer her question. 

“You just made me feel safe.” You toss the ball back but Katie is so caught by surprise with your answer that it just falls to the ground in front of her. “I win.” You say with a proud smirk.

“Yeah yeah, well done, Kid.” Katie tries to shrug off the loss, but ultimately she’s feeling very good, because she had created a safe space for you without even realising it. Growing up with younger siblings had unintentionally prepared her for youngsters joining the team.

“I want a revance on this next training.” You shake her reached out hand. “Deal, but don’t be upset if I beat you again.” Laughter erupts in the room. Your cheeks turn a bright red when you realise everyone was looking at you. 

Katie notices and puts her arm around your shoulder. “Get used to it Kid, that humour will get you far with these girls.”

-----

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[whatiswrongwithpeople]

Unspoken Understandings

part 2 to “Shattered Silence” (Jayce Talis x reader)

Part 1

Summary: After that fateful night in the lab both ,Jayce and you, have been unsure how to address the sudden shift in your dynamic. However, sometimes all it takes is a certain yordle to force Jayce to take a break from his work and leave the lab.

Warnings: none, no spoilers for s2, no canon plot, a good amount of domestic fluff

Notes: I am really REALLY surprised about how much love “Shattered Silence” has received and hope that you enjoy this follow up just as much. <3 Once again , this has been written in my notes app, I hope I didn’t miss any mistakes.

Tags🏷️ @a-queen-blr @anxious-doodler @brabuscoffwe

The days after the break-in were a blur of frantic packing and moving. You had to find a new place fast—nothing too fancy, just something safe, something that could hold your things and the remaining bits of your research. But the weight of it all pressed down on you, your muscles aching from days spent running between your old and new apartment. You didn’t have the luxury of time to process what had happened the night you stormed into the lab, or even think much about him.

But the nights…

The nights were when you couldn’t stop thinking about how, despite everything, Jayce had held you. How, for a brief moment, you had leaned into him without fear of rejection. You’d allowed yourself to feel vulnerable, and he hadn’t pushed you away.

Now, you found yourself trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest every time you thought about him, but the silence between you both felt suffocating.

Meanwhile, Jayce had buried himself in his work. The breakthrough he’d been chasing for months was nearly within reach, and that goal, that obsession, kept him up at night. But even as his mind raced with equations and possibilities, something nagged at him—a thought that he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

It had started that night when you had collapsed into his arms, your trembling form clinging onto him like a lifeline. The way your body had felt in his embrace, how you had allowed him to hold and comfort you… something about it just felt right. And the days since? It was almost like he couldn't think straight without you. Your presence had become something he couldn’t quite get out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, your face would appear—raw, vulnerable, but somehow more real than anything else in his life.

But what exactly was that thing between you? Was it something real, or just the aftershock of an unexpected and stressful situation? Jayce couldn’t even bring himself to ask.

---

It was late when Heimerdinger found him pacing in the lab, his mind so tangled in equations that the pieces didn’t seem to fit anymore.

“You’re working too hard, Jayce.” Heimerdinger’s voice was calm, but there was a quiet insistence behind it. He hadn’t seen the young inventor so distracted in what felt like ages.

Jayce, who had been scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, didn’t even look up. “I’m close to figuring this out. I just need a few more adjustments,” he said, but his voice lacked the usual tone of conviction.

Heimerdinger tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze studying the younger man. It didn’t take long for him to figure out the nature of the inventor’s problems. “You were always quick to tell me how distracting it was when you were around her. How you could hardly think clearly when she was near.” Heimerdinger spoke , a nonchalant tone covering up the intention behind his statement.

Jayce froze, his pen hovering mid-air. He couldn’t remember ever having said that, but since the incident the times of feeling annoyed by you felt so far away. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. That really had been how he’d felt around you, hadn’t it? You had always found a way of breaking through his concentration, making him second-guess his thoughts and decisions.

But now? He didn’t feel distracted anymore. The thought of you didn’t pull him away from his work—it was more like you were... quieting the noise in his mind. Every time he thought about you, his thoughts slowed, calmed. The gears in his brain didn’t spin at a hundred miles per hour anymore. They… rested.

Sighing, Jayce met Heimerdinger’s knowing gaze. "It’s not the same,” he said, his voice quieter now, unsure. “It’s... different.”

Heimerdinger gave him a pointed look, crossing his arms behind his back as he looked up at the young man. “You’ve been working non-stop for days, Jayce. Sometimes the best breakthroughs come when we step away from the work for a little while. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep this up."

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but Heimerdinger was already walking toward the door. “I’m forcing you out of here. Take a break. Go see her,” he said, an almost cheerful tone in his voice. And with that, he was gone.

Jayce sat in stunned silence for a moment, the yordle’s words hanging in the air. Go see her? If he was honest to himself, he hadn’t even thought about it. A part of his mind harbouring a feeling of anxiousness regarding the inevitable confrontation. But something in Heimerdinger’s voice made him hesitate. It was as if the older man had seen through all the layers of self-doubt Jayce had buried himself under.

With the scrape of his chair he stood up. He needed to get out of the lab. He needed to breathe. He needed to see you.

---

It wasn’t hard to find your new place. Jayce had always been able to track down anything and anyone, with ease—Piltover wasn’t exactly a large city after all.

But as he stood outside your new apartment, his stomach churned. The weight of everything he had avoided saying hung over him like a dark storm cloud. He had no idea how this would play out—what could he even say? That he hadn’t been able to think straight since the night you’d come to him? That he’d wanted to be there for you, but had no clue how to navigate what had happened between you both?

But before he could completely lose his nerve, the door to the apartment opened, and you appeared.

You looked… tired. Your hair was pulled back in a messy up-do, and your shirt was slightly wrinkled, but there was something comforting about the chaos surrounding you. Not wanting to stare , his golden eyes quickly drifting to the space behind you. It was clearly your place now, your sanctuary, but it was still a work in progress.

You saw him before he could even open his mouth to say anything, and a flicker of surprise crossed your face. “Jayce? What are you—”

“I—uh, I came to check on you,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly awkward. His nervous gaze switching back and forth between you and the wood on your door. “See how you’re doing… with the new place and everything.”

You raised an eyebrow but stepped aside, allowing him to enter. “Well,” you said with a tired half-smile, “it’s been a lot of work. Still don’t know where half my things are.”

Jayce chuckled as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His mind reeling at how your presence suddenly made him feel less anxious, like he didn’t have to carry his burdens anymore . Not here, not now.

You motioned toward a pile of boxes in the corner of the living room, your smile sheepish, almost apologetic. “You wouldn’t happen to be good at putting together furniture, would you?”

Without a second thought, Jayce was moving toward the pile, rolling up his sleeves with a quiet determination. “I can manage,” he said with a grin, glancing back at you. “But only if you promise not to laugh at my attempts.”

You smirked, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. “No promises,” you teased, but there was a lightness in your voice now where tiredness had been before.

For the next few hours, the two of you worked side by side, not really talking, but filling the space between you with easy silence. There was something almost intimate in the simplicity of it—a shared task, each moment feeling like it stitched something new into the fabric of your newfound connection. The screech of a screwdriver, the soft clink of metal against wood, and the occasional, shared chuckle when one of you fumbled—it was like you were building something together, but not just the furniture. It was this. Whatever it was that had started to grow between you.

You worked in rhythm, so comfortable with him that it didn’t even feel strange. You caught yourself looking up at him a few times, watching the way he moved, how the muscles in his arms flexed when assembling the pieces and silently admiring the way the light caught the lines of his face. Jayce wasn’t just the scientist, the bold, sometimes aloof figure you'd known—here, in this space, he felt… real. Vulnerable, even. The arrogant mask you had become so accustomed to had slipped away, leaving only the person beneath. And for the first time, you saw him as someone who was just as human as you.

When the last piece of furniture was assembled, both of you collapsed onto the couch. The apartment was still a mess, but somehow, it felt more like home now. After hours of unpacking, moving boxes, and trying to make sense of the chaos, you and Jayce had both reached a kind of quiet, shared exhaustion. There was something about the way the late afternoon light filtered through the windows—golden and warm—that made everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Jayce was beside you on the couch, leaning back against the cushions with his sleeves still rolled up, hair unkempt and his face still a little flushed from the work. Normally, by now you’d be bickering with each other, exchanging sarcastic remarks til one of you would have enough and storm out of the room. But ever since your distraught form had stormed into his lab, that usual dynamic was missing. The crackling back-and-forth had faded into something quieter, something more... honest.

“So, this is it, huh?” you said, glancing around the room. It was a mix of completed and incomplete, a snapshot of a new beginning. “Still a long way to go, but... it’s getting there.”

Jayce surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the boxes and the half-finished furniture scattered around. “It’s... definitely not what I expected,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. “You still got a ton of stuff for someone who has been robbed.” You laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a tense laugh like it would have been just a few days ago. It was more... genuine.

The silence stretched a little longer, and you found yourself thinking about how easily you used to hide behind the jabs and insults. You had both spent so much time pretending—pretending that you couldn’t stand each other, pretending like there was nothing more beneath the surface. But nevertheless, despite years of constant back and forth, Jayce had been the one your heart had led you to when your mind was in a state of absolute panic.

