#and maybe I'm missing something subjectively obvious

[purplesaline]

Wait so the United States doesn't have the equivalent of the Canadian Human Rights Act?

Rather than multiple laws/acts that proscribed various methods of discrimination Canada has a single act that covers all such proscribed methods. For the record the federal act (provinces can each have their own that include more protections than the federal act, but never less) covers the following areas of discrimination

Prohibited grounds of discrimination

3 (1) For all purposes of this Act, the prohibited grounds of discrimination are race, national or ethnic origin, colour, religion, age, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity or expression, marital status, family status, genetic characteristics, disability and conviction for an offence for which a pardon has been granted or in respect of which a record suspension has been ordered.

[X]

It then goes on to list Discriminatory practices

Denial of good, service, facility or accommodation (seriously this is the first thing listed in the actual act)

Denial of commercial premises or residential accommodation

Employment

Employment applications, advertisements

Employee organizations

Discriminatory policy or practice (this is also related to employment though it's included as a separate section rather than a subsection, as is..)

Equal wages

Publication of discriminatory notices, etc.

Harassment

Retaliation (in regards to retaliating against someone filing a human rights complaint against you)

It's proving to be remarkably hard to Google this information. To find Canada's I just Google "Canada human rights act) and bam! One of the top search results is the Federal Government website that links to the act. Half an hour of searching and it seems like the closest single equivalent you guys have is the Civil Rights Act? But there's a couple? (1964 and 1991?) and when I search United States Civil Rights laws I get a page for office of tribal justice, department of labor, wikipedia, equal employment opportunity referencing Title VII, the FBI, national archives, fucking encyclopedia Britannica?????

Okay, I found the website for the department of justice civil rights division and while I can't seem to find a link to an actual act/legislation the site does cover all the protected grounds (not that I can find primary sources for this information anywhere ffs)

Race/color

Disability including temporary or in recovery

Religion

Sex, gender identity, and sexual orientation

Immigration/citizenship status

Language and national origin including ancestry and ethnicity

Family, marital, or parental status including pregnancy

Age

Genetic identification

Servicemember status

And there do appear to be prohibitions on discrimination in a commercial location or public place, which apparently includes denial of service but the example only covers "perceived personal characteristics like race, sex, or religion" so does that mean not all of the characteristics listed are protected in all situations??

You guys

I give up. It shouldn't be this hard to find this information. All I wanted to do is figure out if the recent Supreme Court ruling was somehow in violation of or contradicted any current legislation and figure out how they could justify that or if it meant they were declaring a law unconstitutional, but I can't even find a link to the applicable law!

No wonder folks seem to struggle to understand what their rights are down there.

[erinelliotc]

A few years ago I used to be that annoying "transmasc lesbians don't exist, this shit is harmful and invalidates both transmascs and lesbians" person, and now I'M the transmasc lesbian. Seems like the tables have turned, huh?

I've spent so many months, years, trying so hard to fit into these categories that I saw so many people talk about as if it were the definitive truth, and this shallow and simplistic vision seems to be gaining a lot of attention and traction here in Brazil. Isn't it ironic to free yourself from cisnormativity and heteronormativity and all these binary boxes to find yourself again trying to fit into other boxes and norms that don't actually describe your experience correctly? Because your experience with gender is so chaotic and confusing (as expected of a nonbinary identity, and even more so if you're neurodivergent too) that there's no simple way to describe it. Then when you find out what describes this, people say you can't identify yourself that way because two or more of your identities are "incompatible". I see people treating non-binarity as if it were an exact science, as if it were math, as if it were something simple and logical, as it is precisely the escape from what has been established in our society as the only two possible options, generating countless identities within a gray area outside this black and white vision, so of course it's something complex, abstract and subjective.

EDIT: One of my reasons for thinking this way was that I ignored that the transgender experience and the cisgender experience aren't and will never be equivalent. It's obvious that a cis man can't be a lesbian, but the same doesn't go for transmasc people, and I thought that admitting that was the same as being transphobic, denying the masculinity of transmascs, denying their male identity. I already had a debate on Twitter because people didn't want to admit that trans men and transmasc people in general can suffer misogyny and male chauvinism (as society can still see and treat us as women) because they also saw it as the same as saying transmasc people are women. The identity of trans people is a very complex experience that involves a series of factors that cis people will never experience. We cannot equate the trans experience with the cis experience.

I thought identifying as a butch lesbian was enough to describe my masculinity, but I realized that I felt like it didn't encompass everything I felt, I still felt like something was missing. Preventing and depriving myself of identifying with more explicit masculine identities was actually making me feel bad and dysphoric. So yeah, I've been avoiding identifying with male-aligned identities because I thought that would mean having to stop identifying as a lesbian, and I didn't want that, and I don't really feel like calling myself straight makes any sense.

I have a text in Portuguese talking about my experience as a butch lesbian, and I feel that now it also serves to describe my experience as a nonbinary transmasc (the part where I talk about not identifying with "traditional masculinity", but with a "different type", like "soft masculinity", is directly related to the fact that, in addition to being nonbinary, I don't identify as a man, I don't feel comfortable with the term "man", but rather with "boy"). I spent a few months wondering whether I was libramasculine or boyflux, and I ended up deciding that if I can't identify which one I am, maybe it makes more sense to just adopt both identities, maybe I am both then! I'm tired of trying to fit into supposed rules about being nonbinary. This is exactly how non-binarity shouldn't be. I'm supposed to feel free, not trapped again. My identity is my identity and that's nobody's business.

[mionemymind]

Lost in the Universe (Part 1)

Summary: Y/n is transported to a different universe and by chance, meets the Wanda that inhabits it.

Warnings: Fluff, Cursing, Slight Angst?

A/n: I know I haven't written in a while. But recently I've been on a surge to start writing again. I hope you all enjoy and please tell me honestly how you feel about it. Hopefully, I'm not too rusty.

Word Count: 1.6k

Masterlist

Part 2

Y/n dropped into a new universe, barely landing on her feet. She scrambled to find balance as the portal above her closed. “What the fuck?” Y/n wiped off her hands as she looked around the unfamiliar area. 

“Are you lost dekta?” Y/n spun around at the sound of her voice. A smile plastered on Y/n’s face when she saw Wanda. She took a couple of steps when she felt something was different with the girl in front of her. “Wanda?”

The brunette chuckled at the obvious confusion. “It’s me dekta.” Y/n still grew apprehensive. She looked around the location she was in. They were on a simple farm surrounded by acres of grape trees. There was a barn and home in the distance and sheep and cows grazed the plain. “I don’t think you’re my Wanda though,” Y/n said as kindly as possible. It was scary to be in a new world without a clue as to how they operate. Even though Y/n knew that the woman in front of her wasn’t exactly her Wanda, it still gave her some type of peace knowing there was a version of her here. 

“And you’re not my Y/n.” Y/n’s nerves eased with the comment as Wanda broke the distance between them. “So let’s get you back to my home and figure out how this happened.” 

“Make yourself at home.” Wanda took off her dirty boots at the front and walked to the kitchen. She took the kettle out from the drawer and filled it with water. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate. Is that your favorite in your world?”

“It is!” Y/n yelled from the front of the house. She took off her shoes and jacket, hoping to not get the house dirty. The entrance of the house led them into a decent-sized living room filled with various decorations and plants. 

Y/n didn’t mean to snoop but she couldn’t help but look at all the photos framed on the wall and tables. The first photo that caught her eye was a picture of young Wanda and Pietro back in what Y/n could guess was their hometown. She picked it up and analyzed it in detail.

“I miss him,” Y/n whispered to herself. Wanda noticed this as she walked in with two cups of hot chocolate. “We were only five in that photo. I think we went to the zoo that day. Probably one of our better pictures when we were younger. Everything else is either him or me or the both of us crying.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Wanda nodded for approval, “is your Pietro still alive?” Wanda could sense this was a sensitive subject and gave Y/n one of the cups while directing her to the couch. 

“Yes, my Pietro is still alive. Currently, he’s away on work.” Y/n gave a small smile, the feeling of missing Pietro grew inside. “I’m happy to hear that.” Y/n took a small sip of her hot chocolate, making sure not to spill the hot drink on herself. 