“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time pretending,” you said softly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. “Pretending like we couldn’t get along, pretending like I didn’t... care.”

Jayce’s eyes flicked over to you, something unreadable in his gaze. For a moment, he didn’t respond, allowing the truth to settle between you.

“I think I was pretending, too,” he said finally, his voice low and honest. “Pretending I didn’t want... this.” He gestured loosely between you two, his hand hovering in the air, as if the words were more difficult to articulate than the feelings behind them.

There it was. That truth you had both danced around for so long. And now, it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like a breath you both had been holding ever since Jayce had comforted you that fateful night, waiting for the right moment to exhale.

You turned toward him, your body instinctively moving closer. You didn’t have to think about it. The space between you was just too small now, too important to leave empty. As if by reflex, your hand reached out, softly brushing his arm, letting your fingers rest gently against his. The touch was tentative at first but you felt him respond instantly—his hand turning slightly, his fingers seeking yours, meeting you halfway.

It was subtle, a small connection that sent a rush of warmth through you. Neither of you said anything. The words didn’t feel necessary anymore. Jayce shifted a little, his knee brushing against yours, his hand gently drawing you closer. He wasn’t in a rush. You weren’t either. But as the space between you closed even more, something shifted, and you both knew the moment was right.

Jayce’s thumb traced along the back of your hand, his touch light but deliberate. Slowly, he turned toward you, his body leaning in, and you could feel his breath on your lips before his mouth even touched yours. It wasn’t a desperate move, but one full of quiet intent, like this was something that had been building between you for far too long.

His lips met yours gently at first—just a soft brush, testing, as though waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Neither of you did. The kiss deepened, slowly, naturally. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your head slightly as his other hand slid around your waist, his electric touch finding its way underneath your shirt, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours felt so right, so easy, just like it had back in the lab when he had shielded you from your troubles, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You melted into him. There was no rush, no hesitation now. Just the soft pressure of his lips on yours, the tender way his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if memorizing the feel of of your skin underneath his fingertips.

When you pulled back, there was no immediate rush to fill the space with words. The air between you felt charged, but in a quiet, intimate way. You both breathed deeply, your lips tingling from the kiss, your pulse still racing a marathon in your chest.

Jayce’s hand lingered on your waist, his thumb absently tracing circles on your skin. “Guess we don’t have to pretend to not like each other anymore,” he murmured, his voice hushed, almost unsure, like the weight of everything was finally settling in. You shook your head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hand found his again. “No. I guess not.”

Jayce leaned back into the couch, his body angled closer to yours now. His eyes twinkled with that familiar teasing glint, but there was something new in the way he looked at you. Something lighter. “So, dinner? I think I’ve earned it.”

You chuckled, your fingers still intertwined with his as you stood. “You’ve already helped me move half my furniture, Jayce. You’re definitely sticking around.”

He flashed you a relaxed grin, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

Letting go of his hand, you turned toward the kitchen, starting to gather ingredients, and Jayce followed you, leaning in just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Need any help?”

You glanced at him with a smile. “Unless you’ve got a Hextech gadget to chop vegetables, I’ve got it under control.”

Jayce chuckled and stepped back, settling in at the table as you started to prepare a meal. There was something comforting in his quiet presence, in the easy rhythm of the evening. You moved around each other effortlessly, the space between you filled with warmth rather than words.

Soon enough, you set the table and sat down together, the simple meal feeling more like a shared moment than just food. Jayce took a bite, then raised an eyebrow in approval. “I’m impressed. Didn’t expect you to be this good at it.”

You laughed, your fingers brushing his as you reached for your drink. “I’m full of surprises.” He smiled at that, his eyes lingering on your face , as if trying to capture the moment.

After dinner, you started to clear the table and do the dishes when Jayce moved to help. You smiled and gently took the dish towel from his hands. “I’ve got this,” you said softly. He gave you a mock pout in return. “I was just getting into it.” Looking up at him, you smiled fondly at his behaviour. “You’ve done enough for today.”

Jayce stepped closer, golden eyes soft as his hand reached out for the towel again. “I don’t mind,” he murmured, his warmth filling the tiny space of your kitchen and wrapping around you like a safety blanket.

“Thanks,” you whispered, cheeks burning with a soft blush as you suddenly felt the quiet comfort of his presence in a way that made everything else feel far away.

Jayce leaned in to brush a kiss against your forehead, light but sincere. “Anytime.”

And just like that, everything felt perfectly in place.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

〄 BORDERLINE

⤷ Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader

{ CHAPTER I ; LOST & FOUND. }

You save a man from drowning and he claims he's Prince Aemond Targaryen who you know died in 130AC, surely he's just crazy, right?

Warnings: f&b spoilers, nothing too triggering really, reader thinks he's gone bonkers, fake dates, 1024 is basically 2024 + not proof read.

masterlist ; next >>

He felt Vhagars body giving up beneath him, her poor wings too exhausted to hold up her own weight to fly anymore as they battled, her croaks as she struggled to breathe fire onto the enemy before him.

His uncle, Daemon targaryen.

Aemond is sweating, he had been waiting all his life for this moment- to fight his uncle and at last his dream came true because of the witch he had taken in.

It was an open trap.

She envisioned that he'd win the battle, that he'd be alive.

That was a lie.

“Dracarys!” Daemon yelled distantly the fire being spit out by Caraxes, Vhagar— in a final attempt at protecting her rider, shielded Aemond with her wings, but that sudden movement caused Aemond to lose hold on her reins, His body falling down from the dragon's.

He only realised the lie as he fell through the skies, piercing through the wind at an intense speed as the dragons continued to fight before him.

Nonetheless he had no other choice but to accept his death, and so he did.

The waters welcomed him as if they had been waiting for him, he felt his life slowly slip away just like his sister had predicted that he would die, he closed his eye, just accepting his own fate, hoping that at least he'd find peace in the after life, or maybe he wouldn't; maybe he'd suffer in hell, after all he hurt many innocent people.

“You were swallowed up in God's eye, never to be seen again.” Helaena's words rung through his head, voice clear as day, feeling more suffocating than the water he's drowning in.

Just as Aemond's mind was reeling through the possibility, he felt a gust of air which made him breathe on reflex as he was pulled up by someone. He opened his eye in surprise.

He was… alive?

Someone saved him? Was it Alys? Was her prophecy right?

Many questions ran through his mind as he adjusted to his vision, but it was then he realised that he didn't recognise this place. Neither did he recognize you.

“Sir! Are you okay?!” You ask in a panic at the man who almost drowned before you. You were just taking a walk nearby the lake when you saw bubbles floating up to the surface with a silhouette of a man below, you immediately jumped in; knowing how to swim and ended up saving this man's life.

You took a note of his attire, noting that it might be very old fashioned style, perhaps he liked the medieval aesthetic? His shiny locks clung onto his clothes.

He coughed, water spurting out from his mouth and nose as his body desperately tried to get rid of the liquid that he drowned in. Aemond stared at the ground in shock.

His careful eye took note of the surroundings that were around him. Tall buildings that had square openings that shone brightly, even during what was supposed to be called a nighttime.

Quite frankly, it hurt his eye, the lights blaring into his cornea. He shut in reflex, not adjusted to whatever place he was at. You watched in silence as he sat up completely. His clothes were sticking to his body in an uncomforting manner.

“Where am I?” He asks, his face and tone sharp, behavior notwithstanding someone that was just drowning mere moments ago. “Uh? We're currently at God's eye lake.” You reply, not wanting to be too judgemental.

“God's eye? Where's Harrenhal?” He asks and you laugh at the mention of that place. “You mean the old castle? Yeah that was towed down years ago, they tried reconstructing it but weird incidents occurred, now that area is nothing but a memory.” You inform him.

“This doesn't look like God's eye.” He states out loud, taking in the difference in sight, a few boats floating on top of the waters, tied to a ledge, they did not look like the wooden boats.. They seem like they were made of steel. His eye widens. “Metal floats on water now? What is this sorcery?” He exclaims.

“Sorcery? Chill out with the medieval vocabulary, my guy. Aren't you too invested in your aesthetic?” You reply, shrugging his behavior off. “You mere— peasant, I am a Targaryen prince. Dragon blood runs through my veins, how dare you speak and mock me?” He grits his teeth, his voice low and dangerous.

You blink for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. “Oh gods! You're quite hilarious for a man that was drowning mere moments ago, say you didn't damage your brain did you?” You chuckle, checking his temperature.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs when he grabs you by your throat, pushing you onto the ground as he gets on top of you. “I will have your tongue, shall you speak any further mockery.” He whispers cruelly, his grip tightening around your neck. You gasp for air as you claw at his hands trying to pry them off, but he's too strong.

Great, is this how you're going to die? By the hands of a man who seems like is homeless or on drugs whom you saved? The seven are indeed cruel.

Your cursing to the God's was probably heard when you feel the oxygen rushing back in your lungs as he removes his hand away, but still straddling you. You look at him with doubt, wondering if he'd gone insane.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, what is the Lady's name?” He asks, referring to you while getting off you and you wanted to laugh once again but you decided not to.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen? Are you serious? If you're Prince Aemond Targaryen then I'm Alicent Hightower.” You roll your eyes at his words waiting for him to act embarrassed as you made fun of him, but he doesn't say anything. He squints his eye in disbelief.