“So your Y/n likes hot chocolate?” Wanda smiled in agreement. “Yes, my Y/n does like hot chocolate. She’s the only reason I have some. I’m just glad that part of her is with you as well. I hope it finds you comfort though because it must be scary to be in a completely different universe.”

“Well,” Y/n thought maybe lying would help ease her anxiety, but the presence of Wanda, even though it wasn’t necessarily her Wanda, made her want to tell the truth, “it is scary. I’m just hoping they find me. But you have been pretty calm for this whole ‘I managed to drop on your farm out of all the locations in this universe’ thing.” 

“Your humor appears to be the same no matter the universe,” Wanda playfully said. “But the reason I’m not freaking out is because in this universe, I’m aware of my other counterparts. Luckily enough, you dropped into a universe where I have my powers.” Wanda proceeded to show off her magic, covering Y/n in red swirls momentarily. 

“Are you able to drop me back home?” Wanda politely smiled, setting her cup down on the table nearby. “I’m sorry dekta. I unfortunately don’t have that type of power as of yet.” 

Y/n sighed in defeat, her anxiety coming back with worried thoughts. Wanda reached out and grabbed Y/n’s hand in a comforting manner. Even in different universes, Wanda Maximoff cared for Y/n Y/l/n. This was a simple fact that would not change. “However, your Wanda is currently on the hunt for you.” 

“She is?” Y/n placed her cup down, her hand still interlaced with Wanda’s. “The rules of the universe don’t allow any conversation to happen between each other but we can still feel each other. So when you dropped into my world, I could feel the slight imbalance. But, you just happen to be dating one of the most powerful people in the universe.” Y/n blushed at the compliment, already knowing that she was lucky to even date Wanda in the first place. 

“And the perk of dating powerful people is that we can feel other things in different universes. Right now, I can feel her dropping into other universes, trying her best to find you.”

“What if she can’t find me?” Y/n pouted. Wanda smiled even more. It was refreshing to see that their love expanded beyond her world. Wanda cupped Y/n’s cheek with her free hand, “This is something I will share only with you.” Listening intently, “You and your Wanda have a special connection. Think of it as a tether. Right now, she’s tugging on that tether hoping that if she continues to pull on it, it will lead back to you. No amount of magic, power, or science can cause this tether to break. It might be a little tangled with how many universes you might’ve accidentally gone through, but she will reach you in time.” 

“So believe me when I say this dekta, Wanda will always find you.” Wanda kissed Y/n’s forehead and proceeded to get up. “In the meantime, my Y/n is away on a mission. You’re free to stay here with me until all of this gets sorted out.”

Wanda walked back to the front of the house, putting her shoes back on. “Is there anything I can do to help out while I wait?”

“Wanna help me with the goats?” 

After a long day of work, Wanda and Y/n lay in the hammock near the campfire, admiring the stars that the night offered. “When I looked at your photos, I noticed none of them were of just you and I, how come?” 

Wanda blushed at the directness and was thankful that it was nighttime. “You see, my Y/n and I aren’t dating yet.” Y/n faced Wanda with a ridiculous look. “Are you serious? How come I haven’t confessed? If there’s a world where there’s a you and an I, then we must be together.”

“I’m not sure. We bought this farm together to get away from the city and have some peace time before they spring our next mission on us. Even then, she doesn’t seem to have the courage to confess.” Wanda sighed, her patience was running thin but she knew it was worth the wait. 

“Do you need me to get myself together?” Wanda laughed at the offer, clearly imagining two Y/n’s talking to each other. “I’ll probably be the one to have to confess first if she doesn’t do it soon.” 

“Just to be sure, does the Y/n here like you like that?” 

“Oh, I’m more than positive that my Y/n likes me back,” Wanda cockily states. 

“What makes you so certain? Back then, it took me forever to confirm that my Wanda even liked me.”

“Cause within our tethers, I can feel her. I’ve only ever felt her. The universe wouldn’t be so cruel to tie me to her if she didn’t feel the same way.” There was more to the truth than Wanda could let on, because in every universe, Y/n and Wanda always fall in love with each other, no matter the circumstances, no matter the era, and no matter the time. 

“I didn’t know the universe could be kind like that.” 

They continued to star watch when a red portal in the sky opened up and out came two figures. One landed roughly as the other descended slowly onto the ground. Y/n and Wanda got up from their hammock and walked towards them. 

“Wanda?” Y/n yelled out in the distance, hoping it was them and not an alien invasion. “Y/n?!” Wanda came rushing into Y/n’s arm, feeling her worries slip away as she finally was with her again. “I thought I lost you,” Wanda stated with worry. Today had been a long day for her and America Chavez. Hopping from universe to universe was hard, especially with a young teen that has no clue how to control her powers. 

“You could never lose me,” Y/n stated confidently. Wanda pulled back from the hug and sealed a kiss, one that made both of their knees weak and minds numb with love. Pulling away slowly, pressing their foreheads against each other, Wanda said, “Let's go home dekta.” 

Y/n nodded in agreement and intertwined their hands. They walked back to the portal but not before Y/n waved goodbye to this universe’s Wanda. “I hope she confesses soon!” 

Wanda smiled back in return and waved. Telepathically, Wanda said, “Thank you for taking care of my Y/n.” 

“Anytime, Wanda.” 

Part 2

Taglist: @halobaby  @arelyitsherec8 @blackxwidowsxwife @cristin-rjd @madamevirgo @trikruismybitch @paradiselost916 @mmmmokdok @morbid-gaymer @dailyavengering @itsnottilly @helloalycia @randomshyperson @tomy5girls @daenerys713 @ensorcellme @lezzzbehonesthere @imagine-reblog @sighsam @olsensnpm @tquick99 @feolok @emilyprentisslittlewhore @mvddison99 @iamapotato @shadowybailiffdreamer-donkey @yuhloversxx @mjaudrey @upsidedowndanvers @somewhatgreatexpectations @wandavixen @second-try-stevie @magicallymaximoff @username23345 @coollemonsaresour @littlewinchester15 @aimezvousbrahms @afuckingshituniverse @am-just-a-cosmic-joke-to-me @ohmygooddamnbisexualmood @diaryoflife @s7uts @newyork1432 @the-anxious-stargazer @hello-mtf @marvelousbelladonna @ima-gi–na-tion @obsessed-with-wandamaximoff @the-camilucha @itsnottilly @171611 @kaitlynroseb @daisybri7 @drpepperobsessed @bemyvitamin @musicinourlips @marvelousbelladonna @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xastrydx @chasethemoon @naixia00 @lostandsearching @stupidsapphicsstuff @haechanana @the-camilucha @severepeanutartisanhands @owloftheshadows @somewhatgreatexpectations @ywuen @mixed-fandom-mess @loomontoia @ilovemarvelwomen @isitallreallyworthit @coxmicbabygirl  @cyanide-mustard @mrs-avenger3000 @prentisshoe @andrea-stark @simpforwandanat @abimess @randomshyperson @yourtaletotell @magically-queer-stuff @imapotatao @iliketozoneout @maximoffbrossupremacy​ @olsensnpm​ @psychadelichues​ @whitelotus00

A/n: I just used the same tag list from Fake Memories. If you didn't want to be tagged, I'm sorry.