“Seriously? Cosplaying a historic character is one thing but claiming you're them seems more of a mental illness.” You tell him, getting off the ground and standing before him, looking down at him from above.

You waited for him to drop the act, yet nothing came out of his mouth. “What year is this?” He asks and you blink in confusion. “Uhm 1024, why?” You reply and his mouth drops in shock.

He had been sent 894 years into the future. His heart begins to race as he takes in his surroundings once again, nothing looking the same way as it did before.

He looked at you, the one who pulled him into this world, was it magic? No, you were too much of an airhead for this to be magic. Aemond sighs.

He had nowhere to go in this world. All his family was likely dead. So he stares at you in thought, acknowledging that he probably looks like an insane person to you right now. A person from the future.

He gulps as anxiety eats away at the pit in his stomach. “You alright?” You ask, but he suddenly stands up grabbing you by your shoulders. He had only you now.

“Watch.” He tells you, one of his hands travelling to his eyepatch before pulling it off and revealing his eye. Hoping that it would convince you that he's not crazy.

“A sapphire.. in your eye like Aemond Targaryen, wow the dedication is indeed there.” You clap lightly but Aemond tuts, annoyed at your skepticism.

You couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by him, the subconscious of your mind seemed to know more than you did, for some reason, it believed him.

He didn't look like a crazy person while claiming those things, he looked you dead in the eye while claiming that he was a Prince, and Aemond Targaryen himself. So you couldn't help but wonder if it was really true.

“Can I touch your hair?” You ask, the question leaving your mouth unexpectedly and you cover your lips in shock. Fuck, you needed to hold your tongue. He tilts his head.

“Nobody except the Targaryens have platinum blonde hair, the hair colour now cannot be inherited genetically as they are long extinct. Every last one of them died. Now you can only see this hair color if you bleach your hair or wigs.. But they have weird textures so.. I need to see if you're telling the truth.” You explain yourself as fast as you can before he gets mad. He processes your words and gives you permission to touch his hair, and you touch it indeed.

Your eyes widen at the smoothness, his hair showing no signs of dye or bleach, it's way too healthy and non frizzy. Out of curiosity, you pluck one of the hair strands which makes him wince. “You wench how—” He begins to speak.

“Shh!” You shush him, holding the hair closer to your face, as you stare at the root part of the hair, platinum blonde just like the rest. Your heartbeat starts picking up its pace as you stare at the shiny hair intensely.

You turn your head to look at him, his features stoic, way too calm and collected. You ignored this before but he radiated off such a mightier energy, his posture was prim and perfect, his sapphire eye glinted and stayed snuggled up in his eye. His working eye just stared at you, the pupil shrinking and expanding, mimicking the turmoil of emotions within him.

Your gaze took in his features intently, the nose, the lips, the eyes, the face shape all were similar to the painting you had seen when you were in high school, studying history.

That's when your history teacher's lesson replayed in your memory, recalling the memory, pulling you into a flashback.

//

“Aemond Targaryen, fell into the Lake God's eye during the battle with his uncle.. His dragon, Vhagar, was found at the bottom—” You write down the notes as the teacher speaks, writing down the dates of the incident.

“However, eerily enough, his body was never found. Not at the bottom, nowhere. It was as if he just vanished. Never seen again.”

‘His body was never found.’ you scribbled.

‘As if he vanished, never seen again.’ you took out your highlighter and highlighted the point.

//

You stared at the man in front of you before you looked at the lake you guys were standing at the edge of, the water coming to your feet, pulled by the wind, towards you.

‘His body was never found.’

‘Never seen again.��

The words repeated in your mind as you look at him again.

“So you really.... are Aemond Targaryen?” You question, your body shaking with the realisation, the weight of it feeling heavy on your shoulders, you hoped it was a joke, that the man in front of you was playing a joke. But everything fell in place way too perfectly.

‘never found ; never seen again.’

“Hmm.” He hums.

[dekariosclan]

Thinking about God Gale again…(especially since you made a great point about how he still loves you as a god! Which is so good and SO ANGSTY!) You may or may not be able to answer this, but I’d love to hear your thoughts: do you think God Gale would give up his godhood to be with a mortal Tav again? Would his love for Tav overcome his need for immortality and feeling like “he’s enough” as the God of Ambition?

As always: thank you for the wonderful meals about our boy 🙏 Dekarios the Divine bless you

OH DEAR GODS AN ANGSTY ASK

(ok, ok. I can do this. keep it together *hyperventilating into paper bag* just act normal goddamnit—)

Greetings fellow human! Hi! Thank you for this lovely ask, and rest assured that I am an extremely normal person who can totally handle emotional discussions about pixel people! NO I’M NOT CRYING—

Do I think God Gale would give up his godhood to be a mortal with Tav again?

Yes, I do—but only if he was able to be self-aware enough to realize that Godhood was not making him feel as happy or as content as Tav’s love did. Then his scholarly mind might finally begin to question what in the heavens he’d been thinking by giving that up just for ‘divine power’ which, as it turns out, really isn’t all that ‘divine.’

Would his love for Tav overcome his need for immortality and feeling like “he’s enough” as the God of Ambition?

The problem is that Godhood changes Gale (as it would change anyone) from a self-aware mortal to a divine being who can no longer relate to human experiences, including the passage of time. So while it’s confirmed that Gale still loves Tav, that love is now buried under weight of Gale’s hubris and godly ambitions, which would be very hard to overcome.

I know Raphael has the ending monologue where he predicts that Gale will eventually tear apart the pantheon, BUT, I personally don’t take that at face value as a guaranteed outcome. That speech reeks of sour grapes to me, and Raphael just being the smug bastard that we all know and love, so I think it’s less ‘Raphael’s Guaranteed Prediction’, and more ‘Raphael’s Fantasy Fanfiction’. Is it still possible? Sure, and I think if Gale did not romance Tav and did not get to experience their love then it is probably a more likely possibility.

But if Gale did romance Tav, then what I think is the tragic and more probable outcome is that Gale would eventually ‘wake up’ and realize that Godhood is not all that it’s cracked up to be, and decide to return home to Faerun and to Tav—but so much time has passed (and he did not realize it) that Tav and everyone he loved has now passed away.

AH GOD THE ANGST HURTS MY SPLEEN

But let’s focus on the GOOD outcome of him giving up Godhood and doing it in time to be with Tav again. It would be hard, and it would require Gale to REALLY overcome his insecurities and his pride, but I do think it is possible. Just looking at Gale’s ‘Godly Form’ you can see literal cracks in his exterior. He is not 100% unbreakable.

I still think at least a decent chunk of ‘human time’ would have to pass—we’ll say five years or so—before he would come to the realization.

And then one day (assuming Tav had not moved on and found new love) they would open their door, and—

“Hello,” Gale said, softly.

Tav blinked, for a moment trying to find their footing as their entire world spun out from under them.

“…Dekarios the Divine?” Tav asked, uncertainly. Gale’s clothes were simple robes, his skin no longer glowing with divine power. He looked almost as he had in Tav’s dreams, in all of their memories of when he’d still been a mortal.

Only this man’s eyes were much, much more tired. And filled with regret.

“No…I’m just plain old Gale Dekarios now. A most brilliant wizard of intentionally limited reknown.” He reached out, hesitantly, and took Tav’s hand in both of his.

For a moment they both stood silently, relishing the warmth of each other’s touch.

“Apologies. I hoped I’d be better at this.”

A smile was beginning to pull at Tav’s lips, even as their eyes filled. “At introductions?”

“At begging for your forgiveness.”

————— *One additional note: I simply must add that @lady-sapphyre wrote this excellent fic that tackles Gale giving up Godhood and I highly recommend it!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit at your desk, shaken as the sound of the mug shattering repeats in your head. You can smell the dark roast as you stare fuzzily at your monitor. You hadn’t even taken the coffee you brewed. You can see it in your mind, forgotten on the counter, lonely, going cold. 

You have no thirst for the maple shortbread roast. You rub your fingers together, the feeling of the shards, the incessant jitter that won’t leave you. You tried to play it cool but now you’re really scared. 

You open your Teams and type out a message to your manager. You’re spending half a sick day and going home. Her curt response betrays her agitation. She’s not impressed but you don’t care. Work isn’t as important as taking care of yourself. 

You shut down and pack up your bag. You slide your chair under your desk and keep your head down as you head for the stairs. You avoid the elevators to evade any notice. It feels like admitting defeat but you’re not sure there’s any victory to be had with that man. 

As you exit the building, the weight lifts from your chest and the slouch eases in your shoulders. Maybe you can ask to change desks. That would be a start. You can get a bigger thermos and bring lots of coffee so you never need to venture into the breakroom. This could work. 

Oh boy. You think you’re going to have to quit. You really don’t want to, you feel like you’ve barely begun. And he isn’t the only person there, it isn’t his company, so why should you have to run away? 

Dana can be… decent and there’s that woman with the vintage blouse you met in the breakroom. Somehow, you never managed to spill her coveted hot chocolates in your carelessness. It’s as if the universe put you on the path of this angry man, but why? 

Screw the universe. It can’t tell you how to live. You’ve never really worried about fitting into its machinations and you won’t start now. 

You don’t want to go home right away. You veer around and head down to the cafe a few blocks down. It’s a bit of a trek but you’ve heard good things. You go inside and wait your turn, ordering an iced fruity tea and a lemon scone. 

As you turn to go, you see that woman through the window. The one from the office in her thrifted clothes. You love her style. A braid red belt with brown tweed pants and a bell sleeved button up. She doesn’t see you wave as she turns away and carries on, earbuds tucked into her ears. 

You claim a table by the window and as you unwrap your scone, a man marches by, raising your hackles as you see the determination in his step. He heads in the same direction as that woman, intent and unbothered by his surroundings. You’ve seen him too, he works in one of the fancy offices. 

You pick at the scone and nibble on the corner before sliding it away again. You’re still addled by your breakroom run-in. You thought this would be a distraction. Or hoped it would. 

You leave, unsatisfied. Home it is. Alone, but safe. 

You take the bus halfway then walk a few blocks to your apartment. As you get inside, you’re restless. You do your best to settle in.  

Gaming doesn’t calm you down, even as you go around to say hello to your villagers. You shut that off and grab your half-done crochet project but the hippo is too much of a challenge to ease your nerves. So you get up and run yourself a hot bath. 

You undress with the door open. You bask in your newfound solace. It took you a while to get out of your parents’ place but now you’re on your own, you don’t have to worry. 

You slip into the water with a sigh. A playlist drones from your phone on the counter and you mix in scented epsom salts. You start to feel a bit bed as you recline and close your eyes. You stay like that until the water is lukewarm. 

You get out and pull on your fluff rope with the pink cheetah print. You feel renewed and ready to relax. Just don’t think about the inevitable. Tomorrow you’ll have to be back in office. 

You shuffle around you apartment lazily and turn on the television. You curl up in the corner of the couch as Sailor Moon transforms in the intro sequence. The music fills your small space. You’re comforted by the childhood favourite. 

You ease into the cushions and feel yourself starting to doze. You’d still be at work if you didn’t take the half-day. You shouldn’t be falling asleep already but you can’t resist the nap. 

You close your eyes and something scratches down ear canal. Some sort of friction. You don’t pay it much mind. There’s always noise from the hallway or the street. But it happens again and again, then you feel something. 

You sit up in fright and turn to the figure sat next to you. You’re so stunned, you can’t find your voice to scream. You take a deep breath and Curtis raises his index fingers. 

“If you scream, I’m going to have be bad,” he warns. “So let’s not do that.” 

“How’d you get in here?” 

He tilts his head as he watches the television. You peek over. You like this episode too—but that’s not the point! 

“Curtis--” 

He hushes you and sits back. “You don’t make it hard to follow you. You’re so oblivious, you have no clue what’s going on right in front of your face.” 

“I...” 

He shushes you again and looks at you. “You’re going to get real hurt one of these days.” He crosses his arms and puts his head straight again. “It’s up to you. Is today that day?” 

[letsbangts]

end of a day || jjk

⤷ summary: when the day tries to weigh you two down you both are there to lift each other up

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 1.1k

⟶ genre: angst, fluff, established relationship au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, stress, crying, & a comforting koo

⟶ warnings: none

↬ a/n: inspired by one of my all time favourite songs end of a day shinee's jonghyun ʚ♡ɞ

↬ a/n2: p.s the italics are the song lyrics & as always let me know what you think i really appreciate feedback :) recommend a song if you’d like and i’ll write a scenario with it like i did with this song!

masterlist

༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄ ༄

hold out your hand, wrap it around my neck.

a little below, massage my shoulders.

at the end of a tiring day, even if the sun has already come up

i'm finally closing my eyes

 Sometimes it can feel like there are too many hours in a day. The day has been going on for too long. A day where life felt a bit too hard, where the world got a bit too busy, a bit too heavy and decided to lay its weight upon your shoulders and your heart. A day that all you needed was a hand to reach out to you. It was one of those days for me today, a day that is finally coming to a close as I see the sun going down on the horizon as I make my way back home ready to shut my eyes. Home. The place I could not reach any quicker. It is not the four walls I am racing to arrive to but to him, as he is my real home.

 i close the door to my day later than others

playfully tickle my earlobe

because even though we’ve been in different worlds all day

we always end the day together

I enter my house and close the door also closing the door to my day. Many others have probably retired from their days long before me. I hear the clicking of a mouse an all too familiar sound to me, almost a reassuring sound. And that is when I knew although we were both in two completely different worlds the whole day, my day was just as draining as his. As I walk in and turn to see Jungkook’s tired face and slumped figure still working away, illuminated by his monitor screen I realize his day has been just as long as mine. Seeing him released all the pressure off my shoulders and I can almost release a sigh of relief knowing as always we can end our day together.

your small shoulders, your small hands

become my cozy blanket at the end of a tiring day

For some reason seeing Jungkook today, maybe because of the stress or exhaustion, whatever it is the second I see him a welling feeling emerges in my chest.

“Kook?” my voice shakes out.

He turns his head, not noticing my presence before being absorbed in his work, only ready to go to bed as soon as he’s pleased with his edit.

“Hmm?” as he turns his head his glasses reflect the glare caught from the screen.

We make eye contact and he watches as I approach him. As I walk closer to him he immediately wheels back his chair from the desk making space for me. He opens his arms when he sees my quivering lips and watery eyes, pulling me with his lap. He wraps his arms around my small shoulders, my small hands clutch onto his shirt as I cry into him. With my face buried in his chest, I stain his shirt with my tears, shedding my day. He rubs my back letting me get out the feelings I pent up for hours. He is silent as he embraces me until I hear him let out a deep sigh himself and I suddenly feel like I am comforting him at the same time. For the first time in my day, I finally take a breath of contentment able to relax and Jungkook seemingly doing the same.

you did a good job today, you worked so hard

i hope my shoulders and my thick hands

will become cozy comfort for the end of your tiring day as well

Jungkook pats my head with his thick hands probably stiff from all the clicking and typing the diligent work he always puts into everything.

“It’s okay. You did a good job today. You worked so hard, I know you did.” he soothes me with a gentle voice.

I sniffle and pull back to look up at him. I remove his glasses from his face and place them on his desk. I look into his eyes, red with dark bags underneath them as he stares back at mine, red and filled with tears.

I blanked out as I admired him filling myself with the warmth of satisfaction I get from simply being with him.

i want to naturally sync my breathing with yours 

like water in a bathtub that wraps around you with no space left

i wanna warmly hold you without any space left

I want to end my day with Jungkook. Merge me with him, with his breathing, with his heartbeat, with his movements, his everything, with his very being.

“I missed you,” I say to him “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” He replies hugging me tighter.

“You must have had quite a day as well I shouldn't be crying on you like this.” I wipe away my tears and laugh at my selfishness, burdening him with my tears.

 at the end of my day, filled with awkward mistakes

you, my prize, are waiting for me.

i can’t cry all I want or even laugh all I want

at the end of a tiring day but still, if I’m next to you

like a child, I can whine and then laugh till I run out of breath

i’m not used to seeing myself like this

He takes my face into his hands, cupping my cheeks his thumbs rubbing them back and forth. His gaze is loving as he says,

“No matter what kind of day I have, one filled with accomplishments or one filled with mistakes, once we come together my day can never end on a bad note. You are my prize, you being here with me is all the reassurance I need to know I can get through this day, and the next, and any more that may come. I may be one to suppress my feelings and not express myself fully, I don’t cry all the time or laugh as often as I should. But at the end of a tiring day, I know if I'm next to you, you will let me whine like a child and then you'll have me laughing until I’m out of breath. And it still surprises me after all these years with you seeing myself like that.”

I glide my hands up to his neck and pull him in for a kiss so deep that it feels like we become one, breaths intertwined.

Sometimes it can feel like there are too many hours in a day. The day has been going on for too long. But right now I realize there can never be enough hours in a day for me when I am with Jungkook. So the day can go on for as long as it wants because no matter how long it is I can make it through knowing that at the end of it, I will make my way back to Jungkook.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

you did a good job today, you worked so hard

you are my prize

[fatphobiabusters]

is it weird that I sometimes feel like I'm "not fat enough" to feel like I deserve the "fat bodies are beautiful" speech? like....I'm fat, I'm definitely fat, I have a 45 inch waist and an apron belly. but it's "only" a 45in waist....idk...it feels like a dumb thing to feel but here I am...knowing I'm fat but going "but not fat enough to experience fat positivity" especially bc I've been losing weight....sorry for the ramble I've had this thought for a while

I can't mentally translate that number to an idea of what you look like, but I can still answer this regardless. You deserve fat positivity. Your body deserves positivity. You deserve to not hate your body. And this goes for you no matter how fat you are because this goes for all fat people of every size. Even if your mind wants to convince you you're not fat enough to count, guess what? Midsize people deserve fat positivity too. Midsize people deserve to not hate their bodies either. So, whether you're fat or midsize doesn't change the fact that you deserve positivity. If you'd like to try these tips, I have some coping mechanisms that may help you. The first coping mechanism you can try is to add beliefs to your mind rather than subtract. It's not easy to delete that "I'm not deserving of positivity" belief. So, instead, you can tell yourself "Everybody is deserving of positivity" when your mind is trying to drag you down. That new belief helps you out-logic your old belief while not forcing you to pretend that old belief is gone. Another coping mechanism you can try is to write down fat positivity and positive phrases about yourself on sticky notes and put those sticky notes around your apartment/house. You can put some sticky notes on the fridge, on the door, on your dresser, wherever you'll see the sticky notes. Eventually after reading those notes every day for some time, it will become easier to believe what those sticky notes say.