[bbystark]

toxic!ghost x soft!reader

summary: ghost meets a soft little thing and quickly makes her his and his alone. (based on a request from @catoncrack59!)

a/n: tysm for the request, i'm sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted i did get carried away haha. enjoy!!

mdni mature themes

first sees you when he's freshly home from deployment, stalking the aisles of his local grocery store to fill his empty fridge.

there you are, politely tapping the shoulder of an elderly clerk and asking him where something is. you're in the cutest little sundress, eyes big as you point to an item on your list to show the employee.

he finds himself immediately enthralled. you laugh he gets a glint of your pearly teeth, your canine glinting in the florescent lights, and he's completely done for.

he forgets his quest for frozen tv dinners and finds himself trailing you throughout the grocery store, at one point pretending to be interested in tortilla chips when you glance his way.

you finally stop in the dairy section, quietly browsing the options while you chew on your lip. he briefly wonders what your lips feel like- soft no doubt- and why you needed help finding something so simple.

his question is answered when he's in line at checkout, one person behind you. you make small talk with the cashier, and he learns you just moved here for work, managing a new woman's shelter downtown. what a sweet thing, he thinks, so selfless.

it continues like that for weeks, simon tailing you all around town just to get a glimpse of your sweet smile and calming demeanor. he doesn't know what it is about you, maybe it's how polar opposite the two of you are.

simon thinks you would never be with someone so opposing of what your entire life radiated, but it only fuels the fire he has to claim you.

then he gets deployed. almost goes insane, can't stop thinking about your curves and sickly soft features.

more than once angrily fists his cock in the showers thinking of you beneath him, innocent eyes beckoning him closer.

he almost never feels satisfied after, watching his spend circle the drain feeling mildly disgusted with himself and the fact that you literally weren't even aware of his existence.

finally gets back after months and once again sees you at the grocery store and simply decides that life is too short and you're going to be his one way or the other

decides to grow a pair and ask you where something is, and oh! look at that, sweet little you even guides him to the exact aisle and shelf it's on. he makes up some bullshit about trying to bake and not knowing where to begin, knowing you'll eat the lie up.

ends up getting your number for, you know, baking advice and soon thereafter he's in your little house baking cookies with you

you fall for him almost immediately, big soft man who bakes. simon barely tells you anything about himself, omitting details and changing subjects whenever anything personal comes up. but you don't even notice, too dumb and in the middle of falling in love

simon begins to subtly change after the first two dates

he's already obsessed, and the man hasn't even gotten a kiss on the cheek. but your obvious budding adoration for him just isn't cutting it. no, he wants you to himself.

it's the least he deserves right? a soft, kind, sweet little thing just for fucked up, damaged him. his own personal angel.

He starts with subtle manipulation, getting into your head when you have small tiffs with family and friends and saying they aren't good for you. "you're better off without 'em luv. forget it and come gimmie a hug."

then he's purposefully sabotaging your work, deleting important files and changing things in your calendar so you'll be late or miss things completely. it sends you in a tailspin, and soon you start messing up on your own, completely overwhelmed.

he's always there though, wiping tears off your cheek with calloused thumbs and comforting words.

asks you to move in with him before he even asks you to be his girlfriend, but obviously in this economy you say yes

living in domestic bliss, ignorant bliss, in your case, but bliss nonetheless

then he pushes it a little too far and says he doesn't want you to go to a family dinner back in your home city

you snap at him for the first time ever, and simon would never admit that he chubbed up a little at the sight of your irritated and upset face- it was a sight really, his little princess throwing a tantrum

you tell him that he's being ridiculous, that it's holiday season and you haven't seen your family in forever. simon throws it back in your face with a "aren't I your family luv? gonna leave me all alone here?" and a carefully timed voice crack.

you concur and cancel your flights, and simon apologizes by fucking you so raw you honestly forget what had you so upset when you wake up the next morning.

continues to slowly cut off contact with the outside world. your phone breaks and he replace it with a flip phone like his, saying social media was rotting your brain and this would be good for you. you listen to him, of course.

nearly goes insane when he gets the call that he has to ship out soon. thinks about locking you in the apartment, hiring one of his old buddies to drop groceries off every once in a while.

while tempting, he knows he has to tread lightly with you. he needed to take his time, so he settles with getting you a pretty necklace with a gps tracker in it and wiring his apartment and your car with cameras. crazy? no! he just wants to make sure you're safe and also not interacting with anyone but him and him alone

besides, with his great manipulation guidance, you had basically cut off all your friends and family. the ones who stuck around eventually left (simon threatened them)

so he wasn't worried. however, he does grow worried when he's lonely one night on deployment and pulls up the footage of his apartment, and watches as you find one camera by accident, and go on a rampage throughout his apartment and find the rest. oops, simon really shouldn't have rushed putting those things up.

doesn't really stress, knows he'll just have to wait and go find you again. at least now he won't have to hide just how much he loves you.

enjoy your freedom now and good luck when that man finds you

request more

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Christmas Shana! May I ask for some Merlin and Arthur? Maybe the time travel Ygraine one, or something else entirely 🎁🎄🎅🏻

Queen Ygraine is cursed to die during childbirth and the baby is stolen from his very crib that same night.

Uther rages. The grief and the fury of losing them both leave him a broken man and a broken king. The grounds of Camelot turn to mud with all the blood he's spilled and the air turns grey and harsh from the burnings. He sends knights to every corner of his kingdom, but his son remains missing, not even a body to be found.

Tristan and Agravaine de Bois send letters, blaming Uther for their sister and nephew's death and proclaiming they are subjects of Uther's no more. It's a blip in torrent of grief - Uther can't even pretend to mourn the loss of his brothers in law in the face of that of his wife and son.

"I still think we should have killed him," Tristan says, watching the servants pack up the contents of their manor with a scowl.

"He would have killed you and then I'd be stuck doing this alone," Agravaine replies, a blond, blue eyed infant in his arms. "So our revenge will have to wait."

"Alone?" Nimueh scoffs. "Thanks. Is this not revenge enough?"

Tristan softens, reaching out to brush the back of his index finger against Arthur's chubby cheek. "He's not revenge. He's our nephew."

Agravaine briefly tightens his hold on the babe before relaxing. "Where are we going? I suppose Mercia is the obvious choice."

"That old man won't be able to help gloating to Uther and we don't want him giving us a second glance," Tristan says. "Cendred's kingdom is a better choice, I think. That's our where our grandfather's castle is anyway."

The two of them plus a sorceress should be more than compelling enough additions to his court for Cendred to relinquish it back to them. Or at least turn a blind eye when they take it back themselves.

~

Merlin is fourteen and standing by his mother's side, keeping his head down and not moving or thinking or looking or anything as the lords come to collect taxes.

No matter what they say, no matter what they do, he's not to move.

There's cries of pain from the smith as one of the lords kicks him down, shouting at him for how little they have. He's the most educated man in the village, he's the one that keeps track. He's the one that warns them how short they are.

They are especially short this year.

There's the sound of sword being unsheathed and Merlin resists the urge to bury his head in his mother's shoulder. He's not suppsosed to move.

"Oh, for goddess's sake," a new, young voice says. He doesn't sound that much older than Merlin. "This is a waste of time. If you cut off his head, will gold coins fall out?"

"We're here to collect taxes!" he insists.

The young lord scoffs. "And if we were sent to squeeze blood from a stone, how long would you spend with your hands pressing into bedrock? Look at them!"

"We can't just let them get away with it," he argues. "If you're father hears about this-"

"He'll hear about it because I'll tell him myself," he says, annoyed. "We could take everything they have and we'll still lose money when they starve to death and we have to send people to bury the bodies or risk disease settling in. The wages for those soldiers will cost far more than everything this little village has to offer."

"They're on our land, they pay the tax!"

The young lord's voice goes hard. "I think you'll see that they're on my father's land and it's ultimately his responsibility to collect taxes for the king. Which means this is decision, not yours."

"Yes, and he decided that-"

"Well I'm deciding differently and he can yell at me about it then!" he snaps. "Put your sword away before I draw mine."

There's a tense, heavy silence. Then there's the sound of a sword going back in its sheathe and, "Yes, Lord de Bois."

Lord de Bois sighs and then raises his voice so his voice carries travels to everyone standing there, to the whole village standing there and waiting. "I'll return within the week. If there's any sort of bookkeeping you have, gather it for me."

"Y-yes, my lord," the blacksmith stutters.

There's the sound of footsteps then hooves.

He lifts his head and only sees the back of the young Lord de Bois's blond head.

Merlin wonders if when he returns, he'll be allowed to look.

[sunkissedscribbles]

The Beach

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x poet!mentally ill!reader

genre: angst, a wee bit of fluff

tw: mental health issues, swearing

word count: 2008

summary: enzo comforts you when having a mentally rough period

a/n: my soul needed this one. i don't really want to label reader's mental state because in my mind bpd was the starting point but I think it would fit under the terms of depression as well, that's why I haven't specified it in the pairing (and because i'm not a specialist). also, it contains one of my poems I have not yet posted on my main.

playlist: The Beach - The Neighbourhood

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

It hasn’t even been a month since the new school year started, only two weeks. Two weeks got you utterly exhausted, and even that was an understatement. It felt like you had forgotten to talk, taking a little too long to answer, to process things – to think. Your head felt heavy with emptiness, your entire body ached as it didn’t seem to be able to release stress, holding onto it deep in your bones, low in your back.

It wasn’t just fatigue, it was emotional and mental exhaustion that made you want to lie in bed all day, yet your sensible side made you get up every day and go to your classes.

Those damn lessons.

You went to all of them, tried to siphon in as much of each subject as you could but your mind was elsewhere all the time.

At how sick you were.

At how tired you were.

And in the afternoons you did nothing other than lie in bed, trying to convince your mind that it was okay, there was nothing wrong with you, and that you needed to study.

Just five more minutes.

Oops, It’s been ten minutes ago.

Anyway.

You’re gonna start studying at next-hour-o’clock.

You didn’t.

At dinner you were only pushing your relatively small portion of food back and forth on your plate, your mind foggy with very negative thoughts as the chatter of your friends next to you blurred into an indistinctive mess of different voices over your head.

You were silent,

and lethargic,

all the time.

It was after dinners when you lay in bed, hoping this was a phase or something you’d eventually get over. But in the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn’t.

And you didn’t really want to, either – you felt so down, so numb that you felt like you couldn’t move in the direction of getting better.

Not properly.

Not permanently.

Lying there, alone, you couldn’t think of anything better than causing your own pain, physically – at least you’d feel something, wouldn’t you? Even if it’d hurt – maybe you’d deserve it. Maybe you’d deserve it because you had spent your entire summer not doing anything valuable, pushed down these feelings of despair, hurt, pain, depression. You didn’t study saying you couldn’t pay attention and you were tired – of course you were when you kept staying up endlessly, only getting mere hours of sleep and not eating enough.

Maybe you did deserve to feel this way.

You missed the affection, just a hug at least, from your friends. But you have been so withdrawn from them and they were all beating around the bush, not knowing how to corner the question of your visibly deteriorating mental health.

It was Enzo though, who paid the most attention to you; he knew you like the palm of his hand, even if you hadn’t realised it. He cared about you, probably more than he should’ve. He’d known all your mood swings, and even when you had better days, he knew you were going to be just as down, if not even worse in just a matter of days.

He couldn’t bear seeing you like this, he missed the carefree, loving Y/N you were. He missed his Y/N. Every word you spoke felt like a dagger to his heart as your tone only made it obvious just how tired and ill you were. Every time he saw you scribbling into your notebook he knew contained your poetry his heart ached, even when it was just two words.

He knew you were starting to give it all up.

Life.

You didn’t cry, and that was obvious – you’ve never been one to cry much or cry immediately when something relatively bad happened, or when it was something that you took too personally, nor when one of the bandages you thought were securely protecting your wounds were ripped off, not suddenly but slowly to hurt even more as it stuck to the surface of your heart. No, you took it, held yourself together, trying to maintain the facade you built so well and perfected over the years of suffering from whatever game your mind was playing with you.

Because the more people knowing you’re hurt the more able to hurt you.

Because the more pain you show the less people will think of you.

Because the more you trust the more leaving you and hurting you in the end, the more betraying you.

You were more on the bottling-up side, but the bottle always spilt in the end when it couldn’t hold more.

More suffering, more floating, more silence, more pain.

So, two weeks after your seventh and last year at Hogwarts had started, here you were, writing a new poem in the Astronomy Tower.

I find nirvana; I’ll exist in eternal peace, you wrote the last two lines, the cool autumn breeze in your hair.

“Y/N?” Enzo’s voice echoed through your ears, and closing your notebook, you looked up at him. This was the day the bottle broke – you’ve been crying before writing your poem.

Startled by your red eyes, he looked at you with concern. “Y/N, were you crying?” he immediately crouched down in front of you, and as he took your face in his palms gently, you could feel the dam break again. You didn’t like this. No, you couldn’t be crying in front of him.

“Just, uh, tired,” you answered in a low tone, trying to convince him – or yourself, rather.

He looks down at the notebook and shakes his head, “Liar. Let me see.”

You hesitated – how could you possibly show him what you were feeling? It took you weeks to be able to put it into words, and it’s not too happy. “Please,” he asked softly, one hand caressing your cheek, the other reaching down for the notebook in your lap. And you let him, knowing he’d get what he wanted anyway.

You saw his facial muscles twitch and tense up as he read its title, his hand falling off your face: ‘goodbye.’

His eyebrows knotted in a frown at first, glancing up at your once lively eyes, now missing the bright, pure shine they used to have.

You watched as his expression became sad and even more concerned as he breezed through your lines written.

these lines; I plan them to be the last ones I write and speak, so that I can be free in a world where pain doesn’t exist, where no clouds disfigure the sky. I go tonight; I don’t regret and don’t look back, I’m not afraid to leave anymore, I give up the fight, I end the war. i lie down tonight and drift to sleep, I unite with nature forever, and release the built-up hurt and pain. I find nirvana; I’ll exist in eternal peace.

“Y/N, you–” he shook his head as he lifted his head again, meeting your eyes. But you, you couldn’t look into his, you felt like you’d break immediately. You were afraid of what emotion would look back at you. Hurt? Sadness? Disappointment? Or would he look at you differently?

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking your head, keeping it hanging low.

He cupped your face again to make you meet his gaze, gently yet forcefully tilting your head upwards. His eyes, as always had that caring look in them, mixing with concern, and a sense of fear that he’d lose you washed over him.

He’d lose you, before it was nature’s job to cross your path together, before he could even confess to you.

“...Why haven’t you told me?” he asked in a low, broken voice. Fuck, he couldn’t lose you.

You couldn’t answer him at first – how could you tell him that you’d been feeling like shit for weeks again? That the longer you’re alive the less you’re living? The more days you survive the more of your want to live, and the more of your shine you lose. you took a long breath and with a tremble tugging at your lips, you shook your head while a stray fat tear rolled down your cheek.

“Y/N, darling…” he pulled you in for a hug and as his arms enveloped you tightly, your salty tears started raining down your cheeks again, lading on the fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m sick…” you sob into his chest, not able to hold anything back anymore, not in front of him as your fists clutch the fabric on his back. “And I’m tired too.”

You weren’t fireproof, that was for a fact, and he knew it too, probably better than anyone. You didn’t want to burn in your own flames but you felt it, felt it burning you and spread over onto him, burning him too. You were holding on to him for dear life, hoping your own miserable state of mind wouldn’t murder you.

“...I hope I don’t burden you,” you trembled against his body and he held you tighter.

“You could never,” he assured you, shaking his head. “Never, honey. You’re not a burden.”

You didn’t need to say much, he’d known almost everything already. He just held you tight against him, as if you could just slip away and disappear if he wouldn’t – and the truth is, you could’ve, especially in this state. And you kept gripping his hoodie as you slowly calmed down in his arms, while his heartbeat gave yours a soothing rhythm to follow. 

You were slowly coming to your senses that felt numb all this time – his cologne was a nice mix of sandalwood and citrus which filled your nostrils and made you feel at home, even more at ease, his touch warm and soothing under your sweater, rubbing your skin through the thin layer of your shirt, his voice sending your mind into a state of contentment as he kept whispering sweet nothings into your ear, and yet again, you couldn’t help but wonder what his lips would taste like. You’d been friends for a long time and you didn’t want to ruin the relationship you two have built up over the years.

Then the three little words left his lips involuntarily; “I love you.”

You felt him stiffen against you as the realisation that he indeed said that out loud hit him, and coming down from your surprise, and trying to control your rapid heartbeat, you lift your head from his chest and meet his eyes. How could he love an emotional wreck like you?

“Y-you what?” you asked as if you hadn’t heard it right.

He gulped, trying to swallow his fear of rejection before repeating his words, “I said I loved you,” he led his hands onto your waist under your sweater as you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, but kept drawing you in lightly.

Without any further hesitation, you crashed your lips against his, afraid this was only a dream, hence wanting to enjoy every second of it and take it to the fullest.

His lips were so soft and moved so in sync with yours, and you wanted nothing more than to stay like that forever, wrapped in his embrace, with your lips connected, your tongues dancing around, making your mouths a ballroom, available for only them.

You pulled back just to come up for air and to clarify one thing. “I love you too.”

Your words sent a jolt of electricity and happiness down his spine, and he leaned his forehead against yours before reassuringly whispering to you, “I’m not leaving. We’re in this together and you can count on me, anytime, anywhere. Just- don’t shut me out. Please… I need you here with me.”