I hope this answer will help you. Your body is already "enough" to deserve love and compassion.

-Mod Worthy

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator ( hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy. Taglist: @alohastitch0626, @jspidey5, @laceandsuch, @kneelforloki

The day begins as it often does for the three of them. James sits at the kitchen counter, scrolling through his OnlyFans messages with one hand while he nurses a steaming cup of coffee with the other. Sirius is sprawled out on the couch, still half-asleep, the faint hum of the television lulling him back towards dreams. And Remus, ever the early riser, has been awake for hours, hunched over his laptop at the dining table, editing their latest video.

Then, a new notification pops up on James's screen: a message from you. And in that moment, the ordinary morning transforms into something far more electric.

"Hey, she messaged," James announces, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably. There's an unmistakable edge of excitement to his voice, a giddiness that betrays just how much this means to him. He's always like this when it comes to you—eager, hopeful, almost boyish in his enthusiasm.

Sirius straightens from where he's slouched on the sofa, an eyebrow raised in intrigue. "Video?"

"No, just text." The corners of James's mouth lift into a slow smile as he reads your words, savouring the familiarity of your tone—a casual greeting that masks the depth of your connection. "Just saying hi. Checking in."

"Just checking in?" Remus echoes from behind the screen of his laptop, a sceptical note colouring his question. He knows as well as the others do that your interactions with them often carry more weight than what meets the eye.

"Yeah, just... normal stuff. Friendly, a bit flirty." With a shrug, James opens the message thread, allowing the soft glow of the screen to illuminate his face.

You: Hey, Prongs 😊 Just checking in to see how you all are! I've been back for a few days now and wanted to properly say hi. Hope everything's good. 💖

The three men exchange glances, each trying to decipher the underlying intent behind your words. It's not unusual for you to send messages like this, but today it feels different—less formal, more personal. Whether it's the fact that you're back online after your hiatus or simply the way your words seem to be reaching out, bridging the gap between fan and creator, something shifts in the air around them.

“Well, this feels... normal,” Sirius says, leaning back on his hands with a small smile playing on his lips. “Almost like we’re just chatting with a friend.”

"Perhaps that's what she wants it to be," Remus muses, always the one to seek layers beneath the surface. "We're creators like her, and while we are fans of her content, maybe she craves conversation with those who understand."

James nods, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he considers their reply. Keep it cool, but let a hint of flirtation linger—the balance that has become their signature.

ProngsPlayground_free: We’re good! Been busy with our own stuff, but we’ve definitely missed seeing you around. How’ve you been? 💕

He hits send, leaning back and watching as the message goes through. They all fall silent, a sense of anticipation in the air. It's not that they're expecting anything grand—just the usual banter they've come to enjoy with you—but there's an undercurrent of excitement nonetheless. Every exchange is a chance to learn something more about you.

Your reply comes sooner than expected.

You: I'm okay 😊 Not completely better yet, but getting there. Sometimes life just throws things at you, you know?

Remus leans in closer, reading the message over James's shoulder. His brow furrows slightly. "That's... more than she usually says."

Sirius squints at the screen, shadows playing across his sharp features. "Yeah, she normally keeps it light. But this—this feels like she's letting us in, even if it's just a crack."

James's fingers hover over the keyboard, the usual quick wit stilled for a moment. He's always been the one to push boundaries, to toe the line between amusement and recklessness, but even he recognises the gravity of this shift. It's one thing to flirt with danger in the guise of laughter and camaraderie; it's another to tread on the fragile ground of vulnerability. Yet there's an opportunity here, an opening for connection that goes beyond the surface.

ProngsPlayground_free: Yeah, I get that. Life can be a real bitch sometimes. But we’re glad you’re feeling better! What’s been going on? Anything we can help with, even if it’s just to listen? 😉

Sirius watches James's fingers fly over the keys, an eyebrow arched in amusement. "You're not holding back, are you?" he asks, a note of respect threading through his words.

James shrugs, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a small smile. "Why should I? It's true, isn’t it? People just want someone to talk to sometimes."

"Exactly," Remus adds, giving a nod of agreement. "We're here for more than just sharing videos. We're here for each other too."

A pause hangs in the air as they wait for your response, their eyes flickering between the screen and each other. When your message finally appears, it feels like a door creaking open, the smallest invitation to step inside your world.

You: Honestly, I’m just dealing with a lot of personal stuff. Nothing too serious, just... life things. You know how it is. It’s hard to keep up sometimes, and I needed to take a step back and breathe for a bit. But I’m getting there. Thanks for asking.

James reads your message aloud, his voice steady despite the gravity of your words. The room's ambience shifts subtly; the playful banter that usually fills the space has been replaced by something more sombre, more real, and they sit in silence for a moment, absorbing the weight of your admission. It isn't much—just a few lines of text—but it's more than you've ever let on before. They've always known there was more to you than the online persona you project, but this feels like the first tangible glimpse beyond that façade.

"Seems like she's letting us in, just a bit," Sirius murmurs, his usual bravado absent from his tone.

Remus nods, thoughtful. "Yeah. Not the whole picture, but...more than before."

James takes a deep breath, fingers hovering over the keyboard. His response needs to tread carefully, acknowledging your vulnerability without prying too far or setting expectations for disclosure. With a nod to himself, he begins to type, each word chosen with deliberate care.

ProngsPlayground_free: That sounds tough. We completely understand needing a break—sometimes life just gets too much, and you need to step back and breathe. We're glad you're taking care of yourself. If you ever want to talk about anything—or nothing in particular—we're here. No pressure. 💖

There is a pause after they send the message, the three of them exchanging glances that speak volumes. This is new territory, a shift away from light-hearted teasing and shared videos. It feels less like fan and creator now, more like...people connecting.

Your reply takes longer this time, allowing them a moment of respite. When it finally comes through, there's a warmth in your words that makes them smile despite the circumstances.

You: Thanks, Prongs. 😊 I'm not used to opening up about these things, especially with subscribers. But you three have been nothing but kind. It means more than you know. Sometimes, it does feel like I'm carrying too much and it's nice to know there are people out there who get it, even if we've never met.

The corner of Sirius's mouth twitches upwards in a half-smile as he leans back into the plush cushions of the couch, running a hand through his dark hair. "That... doesn't feel half bad."

"Right?" James agrees, his attention still on the screen, fingers poised over the keyboard. He can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment, like they've managed to bridge an impossible gap. "Feels like we're getting to know her, the person behind the posts."

Remus is quieter, more reserved, but there's a subtle change in his demeanour—a lightness that suggests he's been hoping for this. "People need that sometimes," he murmurs. "Just to know someone's listening."

The corners of James's mouth twitch upward as he composes his reply, a delicate balance of camaraderie and sensitivity. His fingers dance across the keys, each word chosen to assure you that they're here for you, no distance too great, no hour too late.

ProngsPlayground_free: We're always here to listen, love. 💖 And if things get tough, you can always distract yourself with us. We've got plenty of chaos going on to keep things interesting. 😏

Sirius barks out a laugh, throwing an arm around James's shoulders. "That's putting it mildly."

Remus's lips quirk into a smile, his eyes warm behind his glasses. "He's not wrong, though. We're excellent at providing... distraction."

The response comes quicker this time, your words carrying a hint of playfulness, a spark of connection kindling in the space between.

You: That sounds perfect. Sometimes a little chaos is just what you need to get through tough times. 😉 You guys are the best.

The message sends and James leans back, feeling a sense of satisfaction that goes beyond the usual thrill of their banter. It's something deeper, more significant—a subtle shift in the dynamic. They've breached a delicate boundary today, but rather than recoil, you've leaned into the connection. You remain an enigma, yet there's a sense of texture now, layers unfolding with each exchange. It's as though they're crafting something tangible from the ether of the internet, a friendship forged in bytes and pixels.

"See?" James murmurs, the relief palpable in his voice. "She's letting us in—bit by bit. It's not just about the videos anymore."

Remus smiles, the lines around his eyes softening. "That's what makes this meaningful, isn't it? The understanding that there's depth beneath the surface."

Sirius nods, his lips tracing the ghost of a smile. "Exactly. We're earning her trust, even if it's just a fraction for now."

The three of them sit in silence, the weight of their conversation not quite settled. James is right; it's not just about the content anymore, and they all feel the shift. A connection is growing, one that stretches beyond the typical boundaries of creator and fan, and it feels right—like the next step in a dance they've only just begun.

James glances at the time, mindful of their individual schedules and the messages awaiting their attention, but he doesn't rush to break away. For now, he lingers in this moment of shared understanding, savouring the sensation of moving forward together.

"We'll take it slow," Remus suggests, his gaze moving between James and Sirius. "No need to push her."

James nods, his hand resting on the back of his neck as if to ease tension that isn't there. "Yeah. No hurry."

Their eyes meet across the table, each acknowledging the unspoken agreement. This is new territory for them, but they're ready to navigate it—to learn more about you, about the person behind the words that have captured their attention.