You nodded against his skin and let out a heavy sigh. You knew it would be a long way, a really deep dive. But until it was him swimming with you it didn’t matter that you were out in the open. It wasn’t a sudden light, a newfound wave of relief taking you out to the shore, but the beach seemed closer than ever. 

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters @girllblogging777 @myysunshine @yelanare

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 23

warnings: SMUT! 18+!, oral sex, handjob.

Part 23

"Have I already thanked you for agreeing to come with me?" Art asked after he entered the hotel where Liana was staying. His parents had also arrived. "You know I wouldn't miss you at the Olympics, right? And in London, no less!" She rolled her eyes because he hadn't stopped saying 'thank you' since the moment he bought the stupid ticket (which she wanted to pay for herself, but he didn't exactly ask her). "I love London. It's not a punishment or anything," she smiled genuinely.

Art smiled back, but he had known for some time that she loved him just as much as she loved London, and if he wanted to be arrogant, maybe even more than she loved London. And God knows how much he loves Liana. So why can't he talk to her about it? They talk about everything except that. They act like people who have been in a relationship for a decade. People whose dilemmas are about kids and home design. Why can't those be their real dilemmas? Has Art sentenced himself to a life beside Liana that will never be full and complete? Will he always have to settle for almost because he didn't insist on how ridiculous their agreement was?

"Can't wait to see all the places you love. All the buildings you told me about." His smirk widened into a real smile when he saw her face. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and her cheeks reddened. She was truly the most beautiful person he knew. He can't believe he grew up beside her all his life and didn't realize how beautiful she was for half of it. "Maybe I shouldn't introduce you to Melissa, so you won't fall in love with her by mistake," she said in response, and he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes. I'm definitely capable of falling in love with your best friend," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as she swallowed. They both realized how loaded his statement was only after he said it. After all, Liana had been in love with his best friend. She was capable of that. It's not the same thing. He knows it's not the same thing. And yet. It's not far-fetched in their reality.

"Are you excited?" she abruptly changed the subject. "What's the worst that can happen? I'll lose in the first rounds with you and my parents in the audience, all of America watching me, and I'll become a meme. Just another Sunday," he lay down on the bed beside her, burying his head in her chest, letting her fingers run through his curls. "Or you'll win, and then win again and again," she said in response, and he chuckled. "What are the chances of that happening, Lia?" he sighed, afraid of disappointing so many people. "High. But in any case, you know I don't care, right?" she asked, moving his head a bit, making him look at her with wide eyes, absorbing every word she had to say. "I don't care as long as I know you're enjoying yourself and doing what you love to do. That's like the only reason I'm willing to watch you play tennis. Because I know you love it and it excites you. In any other scenario, fuck tennis," she shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing and moved again, allowing him to rest his head back on her soft chest. He could fall asleep like this. He had fallen asleep like this before.

"So if I quit tomorrow, you wouldn't care?" he asked without looking at her. Because he didn't plan to quit. He was far from it. He loved playing tennis. He loved seeing Liana in the audience. He loved winning. "I'd throw you a party," she replied, making both of them chuckle.

"I brought you something," she murmured, gently moving him again so she could get up. "It's not too much, so don't get too excited," she added as she rummaged through her suitcase and pulled out a box wrapped with a ribbon. "Lia, you shouldn't have." His hand found its way to his neck for a moment, unable to think clearly. His heart was beating irrationally. The fact that she thought of him enough to give him something for the tournament, even though she was already flying with him, gave him chills. "Don't be stupid, open it," she smiled. And for once, Art listened to what she told him to do instead of giving her instructions. "What is all this?" he muttered, not knowing what to focus on.

"Okay, the headphones are supposed to be really good. They're for listening to your meditations if you're with someone in the room, or the songs you like to listen to before games. The book is just because I know you might get bored in the Olympic Village between games or training or whatever, so you have something to pass the time. And there's this really silly picture my mom gave me two months ago. Art, have you seen it?" She talked so fast, and Art felt he could cry. "It's from that time you got a skateboard for your birthday," he stated, examining the framed picture. Liana and he were seven. He was holding his first racket in one hand and hugging Liana with the other. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were swollen. Liana, on her part, had her arms crossed, standing next to a small skateboard. She looked displeased.

"Yeah, and you cried and acted like a little bitch even though you got a racket for your birthday," she laughed heartily, and Art couldn't take his eyes off the picture in front of him. "I wanted to have what you had," he said honestly, remembering that feeling exactly. As a child, he couldn't let go of her at every shared moment. He followed her like he was her tail. Probably even then, he would have wagged if she asked him to. She never asked. "It's for you to put in your room because two and a half weeks is a long time, so you feel a bit at home. After that, I might want it back. It's too cute," Liana continued, partially ignoring what he said.

"Is that mine?" he suddenly asked, pulling out a simple white cap from the box. "Yes. Okay, it's weird, I know. But you had that period where you wore a backwards cap and really looked like a smug, annoying dickhead—" "Oh yes, I remember. You didn't stop telling me how much you hated all my caps," he rolled his eyes.

"Well...I lied," she said without blinking, and he looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "You looked really good with those silly caps. It was awful," she rolled her eyes. "And then there was one time I was at your house one summer, and you were in the pool, so I just took that cap. I thought maybe it would make you stop wearing them, but you just wore another one the next day. An insufferable person," she spoke quickly, as if the speed would make what she said less significant.

"When was that?" For every word she said quickly, he spoke his slowly, swimming in this moment. "The summer of age 16, like 10 years ago, I think?" she tried to remember. "Lia, did you have a crush on me when you were 16?" The familiar smirk spread across his face. "Oh, fuck off," she rolled her eyes, and he put the box on the bed beside him, stood up, and approached her. Wrapping her in a hug with his big hands.

"Thank you," he said quietly, feeling himself melt into her. "You know I've got your back, right? With or without tennis. You and I will be okay," she said, looking at him again. Art kissed her in response, unable to find any words other than 'I love you' (which he wasn’t allowed to say) to sum up the discussion.

After three weeks at the London Olympics, Art Donaldson won a silver medal in the doubles tournament and a gold medal in the singles, all while wearing a backwards white cap in every match. The kiss he gave Liana after his victory was captured everywhere. It was called 'iconic.' Nobody knew who Liana was, but she was the first person to receive his attention, and his parents or Tashi, who were sitting there, weren't surprised at all.

They said goodbye to his parents and decided to stay another week in London. This way, Art could meet some of Liana's friends and see places she loved. Besides, he could use a vacation. Tashi tried to resist, unsuccessfully. It was also Liana's birthday, and Art wanted to take her to a nice restaurant.

They sat next to each other at a bar in London, with some of Liana's school friends sitting across from them. Art connected with them instantly. In a flash. Overall, seeing Liana so immersed in her element, so social, was like exploring her anew. Discovering the person she had been all these years without him.

"Does anyone want something to drink?" he asked, and after everyone told him what they wanted and someone else went with him, Liana stayed with Melissa, who looked at her as if she had fallen from the moon. "You're so in love with him it's embarrassing. I don't know what this act is for," Melissa said the second everyone walked away. "There's no act, we're fine. He's my best friend," Liana shrugged and finished her drink. "Girl, I'm your best friend. The blond guy who looks at you like you hung the moon and sleeps with you most nights of the week, he's your boyfriend." Melissa almost laughed at the absurdity. There wasn't a single person around the table who even asked who Art was to Liana. It was obvious to everyone that he was her boyfriend. His hand was on her in a half-hug, so nonchalant, as if he was born in that exact position. As if he belonged right beside her.

"He doesn't look at me like-" Liana rolled her eyes. "What are you afraid of?" Melissa interrupted, not letting her continue deceiving herself. There isn't a person in the world (literally the whole world since their kissing photos were published) who thinks Liana is just Art's best friend. "I guess, I don't want to get hurt again," Liana murmured, looking at Melissa with a pitiable expression. "Oh, babes, sweetie, everyone gets hurt all the time. Who the fuck has the energy to be afraid of that?" She hugged her, a crushing hug. "I need to visit you more. You're losing it over there in America," she concluded as everyone returned to the table.

Art's hand returned to the same spot, only this time Liana's head rested on his shoulder, as if she was born right there as well.

Two days later, Art insisted they go to the restaurant he had reserved. "Art, we're going to celebrate at your parents' house in two weeks anyway. You're really overdoing it," she said when he just told her about his plans. "Hey, we never celebrate your birthday on the actual date. It feels unfair. Just let me spoil you for a bit," he looked at her with a gaze she found hard to refuse.

So, Liana found herself sitting next to him at a Michelin-starred restaurant, telling him occasionally that he was crazy for the amount of money he spent on this meal. Reminding him that there was no real reason for this extravagance. But every time Liana took a bite or sipped the wine, he saw her face change, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. He knew it wasn't a waste. He knew he had made the right decision, and he knew that tonight might take a turn very soon, so he decided to savor the good, certain moments as much as possible.

After they finished eating, Liana took him on a tourist bus tour, which made them both roll their eyes and laugh, feeling like kids again. They weren't bothered by the people asking to take pictures with Art. What did bother them was the rain that started to pour in August, causing them to catch a taxi to the hotel, drenched. "That was a really extreme ending to this evening," Liana said as they both laughed. "Thank you, Art, this was really over the top," she said, looking at him with a gaze that quickly changed from amused to grateful.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, Liana. Like, ever." He said, his gaze was piercing. Demanding. "Haven't you figured that out yet?" he mumbled and sighed. "Okay. No more thank yous. Do you want to shower with me?" she smiled, and his look filled with mischief as he moved towards her and unzipped her dress. They were under the warm water quickly, with Art gently moving her hair away from her face, and she closed her eyes. His hands were so rough from tennis, but his touch was soft.

"You're so beautiful, Lia. It's unbelievable that you're mine," he murmured, and she opened her eyes. He looked at her, too, and knew he had crossed some kind of line. Because they didn't say it out loud. They didn't say what everyone understood. They just acted like it, and Art was about to ruin it. Or change it. Or improve it. He was about to break it. "You're beautiful yourself," she replied, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him. He deepened the kiss immediately. And it wasn't hurried or sloppy; it was serious and mature and deep. They took their time, refusing to break apart until they ran out of air to share.

Art didn't know how he found himself on all fours before her again, but he loved looking up at her sometimes. When she looked back at him, and they both knew she had the power to destroy him, but she would never use it. And Art was beginning to believe he also had the power to destroy Liana, but he would never dream of using it. His mouth was on her pussy, and even as he explored her from within, he took his time, just as he had with her mouth earlier. And the sounds she made, which he was already used to but would never tire of, made him feel like he could come without her touching him at all. "Fuck, Artie, I'm close," and he loved when she called him that because it only happened when she was needy and coming and desperate and his, and he knew she was in that stupid state because of him, and she also knew he was the one making her feel so good, in such euphoria. And with that thought in his mind, he felt her come, half leaning on the wall and half on his shoulder as he held her shaking legs. "It's okay, baby, I've got you. Come for me. I'm here," he talked her through it, making her orgasm even more intense.

And after she recovered and managed to give him a handjob while they both giggled at her inability to function, they managed to shower and get dressed. "I have a present for you," he said suddenly, with his hand on his neck, knowing this was going to be a pivotal moment but staying calm. "Art, you're overdoing it. The meal was enou-" "Please, Liana, just let me give it to you," he interrupted her because he knew the arguments would come later anyway; right now, he needed her less combat ready.

"Okay," she mumbled, and he went to his suitcase, pulling out a small jewelry box. "Art, what is this?" Liana looked at it as if it were a contagious disease wrapped in a bow. "Relax, it's not a ring. But it might make you angry, and I want you not to be mad at me. Can you do that? Not be mad before you let me talk?" he said, playing with his fingers to steady himself as he spoke. "What's going on, Art?" her voice became more serious. Every note of amusement left it as he handed her the box and sat cross-legged on the bed in front of her.

She looked at the key inside and then at him with a raised eyebrow, feeling her heart pounding faster. "The house is ready," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "Actually, it's been ready for a few weeks. The designer finished completely." He continued, seeing that Liana didn't move for a second. Not even blink. "I'm moving there, and I want you to move in with me." His look was almost desperate. He was so afraid of her reaction, as if he knew she was about to shatter him. "Art, that's not what we agreed..." she said quietly, afraid to move. "Fuck it, Liana. We haven't been in what we agreed to for a long time. We haven't been friends with benefits from the minute we agreed on it. You know that." He closed his eyes and took a long breath. "You built that house. The interior design consists of your ideas too. You love that house, and Liana, I'm pretty sure you love me too, and if you don't say otherwise, then I just want you to agree to live with me. That will be the new agreement," he was desperate. His voice shook, and he didn't speak logically, but he tried to convey a point.

"That will be the new agreement?" she asked, biting her lip, and he could see she was giving in. "Yes. The new agreement will be that we're in love and live together in the house we built for ourselves." He moved closer to her, his voice steadier as he kissed her neck and heard her sigh. "I can't pay for that house, Art. It cost you an insane amount of money," she mumbled. "Liana, the money doesn't matter to me. I have more money. Just what I earned from the Olympics covers that house. I'm not broke in any way." He tried to dramatize that this was the last thing that mattered to him.

"Okay," she said after a few seconds of silence, surprising him. Making him move back a bit and look at her. "Okay?" he asked, confused. He honestly thought it would take him more time. That he would have to twist and convince her.

"Yes, I think we can be in love and live together in a beautiful house. It's something we can handle," she shrugged and started to smile. "So I can say I love you without fearing you'll run away from me?" he continued, not believing he didn't have to struggle. "You already stated that I love you, so I think it would be fair if you also say you love-" He didn't let her finish the sentence before he kissed her. "Happy birthday, Liana Levy. I love you," he smiled into her mouth.

'Happy birthday Amanda, I miss you' will probably be the first message Liana sees when she opens her phone in the morning, but that's a worry for another day. Today, she's celebrating the best birthday she's ever had, probably because she's finally celebrating it on the actual date.

Hey guyssss, how are we doing? Let me know what you think as always, it literally makes my day. Also, send me more requests for blurbs. I love them and I will do at least another one between this and the next chapter. Patrick will come back to us. I just needed Art and Liana to be more stable at this point. Hope you're still enjoying it <3 

taglist (if anyone wants to join, just ask): @suzysface tqd4455 @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[uplatterme]

Just a sample or two, I’m sure you’ll manage.

—sub!dottore/dom!reader, zandik!dottore, transmasc!reader (this is mostly dottore!receiving so no mention of the reader’s genitalia, but it’s still implied reader is transmasc), masochistic!dottore/sadistic!reader | imagined knifeplay (cuts), overstimulation, crying, degradation, slight dumbification, slight blood play, pain kink, unnegotiated kinks but everything is consensual (idk about safe or sane though because it’s dottore)

—i don’t know how to feel about this fic tbh. but it’s here. it’s okay. (edit: i reread it and its quite good)

Zandik knocks over the cup of coffee on his desk when he hears his door getting banged on. He swears that whoever is outside that door is going to get it, he’ll tear them apart into shreds and feed their body to the tigers…

With an annoyed face, Zandik opens up the door, ready to “politely” tell them to get the hell out of his face. The words are already on the tip of his tongue but he rests easy when he recognizes that it's only you, his next-door neighbor.

He quickly tries to remember if his room is a mess. Fuck, he did do laundry a while back, yeah? Does his room smell good? Is his bed fixed?

He panics, why are you even here?

He thinks all of that within three seconds.

“Zandik! I hope I'm not bothering you?” You stand outside his door, bearing that smile he somehow can’t say no to.

“You’re fine, come in.” He says as cool as he can, you’re the only person in your darshan that he can get along with. Hell, you’re the only person in the Akademiya he can tolerate.

“So, uhm.” You start, you’re carrying your bag so he assumes you just came from a class. 

“Yes?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

He doesn’t miss the way you seem to be dancing around the topic. It’s not as if he cares what that favor is, if you ask him to kill a person for you then he’d do it, no questions asked.

“Spit it out then.”

You sigh, sitting down on his bed.

“You know I'm a scholar of Amurta.”

“Of course, you never fail to not bring it up every time I ask you about the subject of human anatomy.” He states, as if that wasn’t obvious already.

“I may need a…sample of sorts.”

Oh, that’s an easy fix. Were you too shy to ask for his blood? That’s strangely endearing.