As the day unfolds, they return to their routines, their thoughts often drifting back to you. They wonder what else you might reveal in your messages, given time and trust. They look forward to their next interaction, eager to peel back another layer of the mystery that is you.

[thepascalparadox]

Chapter Three: Echoes of Us

Word Count | 2.1k Pairing | General Marcus Acacius x OC F!Reader Chapter Warnings | Don't want to spoil it but something more happens You awaken with a sense of determination, resolved to make the most of your day. And by “most,” you mean finding a way to know the General better.

Not in a romantic way, of course. No, he is to be nothing more than a good friend. When I become Domina, it is only practical to be close to the General of my army. Just friends, nothing more.

Yet, deep down, you know you're only deceiving yourself. You refuse to admit it, but perhaps it’s because he is the first man to truly catch your eye. He didn’t approach you with empty flattery, boasting about his victories or wealth. Instead, he was kind, thoughtful, attentive. That simple gesture—his letter and the flower—still lingered in your mind.

I must repay him in kind, you think, though your heart knows there is more to it.

“You asked for me, Father?” you say as you enter the room where the Emperor sits, surrounded by maps, documents, and the weight of his strategies.

“Oh, dearest, indeed,” he replies, his tone warm and familiar. “I am planning a hunt with the senators and the General. Knowing your fondness for the outdoors, I thought you might wish to join us.”

“Oh, I most certainly do! There are so many things I need to gather—fresh pigments for my paints, new flowers for the gardens… perhaps even a sketch or two of the countryside,” you exclaim, the excitement bubbling in your voice.

Your father chuckles at your enthusiasm but regards you carefully before continuing. “However, I’ve noticed how you seem… uneasy in Marcus’s presence. If that troubles you, feel no obligation to attend.”

“No, no, Father, I will gladly accompany you. As for the General—well, I barely know the man. But I must confess that I may have formed some unfair opinions about his character,” you say, your voice softer than intended, almost as if admitting it to yourself.

Your father tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “I most heartily hope you’ll come to tolerate him, at the very least. He is a good man, Aurelia. In truth, for a time, I even considered proposing your hand to him.”

Your heart stumbles at his confession. This changes everything. You had always assumed that your father would marry you to one of the wretched senators—a man he despised the least. But the idea of Marcus...

“What made you change your mind?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Fear prickles at the edges of your thoughts. Perhaps the General is already married. The pang of jealousy that surges surprises you—a pang for a woman you don’t even know, and for a man who was never yours.

Compose yourself, you think. You wanted to be friends, remember?

Your father’s reply is steady, tinged with quiet regret. “The General seems... indifferent to love. He’s spoken of how he would never make a woman a wife only to leave her a widow. But as a friend—” he pauses, his expression softening, almost wistful, “I admit, I would like to see Acacius know the warmth of love someday.”

He rises from his chair, stepping closer to you. Gently, he takes your hands in his, lowering his head slightly to meet your gaze.

“As I wish for you, my daughter,” he continues. “I have delayed as long as I could, hoping you would find a man who would truly capture your heart. But I fear I must soon make that decision myself. I plan to announce your betrothal before Acacius departs for his next, and last campaign, I'm afraid.”

“His last campaign?” The words escape you before you can temper the concern in your voice. His tone lightens as he mimics the General’s voice with exaggerated solemnity: “‘After this campaign, I will find a place to rest—whether in the quiet fields of the interior or the Elysian Fields with the gods!’”

“Do not trouble yourself with such matters, Vita Mea. Not for a few weeks yet. There is still much to plan—strategies to devise, funds to raise, preparations to make.”

Your father chuckles, clearly amused by his own impersonation. “He’s quite the witty man, the General. Now, off with you, Aurelia. The hunt begins before the sun reaches its peak.”

You leave the room feeling... unsteady. The idea of the General departing pulls at you more than it should.

Perhaps he is one of those men burdened by unhappiness, shaped by the unrelenting hand of war, you muse.

And then, almost involuntarily, another thought slips through: I wish I could change his mind.

Perhaps you can.

You just don’t yet know how a friend might do such a thing. · · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

You leave in a chariot with two other maids, but your thoughts are elsewhere. You wish Vera were with you. The two of you could have spent this time gossiping about your most recent discoveries regarding the General's life. Ever since the festivities a few nights ago, she has seemed distant, as though a veil has been drawn between you two. You saw her talking to a soldier earlier, but didn't think much of it. Was she with him today? The two ladies accompanying you are much older, and though their company is pleasant enough, they would undoubtedly slow you down.

"You shall stay here as I go fetch some flowers and things to make paint. I will not go far, and you'll be more comfortable waiting here," you tell them with a casual smile. They exchange looks of mild concern but nod in silent compliance, knowing better than to question the princess's command.

As you wander deeper into the familiar fields, the calmness of the space starts to settle over you. The flowers and the gentle breeze bring a sense of peace, almost as if your mother were right there beside you. You miss her terribly in moments like this, when your thoughts wander to what advice she would have given you—especially about how to approach the General. Is it proper for a lady to speak to a man like him? Is he truly worthy of your time? Since her death, you've rarely ventured out to the fields; your father, protective as ever, hasn't allowed you the same freedoms. You can see the years catching up with him, and the thought of disappointing him is enough to keep you in line.

The flowers here remind you of the days when your mother would bring you here to gather blossoms, to paint, to breathe freely. As you step carefully through the waist-high plants, the sight of a soldier ahead catches your eye. He’s standing near one of the poisonous trees your mother once warned you about, inspecting one of the fruits.

“You shouldn’t eat that, soldier!” you call out with a playful yet firm tone. He looks up, startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to approach, especially not you.

But as you draw closer, you realize this isn’t just any soldier.

“General Acacius,” you bow respectfully, surprised at how much you enjoy saying his name aloud. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, not at all, Lady Aemilia,” he replies, his voice soft but careful, as if unsure whether his words are too bold. “You are always a welcome sight.”

You feel your heart flutter at the compliment, and for a moment, you forget about your awkwardness.

“You are too generous, General,” you say, averting your gaze in a subtle gesture of shyness. "I must thank you for the flowers you gave me yesterday. They helped with the pain."

A shy smile plays at his lips, and he steps closer, his movements measured as if he's unsure of the boundaries. “I’m happy I could help, my lady,” he says with a small bow. “I am here to serve you.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you find your voice again. “I must also apologize for the way I’ve behaved—at the gardens, and again at the coliseum. I was not raised to treat anyone in such a manner, and I am truly sorry.”

His gaze softens, and for the first time, you see a hint of something else in his eyes—understanding.

“We can always start again, Gemma,” he says, his voice warm, offering his arm. “Will you do me the honor of accompanying me?”

You smile shyly, almost relieved, and nod as you accept his arm.

“Must I assume you were lost from my father and the senators?” you ask playfully, trying to ease the moment with a lighter question.

“Oh, not at all,” he replies, his tone light. “I was the one who got lost. They spoke of matters I have grown weary of hearing. I came back from a place where all I heard was suffering and war. I simply needed a change of scenery, something more peaceful.”

You listen intently, your heart softening. "I see. The Senate, and sometimes even my father, seem to speak only of war and conquest. I can only imagine how tedious it must be to hear the same things over and over again."

“Indeed,” he agrees, his tone thoughtful. “But tell me, Lady Aemilia, what brings you to the woods alone? You should be accompanied by at least five of your father's best men.”

You laugh softly. “I love the fields. My father never lets me come unless he’s with me, which doesn’t happen often enough.” There’s a touch of sadness in your voice, but you quickly shift to something lighter. “And, by the way, I wasn’t the one surprised by your presence. I know these corners as well as the palm of my hand,” you tease with a playful smile.

He laughs, a sound that you find endearing, and you notice how his steps slow just a little as he seems to ponder your words.

“I see, I see…” he says, avoiding your eyes now, looking instead at the ground ahead.

As you both walk, your maids come into view in the distance, talking distractedly among themselves.

How did he knew your maids were in this direction?

“You should not be walking alone, Lady Aurelia,” he says softly, his voice taking on a note of concern. Gently, he takes your hand in his, and with a subtle, almost imperceptible motion, his thumb traces small circles over your palm. “I shall return to your father’s side now. Please, promise me you will be safe.”

You look up at him, heart fluttering at his words, and nod. “I promise, soldier.”

Before he leaves, you add, almost as an afterthought, “You may call me Aemilia, General.”

His posture straightens, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword as he meets your eyes. For a brief moment, there’s a warmth there, an understanding between the two of you. “And you may call me however you wish, my Lady,” he replies, with a slight bow.

You smile as he turns and walks away, his steps confident, as if he knows exactly where he’s going. But you are left standing still, with a sense that something has shifted between you—something both fragile and meaningful. · · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

Sleep refused to find you, no matter what you tried. Every attempt to calm your mind—warm baths, reading, writing—had failed miserably. Thoughts of General Marcus Acacius consumed you, swirling endlessly. Had you been foolish to imagine his feelings extended beyond duty and respect? Could he truly not know how every fleeting touch of his lingered on your skin like a whispered secret? Frustrated and restless, you rose from your bed, determined to quiet your turmoil.

A walk shall fix the problem, you told yourself.