“How much?” Zandik asks.

“Well, a cup? Maybe two so I don't mess up.” You quickly answer, you appear to be surprised at his immediate response.

“For blood? That seems quite a lot.” Zandik questions, it’s not that he won’t give you it, he’s just a bit confused.

“Not that…”

“What is it then?”

He hears you whisper something and Zandik swears that his ears are fucking with him.

“…Say that again?”

“Seminal Fluid?”

He's stunned for a bit. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it back once he discerns that that’s not the proper response to this situation.

“C-Can’t you do it yourself?” He asks, looking away from you.

Despite his wanting to be with you romantically, you two have never engaged in any of the sort. The most you’ve done is the slight brushing of your hands when working on an experiment.

“Zandik, you know I can't.”

He almost asks again why that is when he realizes.

“Oh.”

He blushes furiously and to your perspective, this might look strange. But when he hears you tearing up someone’s guts next door past bedtime hours, it’s hard not to imagine himself being the one who’s in your partner’s position.

In other words, he’s dreamed too much of being dicked down by you that he forgot about your case to begin with, not that it really matters to him.

And he would never admit to this, but sometimes the noises get a bit too loud for comfort that he has to take care of himself alone while he visualizes you doing that to him. 

He hears you cough, standing up and trying to walk away from this whole thing as if nothing ever happened.

“You know what, I'll leave. I’ll find someone else.” 

It is an embarrassing situation, this was not a scene that he had expected and prepared for.

“W-Wait,” He calls out, his hand grasping your wrist.

“Zandik, you don’t have to. I’ll just pay someone else to do it.” You explained to him that it really isn’t that big of a deal. “I think I came here because you’re my go-to person.” You chuckle.

Zandik really wants to cuss you out, you can’t just say that to him out of nowhere and then decide to leave right after.

He stammers out a response, “I-I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It’s just silence for a few seconds until you decide to leave him be to do his business, telling him that you’ll just be next door and to take as much time as he needs.

And when the door slams in front of his face, is when he realizes the severity of his decision.

You’re telling him he’s supposed to jack off while knowing that you’re aware he’s doing exactly that?

Zandik unbuckles his belt, deciding that he might as well get this over with as soon as possible.

Then thirty minutes pass by.

Zandik has not filled a cup, nor is he even halfway to a climax. He tries to think of everything. Well, everything but you, imagining things that would turn him on that aren't you or fantasies that involve you. 

He somehow finds this task to be difficult.

His cock is sitting on his leg half-hard, he’s racking his brain to find something that will make this easier and he soon realizes that every single time he’s masturbated somehow involved you in some kind of way.

He doesn’t want to believe that at all, surely not. 

Is he really that into you? 

He reminisces of each time you’ve been with him, the times when you lay an arm on his shoulder, pulling him closer to you without notice. The times when you whisper directly into his ear in the library that sends the poor man into a shock with how he feels your breathing on his neck, wanting you to lay those lips on his skin, to just mark him without care while trying not to get caught by the other students passing by your table.

Zandik whimpers just at the thought of it. He snaps out of his thoughts once he notices that he’s fully hard now, with precum even oozing out his dick. 

He plays with the white liquid, he relishes the fact that you’re able to affect him like this when you’re not even here, to begin with. He grits his teeth, warming the tip with his palm, the stickiness making Zandik slightly quiver from how messy it is. 

His control over his own thoughts and body is slowly starting to slip, his hips moving on their own as his cock longs for the warmth of his hand. He stifles back a moan, thinking about you has his mind going dumb.

He wonders if you know about these feelings of his, the way he has to excuse himself each instance your touches linger on for too long, his entire body stiffening as a pathetic noise tries to escape his throat.

“Haah…”

He wants to stay quiet, knowing that the walls are quite thin and that if he can hear you from back then, so is the opposite.

He breathes impatiently. This isn’t enough at all, he needs more.

Zandik wants to know how it would feel to have you explore his entire body, to have you see every vein and how his blood flows throughout his skin. He knows you’d grow fascinated by him, like you would with any cadaver.

His head tilts back at the thought of you slicing him open, drawing cuts with a scalpel on his thighs as he bleeds, the wounds aching as your tongue licks them oh so slowly. His cock twitches, the stroking of his length getting more and more desperate.

He grows weak as he envisions you squeezing them as you penetrate him, spreading him apart without any preparation whatsoever. He sobs at that, he needs you to put him into his place, to shame him for thinking such disgusting things. To treat him as nothing more than trash, that he’s a whore for enjoying these kinds of acts.

His left hand grips the sheets for stability, the other continuing to pump himself until he spills. His vision blurs from both the pleasure and the tears, almost forgetting about the reason why he’s doing this to begin with, too high of his lust for you.

He stumbles over, aiming for the cups you’ve given him. 

Zandik moans loudly as he finishes, not all of his fluid gets into the containers. In fact, most of it splattered all over his bed and his legs. He waits until he stops cumming, panting heavily as sweat drips off his forehead.

It’s worrying how much of a pull you have toward him.

He sits there for a few minutes, resting easy until he hears knocking on the door.

“Y-Yeah?” He calls out from his bed, too tired to stand up.

“Are you done?”

Zandik immediately rushes to the door, taking his blanket with him to cover his lower half.

He opens the door with a slight shake of his hand, openly oblivious to how he looks right now to you.

His hair is a mess, his face… 

He looks as if he’s in a daze, and he is, for the most part. There are traces of tears from his wet eyelashes, eyes staring at you as if he’s begging for you to take a bite out of him, to fuck him right then and there.

He looks so pitiful and vulnerable, an appearance that you’ve never seen of him, an appearance that he’d never show others, an appearance that he’d only show to you.

His legs are bare, the blanket doing nothing to hide the shape of his hips. There’s cum dripping down his legs and you knew you should have knocked later. But once you heard your friend sound like that, your urges got the best of you.

You’re sure glad you didn’t stop yourself.

“R-Right…You need it warm, yes?” Zandik says, embarrassed at what he’s just done and thought of while he got himself off.

“Yeah…” You answer, mind focused on his figure instead of what you initially came here for.

He hands you the containers you’ve given him, the liquid splashing. 

“Thank you, Zandik.”

“Of course, anytime…” He replies.

You could just leave, pretend as if you didn’t hear him earlier or those other times he’s fucked himself alone while moaning out your name, distracting you even if you were in bed with another.

“Hey, Zandik?”

“Hm?”

You know he’s into you, and the gods know you’d be lying if you claimed you weren’t turned on by Zandik right now.

The next few moments are a blur and Zandik is unsure how he’s ended up at a loss for words, his legs being spread apart by your hands as he’s forced to bear the shame of you seeing him already so stiffened despite just cumming a few minutes ago.

“So soaked…”

“S-Sorry…” He apologizes, trying to look away.

Zandik blushes at the fact he hasn’t trimmed there in a while.

“Cute.”

His heart beats loudly in his chest, unsure of how to process this whole thing.

He’s not complaining at all, no. He’s just surprised at how you’re being so forward with him like this, not sure whether to take this as a one-time thing or if there’s something more to your actions.

“What would you like me to do?” You question.

That’s a loaded question. What doesn’t he want you to do?

Everything, he wants to say. He wants to be greedy. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen for so long, it’d be a waste to just be shy and act like this.

Still, thinking that is easier than actually doing it.

“T-Touch me, please.”

“How? Won’t you show me how you do it, Zandik?”

He nods shyly, bringing his hand to his cock. He’s much more sensitive now than before since he’s just had his orgasm. He ponders on what lay behind those eyes of yours, staring him down intensely as he tries to focus on himself.

It doesn’t take much for him to be hard, especially with how your hands feel on his thighs. It’s shameful to see himself leaking so much already, a lot quicker than when he did this alone earlier.

His hips convulse while he strokes himself, “Aren’t you eager?” You ask him, but that just makes him whine impatiently.

This is a lot tamer than he had imagined but that doesn’t erase the satisfaction that he’s getting right now.

“I might cum…” He simply says, still keeping at the same pace.

“Are you asking for permission?”

Zandik whimpers out softly, nodding his head at your question.

“Do you think you deserve it?”