Donning a simple nightgown, you stepped into the dimly lit corridors of the palace. The chill of the marble floors sends a shiver through your bare feet, while the night breeze tangles your unbound hair. You don’t mind; the palace is cloaked in silence, its residents deep in slumber, save for the watchful eyes of the night guards stationed by the doors.

The gardens, bathed in pale moonlight, were your destination. As you reached a bench near the lake, you froze. Familiar eyes met yours in the half-light—his eyes. General Acacius sat there, looking as weary as you felt.

Him again?

"My lady," he said, standing quickly and bowing with graceful respect. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Shall I leave if you desire solitude?" His voice was rushed, and he looked prepared to vanish into the shadows.

"Oh, you mustn’t," you blurted, failing to suppress the desperation in your tone. "I mean—your presence is... welcome." Your cheeks burned as you fidgeted with the hem of your gown, suddenly acutely aware of how little fabric covered either of you. His tunic hung loosely over his frame, ending mid-thigh, and he shifted, seemingly just as self-conscious.

"Please, sit," he said softly, motioning to the bench beside him.

You hesitated but finally sat. The silence that followed teetered on the edge of comfort, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. Every so often, your shoulders brushed, and each accidental touch sent an unwelcome thrill through you.

"I must ask—"

"What are you—"

You both started at the same time, the shared interruption prompting a sheepish laugh. He gestured for you to speak first.

"What are you doing here, General Marcus Acacius?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid your nerves would betray you.

"I... I struggle with sleep," he admitted. "The war—it clings to a man’s mind, even in peace."

"I’m sorry to hear that," you murmured. Conversation felt so much easier with others, but with him, every word felt monumental.

"And you, Serenissima Aemilia Aurelia?" His voice softened as he brushed your shoulder lightly, the touch unspoken reassurance. "What burdens your mind tonight?"

"Not something..." you began, "but someone."

His demeanor shifted, his brow furrowing as though your words had struck him. "Is it... a boy? One of the men trifling with your affections, my lady?"

Your breath hitched. You should be the one telling me.

"Excuse me?" he asked, leaning closer, clearly having heard your whispered protest.

Suddenly, emboldened by a rush of courage, you rose, facing him with defiance. Your chin lifted, and your voice rang steady. "I am the daughter of the great Emperor Antoninus Justus. I will not be treated as a mere bauble for amusement." You took a measured breath, but your resolve did not falter. "You may be the esteemed General of the Phoenix Legion, but you are still a guest in my home."

For a moment, you paused, softening your tone. "From the start, you have shown me kindness I never expected from a soldier, and I must admit..." Your voice dropped lower. "...my thoughts have been fixed upon you in a way they never have with any other man."

"My lady…" He rises, beginning to speak, but you swiftly cut him off, making him sit back. "I am not finished," you declare firmly. "I have guarded my heart, vowing never to give it to any man, for they seem to know only destruction and death," you add, your tone steady and resolute.

"However," you continued, lifting your chin again, "if your intentions are to make a fool of me, I must demand you cease at once—"

He rose so swiftly you stumbled back, but before you could register his movement, his hands were cradling your face. His lips brushed yours in a whisper of a kiss, soft and reverent. His voice trembled against your skin, more a breath than a word: "Amor mea."

The world stood still. You surrendered to the warmth of him, your hands instinctively finding his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. But the kiss ended all too soon, and he pulled back, wide-eyed and almost startled by his own audacity.

"Forgive me," he stammered, his voice unsteady. "I don’t know what came over me—I’ve never—"

"You silly man, come here," you interrupted, seizing the fabric of his tunic and pulling him back to you. This time, he groaned against your lips, his restraint crumbling. His hands found your waist, firm yet gentle, pulling you flush against him as though afraid you’d vanish.

"We shouldn’t," he murmured against your skin, his lips tracing down to the curve of your neck. "We can’t, Aemilia."

But his actions betrayed his words as he nipped at your ear, sending a shiver through you.

"You’re the one saying this, yet here you are," you teased breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his curls. The low, defeated sound he made spurred you on, pulling him closer until it seemed nothing could separate you.

With a herculean effort, he drew away, his breathing ragged. "Carissima," he whispered, his voice pleading. "Please..."

The broken look in his eyes stung more than you cared to admit. You made a mistake. He kissed you so you would shut up. You faltered, your confidence waning. "You... you don’t want me?"

His hand shot out to grasp yours. "No, no, never think that," he said with fierce desperation. "My heart has belonged to you since the moment we met. It calls for you as the earth calls for the rain."

His words made you smile, and his answering smile was radiant. But his gaze darkened slightly as his eyes roamed your figure.

"It is not that I do not want you, Solis mea," he said, kissing the back of your hand tenderly. "It is that I want you far too much. And tonight, with so little between us..."

Your pulse quickened as his meaning sank in.

"Marcus..." you whispered, but he shook his head, cupping your face once more.

"You bring light to my darkest days, Aemilia. You bring joy where there was none. I am yours," he said simply, his forehead resting against yours. "Now and always."

And in that fragile, moonlit moment, you knew your heart was no longer your own. It belonged to him, as his belonged to you.

[benjaminvox]

"Loss is loss," Benjamin shrugs his shoulder, huffing a distant sound. Nowhere near a laugh, but more of an acknowledgment. "You shouldn't have had to go through that, anymore than I shouldn't have had to go through the things I did. Fuck, man. We were kids." watching as the beer arrived, and tilting his head in thanks.

The difference between the two men though? Benjamin's anger. That darkness that had been bred, and then honed. Living with vengeance was the only way he'd found any modicum of peace.

'You think it might right a wrong, give you closure — it won't'

Benjamin doesn't agree, and it says so as he shifts in his seat, causing the upturn of the corner of his lips. "Did you seek revenge? For your parents?" a pause. "Or are you guessing that it won't make me feel better?" There was a reason he'd been likened to Johnathan...that unwielded rage that most hadn't yet seen. The need to serve. The need to hurt. It lay under that young boy smile, the yet to age face.

And he needed somewhere to direct it. Finely educated, the only credentials he had was working for Melissa Lin. A title, and a fine reputation in itself...he'd bore quickly. He needed this.

'Whose fault is it then, Benjamin? Hers or yours?'

Benjamin doesn't answer immediately.

He sits on it. Traces condensation dripping down the glass in hand, cold seeping into his fingertips. His first instinct is to deflect, throw some biting comment back at Gideon that might force the conversation in some other direction, but the weight of it all, that fucking question settles heavily on top of him. His life, Melissa, his parents, Étienne...his brothers.

Benjamin felt like the world was weighing down on him, and he was it's sole bearer. It's not the first time he's wondered about it, too many times has it found it's way into his thoughts, his dreams...but having someone like Gideon ask it so bluntly strips away any excuse he might've leaned on.

Any chance he could escape those nightmares.

He's fucking lost. Staring. Like the young boy he was still, rummaging to the surface.

Benjamin hadn't quite lost that to his years yet.

"Both," he finally says, eyes vacant, blue a vast nothingness. He doesn’t look at Gideon, can't bare it, honestly: instead, his eyes finds the drink in his hand. "It'd be hers for pulling the trigger. Mine for giving her the reason to, I guess."

Loyalty was a dog: and he was her hound. Benjamin knows it’s not the answer Gideon wants, not the clean division of responsibility he'd probably hoped to hear. And he wouldn't lie to him, his mind had been moulded to Melissa Lin's tactics some eleven years ago...there was no changing his heel. But it’s the truth as Benjamin sees it. Melissa isn’t without her flaws, but she’s always been clear about the stakes. He accepted them the day he stepped into her world.

Into the Rutherford name. And while she commanded it, he obeyed.

He leans back, letting the chair creak under his weight. "Look, I’m not saying she’s perfect. Far from it, fuckin' hell...I'm meant to be smart, right. But... I owe her. A fuckin' lot. Not just for keeping me alive, but for making me into something. Someone. And yeah, that comes with risks. But doesn’t everything?"

Jabbing a finger over his shoulder, he shakes his head -- aware that there were parts of Melissa that Gideon refused to see. To acknowledge. "My parent's killer is here...drinking, laughing...and Melissa's checked in on me every two hours." The side eye, shoulders shrugging. She was his family. Benjamin knows he's justifying, fuckin' rationalizing. Gideon can probably see through it, but it’s the only way he’s ever been able to make peace. "I know you think I’m just another pawn in her game. And maybe I am. But...I chose this life. I know exactly what I signed up for."

Raising his glass, he huffs. "So if she shoots me one day? At least I’ll go down knowing I didn’t sit back and let the world tear me a-fuckin-part." He leans forward, his elbows on the table. "What about you? You’ve seen the same shit I have. What made you realise you'd never want...this" he knew Melissa well, knew a lot of what went on in the Rutherford's -- it was his job to know.

After everything Benjamin reveals about his past, it's less what he says and more how his voice breaks hoarsely over that single word, 'yep', that coaxes Gideon's begrudging sympathy for him. Silently, he hails the bartender, ordering another round of beers for them. Tonight, Benjamin can acquire his own, compliments of his allocation to the rich tents, but there's some goodwill hidden in the gesture nonetheless.

"It isn't all that similar, and I won't pretend that it is." He replies, concerning the demise of both their biological parents. "A car accident doesn't quite leave the same scars as death by unnecessary violence, and I certainly wouldn't have wanted to see what you stepped into, that day you found their bodies." No, it'd be insensitive to claim that he understood what Benjamin had experienced.

But he does understand loss, through and through. Time and time again.

'I can't let it go.' — That's what he's afraid of, that's the part that will consume the boy, if he lets it. Because the Rutherford's seen that too. Time and time again.

"There are plenty of occupations that don't involve breaking the law, Ben." Lest the young man feel he's trying to step into the role of father, unsolicited, Gideon adds;

"I'm just saying. And the thing about anger, is that there's no end to it. Your anger won't bring them back. Murdering Étienne won't bring them back. You think it might right a wrong, give you closure — it won't." He's seen it play out too many times among other members in his father's mob. Recruited with the sweet promise of vengeance, only to find it hollow once they'd sacrificed everything to obtain it.

'And if I die for it, then... That’s on me.'

Gideon takes another sip of his beer. "You haven't answered the question." The bottle settles back on the table, and the surgeon fixes him with a scrutinizing look. "I'm not asking if you die out of bad luck. I'm saying imagine a scenario where you change your mind. Where you decide 'to hell with it, I don't want to work for Ms. Lin anymore', and she shoots you point blank in return. Whose fault is it then, Benjamin? Hers or yours?"

[artistformerlyknownasbutttrumpet]

Your election post was the most holier-than-thou, performative, bullshit I’ve ever read. Get a grip and get some self awareness.

i will take "missed the entire point" for 500, alex

[girlivealwaysbean]

mann im going to get my blood reports tomorrow and im lwk scared

[businesscasualart]

I’m curious if you have any thoughts or headcanons about Onslaught and alcohol. I imagine being a semi-functioning evil team is stressful and if Psimon is chucking everyone’s vapes then cigs and 420 isn’t an option, then alcohol is the second best thing right? Besides drinking together is team building and leads to this wonderful thing called “actually talking about your trauma instead of bottling it up for once”.

AAAA sorry about taking so long to get around to this.

I need to stop checking my inbox until I’m FULLY ready to yap and ramble. I need that lil blue dot reminding me I have asks so bad.

That IS a good question and I’m so flattered that y’all bother with my content. <3 I think they’d be at least somewhat different about alcohol.

(Sorry for any typos in advance, I wrote this mostly at various doctor’s appointments. ALSO. Last thing to apologize for. I’ve never vaped or smoked when I wrote the last part, but I also have never consumed alcohol and that fact may be more evident in this one)

Cw: Alcohol and some references to alcoholism, uh…references to angst but maybe more comfort than angst, kinda all over the place <\3

Okay so, in the beginning, Onslaught was Mostly teens. Psimon was BARELY even old enough to drink in America at the ripe young age of 21, flat. And I thinnkkkkkk Psimon is American? Even if he’s not, it seems the rest of Onslaught is, so I think  Psimon would probably step up and be all “No, no,” confiscate all the bottles and cans and it’d make the teens so mad and indignant. Literal felons are being BABYSAT. Even when they travel where the drinking age is lower. 

But when the teenagers turn old enough to drink, they have a whole little birthday celebration with what they can get, and of course, offer the first taste of alcohol. Their choice for what it is, as long as the team could afford it. Of course, they laugh and tease if they recoil from the taste. 

Most of the team is pretty fond of drinking, usually together. It’s nice bonding.

Devastation is the only exception to the “Psimon Says no alcohol until you’re 21” rule from the beginning. The team can argue “She is LITERALLY one (1) year old” all they want. She is LITERALLY built different, Psimon is fine with her drinking. 

Idk if she particularly has a preference for any kind. She’s probably one of those who subscribe to the belief of “It ain’t right if it doesn’t burn a bit going down”. Wine is probably somewhat…nostalgic. For some reason. Takes her back to someplace she can’t name, someplace she’s never been, but I think that’d be one of the only reasons she might prefer wine. Her taste may be all over. May be whatever’s strong and good. I’m no alcohol savant, what do I know? 

She likes to drink to celebrate and to bond, sometimes to ebb at stress. It takes a LOT to get her drunk, but that’s not gonna stop her from getting drunk when she has the time and money burn on it. She gets drunk and gets even more jovial and warm and open, though she’s usually relatively open. Also, haphazard. She becomes a big fan of violating people’s personal space. Hugs, patting backs, throwing her arm around them, leaning on people shorter than her, etc.

It can annoy a lot of people if she does it too much, Psimon strangely doesn’t seem to mind too much tho…aheem…

Besides that, Psimon’s generally against the team drinking to the point of drunkenness, but there’s little to actually do about it; he struggles to track all of their limits, and when he’s focusing on one, that leaves all the others alone. He tries to avoid getting drunk himself instead. Someone has to stay sober, and his psionic powers don’t mix well with too much alcohol. And he’s the leader. It makes the most sense that it’d be him to keep his wits about him.

The Terror Twins are hearty drinkers; they also can drink a lot and get very warm and jovial when drinking, like Devastation. Any outing to a bar feels celebratory with them. They decided they don’t like to get fully drunk though, not too regularly. First Tuppence decided this, then Tommy when she pointed it out to him. They don’t want to open up more quickly than they intend. Psimon can relate to that, so he defends them when they drop out. That doesn’t stop them from having fun with everyone else though, or helping when things get bad. They’re usually decent at opening up on their own time anyway. 

Shimmer and Mammoth like to follow Psimon’s lead and keep excess drinking to a minimum. A couple of shots, a glass or maybe two, it really depends on what it is, but that’s it. Mammoth can take more than his sister, just by merit of him being so much larger, but he doesn’t like the taste of alcohol at all while his sister does. However, the second either of them get any kind of buzz ebbing at their senses is the second they quit. 

If they’re found sitting down and downing drinks, something is wrong. They’d only let go so much if they’re trying to drown their problems. Then, they can use some company. Someone lending an ear to their sorrows doesn’t sound half bad. 

If another team member is in a similar situation and needs someone to simply sit next to them and just be, or listen, Baran and Selinda are quick to be there for them.

Junior drinks for fun, he’ll seize any opportunity to drink. That man is getting “Krunk” as the kids say. He doesn’t know his limits and if he did, there’s no telling if he’d actually adhere to them. He WILL blackout if no one keeps an eye on him. He will be puking in the trashcan. The rest of the team has to steer him away from opportunities to drink lest he develop alcoholism at the tender age of 5-minutes-into-being-able-to-legally-drink. 

His mood becomes turbulent and fragile. He’ll typically be happy, loud, reckless, aggressive; but at the mention of the wrong thing or at the sight of something that takes him way back, he can breakdown rather easily. It’s actually pretty common for his drunken stints, when they get out of hand, to end in tears. Junior has to be one of the least repressed members of Onslaught, due in no small part to moments like these; where he lets his emotions run rampant and they go down a bad path. 

He’d expect ridicule, but Onslaught is actually very sympathetic to his struggles and complaints, whatever they may be. He can air his dirty laundry as much as he wants with little to no judgement, something he’s not used to. Once he starts, it’s hard to stop, but the team will listen until the end and it’s something he’s really grateful for. Despite being a troublemaker and general criminal, he tries to pay the team’s kindness towards him forward as much as he can.

If Psimon does end up drinking to lose his troubles, he usually does it alone, when everyone else is asleep. Or at least when he thinks everyone else is asleep. Sometimes someone will wander about looking for a late night snack or a glass of water, or even search for him himself. He dislikes being caught like that, dislikes not being so impervious and put-together for the team. 

Without fail, they’ll sit with him awhile. They’ll ask, they’ll listen, they’ll joke or comfort or sit in silence. Psimon will wither in place or try to get them to leave him be, but they’re a stubborn lot. They’re far from the most “upstanding” of company, but they treat him with the same care, empathy, and concern he tries to treats them with; and Psimon finds afterwards that, despite not enjoying being caught in a state of weakness or forced to open up, he wouldn’t have rather it have gone any other way.

[arsenicflame]

hi so, checking in (sorry, its personal bullshit again, ill get back to the fandom stuff you actually wanted,,,, eventually)

things. are going bad. like, really bad, like last january bad. like im about to lose all my personhood again bad. im hoping its still just going to be a small blip and things will start upticking soon, but. im bracing for that not to be the case. it feels different to me

i vaguely mentioned earlier in the week taking a bit of a step back, and ive decided to extend that into a full break. my queues probably going to run out before im back, though i have slowed it down some. thatll be the only noticable difference for 99% of people. i wont guarantee any dm responses on here, but ill do my best for the couple of people who have me on discord

i didnt really want to do this again but it gets messy in my head, and ive found the best way to control the clawing beast of attention and need and the things that make me want to be a person i dont want to be is to cut it off at the source. its not nice, and it hurts, and it definitely kills the chances of making friends but. i promise you its better than the alternative.

ill see you when i see you, i guess. i hope its soon. i hope this isnt how it feels to be. i hope the feelings that have existed this week go dormant again. but itll be what itll be. i can't change that

[garvalhaminho]

i have to admit i think about mark blackthorn in "tales from the shadowhunter academy" at least once a week

[orcelito]

It's a little funny. I spend so much time compartmentalizing that I convince myself I'm totally fine, of course, all the time.

But when I was filling out the questionnaire before my therapy appointment yesterday, it was like

.... OK yea maybe I have some problems

Also this one 😂😂😂