Does he? He thinks he does, but what if you don’t think the same way? A loud gasp escapes him, he can’t hold it for much longer. Tears start to form again from his ducts, a sobbing mess who just wants to please you as much as he can.

Chants of your name and pleading continue, yet it won’t seem like you’re taking that as an answer.

A  sudden pain shocks his entire body when he feels your nails digging down his thighs. Each second is a nightmare, your nails going deeper and deeper as blood drips down to his sides, staining the sheets of his bed.

God, that feels so fucking good.

“H-Hurts…” He says.

“Yeah? Maybe, If you answer my question, I’ll let you go.” You continue pressing on the newmade wounds, raising a moan out of him.

“I-I don't know…”

“Ah, but Zandik. Aren’t you the smart one?”

He sobs, he’s supposed to agree with you but doesn’t find it in his mind to do so right now. “Please—can’t hold it.”

You continue to stare at him in silence, even as Zandik loses control, apologizing repeatedly for finishing with your say.

His thighs twitch every few seconds, his eyelids getting heavier when he tries to focus on the fact that you’re still on top of him.

“My, I’m still here you know?” 

You make that perfectly clear when you shove your fingers into his gaping mouth, the taste of his own cum and blood makes him gag, yet you continue to push your fingers down his throat. He slobbers all over them, yet he takes it with no resistance. He wants you to go even deeper, to ruin his throat.

Eventually, you pull away. The sound that comes out of him is hoarse, yet he still stares at you with loving eyes.

“Want you.” Zandik begs, 

“Prove it, darling.”

[fairykazu]

NOT-SUPER-SECRET-CRUSH FT. SCARAMOUCHE contents: fem! reader, friends to lovers, requited love, highschool au, zhongli is ur dad, modern au masterlist | series masterlist | part two | part three

it was too early for this, the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead, snapping scaramouche's tired eyes awake. it was obvious he didn't get much sleep as his eyes were sunken in as much as he tried to hide it with concealer. putting his head down in his arms, yawning as ms. yae's aggravating voice rang in his ears. "scaramouche, lift your head up. you of all students need to pay attention." scaramouche took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes, what was the point of dissing him in the class when there's a student named itto who regularly skips this class? "scaramouche."

"ok." he lifted his head up, his hair disheveled. miss yae walked closer to the end of the classroom, her heels clicking with each step. "mr. raiden, don't make me call your mother."

scaramouche hissed back, "you would like that wouldn't you."

the silence filled the room as the pink haired teacher looked taken back. "just because of that, i'm calling her."

"whatever." after his last word, the class spilled back to normal as scaramouche felt as if he had to peel his eyelids back just to pay attention. but the noise was overwhelming as the lesson yae is making is coming out of one ear and out the other. trying to fight back the urge, he pinched himself but fell victim of falling asleep in the boring english class.

school wasn't the greatest for you because you're failing the two requirements to pass. math and science... screw the people who created this topic. if school was solely history and english, you would be flying out of the teyvat with rainbows, and you'd become the nyan cat or something.

when you arrived at your class, slightly late, miss guizhong greeted you with a smile, motioning you to come closer to her. she announced to the class to check their answers for homework as it was on the board. she turned to you, "name, you are not surviving this class."

"i know..."

"im not sure how you're not grasping this concept even if i had given you one of my best students to tutor you."

to be fair, haitham wasn't the greatest. he was the best student in your class, but he spent most of the tutoring with his not-boyfriend, bickering at any chance he could get.

"i know." it's really tiring to hear this even though you know you're failing, and you know you should get better by now. after all you are a junior now. but it's hard after years of getting used to being the bottom of the barrel. you tried to joke with yourself, 'at least, i have english and history!'

"if you know, scaramouche raiden, then you could ask him. he's one of the top students for these subjects." guizhong said, jotting down his name on a post it notes, giving you the yellow-colored paper.

oh wait, you forgot that scaramouche was a student that is soaring in the skies in this subject. maybe he'll help.

it was break and you spotted the familiar purple haired male from afar. you ran after him, attacking him from behind by pulling back on the lash tab. halting his way to his spot, scaramouche only turned his head to you. he was greeted by your smile, you tugged on the lash tab again, "hey, scara, can i ask you something?"

letting go of the back of the backpack when scaramouche turned fully to you, he rolled his eyes, as his friends walked ahead, assuming he'll catch up, "you did."

"haha, you're so funny." you glanced back at him, his face only told you to "get to the point."

"um, can you help me with ms guizhong's math class and miss nahida's bio class..."

scaramouche scoffed at the idea you just proposed, helping you? why would he even help you? you noticed how his face is not changing from his resting bitch face. you feared that you had to resort to older measures. "scaramouche, pleasseee! if you don't help me, my dad's going to kill me."

"how would mr. morax kill his favorite kid?" scaramouche raised a brow. "'cause, i'm literally failing like ... some of my classes... especially the class, my auntie is teaching...." you admitted, sheepishly. scaramouche's eyes widened, the daughter of one of the best teachers are failing. either you're really stupid or she sucks at his job. if he's being honest, it's probably the former. miss guizhong was great at her job.

seeing how scaramouche's porcelain poker face break, you took this as a chance to jab him where it hurts. you know that scaramouche isn't particularly good at the subject of english, especially when his teacher was literally his mom's girlfriend. "can you please help me with math and biology?" you began to whisper, "after that, i can help you with english homework from ms yae."

his face scrunched up as you could tell he was breaking resistence to your idea. itching the spot on his neck, he sighed, "fine. i will."

"alright! when do you want to meet up?"

"for?"

"the tutoring stuff."

"i did not agree to tutoring you."

"yes you did." you played a recording of scaramouche saying yes to the convo. just to annoy him, you started at the beginning and played his voice slower, a masculine voice going, "fine. i will." in reverb, basically catching the male red handed.

"you're insufferable."

"i know." you giggled as turning the opposite direction of scaramouche, not even looking back. unbeknownst to you, scaramouche was hiding a small smile.

[fixfoxnox]

Hii gmorning/night/evening! Hope you are having a really nice day.

I don't quite know if you're doing a platonic request, but if you can. Can I request maybe a fic or maybe a scenario, Tf141 and younger reader (younger than gaz himself) whose father is makarov himself and on one mission when Tf141 were capturing makarov the reader were forced to do the interrogation on their own father (the reader did it with professionalism ofc), makarov.

How would the Tf141 react when they found out that makarov was the reader father maybe around a day after the mission ended, the reader been in a both deep thought and sour mood when the mission ended. (Poor reader was trying to not punch cry on spot when he see makarov)

Anyway! Just that I hope it's not that confusing 👉👈 have a nice day!

Fun fact, if we're using Makarov's age in the OG game reader could be like as old as like 27 or so depending on how old Makarov was when they were born (Makarov is 47 when he dies in the OG games so he's like 46-47 during the events of the game)

Task Force 141 With a Platonic! GN! Reader Who is Makarov's Child

Characters: Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap, and Roach

Warnings: Brief injury to reader

"Vladimir Makarov," they made their way into the room carefully, catching the attention of the man currently tied to the chair in the center of the room. Makarov tilted his head at them, a smile quirking up his lips. "We have to talk. If you answer my questions, this will go easy for you. If you don't, I'll have to pass you over to someone with a lot more bloodlust than me."

Makarov paused for a moment before a chuckle left his lips. The sound of it echoed around the room. They grit their teeth as the almost taunting noise bounced around their head. "Makarov? Really? Is that how this is going to be?" Makarov's voice was low and careful and that grin remained on his lips.

"Would you prefer it if I just referred to you as the fucking terrorist?" they shot back, trying to avoid the obvious tension in the room.

"You could call me father. That's what I am, aren't I? Your father."

"Not right now," they stood taller, but all of their body felt tense. This was not a situation they ever wanted to find themself in, but the team had all unanimously voted. They would try Makarov first. If only the team knew why that was such a bad idea. "Right now, you're Vladimir Makarov, head of the Ultranationalists. A Russian terrorist group."

Makarov shook his head, a low tutting noise escaping his lips, "Now, now, that isn't how this works. I'm always your father, whether you're on the," he eyed them disdainfully for a moment, "wrong side of things or not."

Their father was taunting them. He wanted to get a reaction out of them. They could tell with just the way he talked. They'd seen him do it to enough people over the years to know what to watch out for. As odd as it was and as much as they hated to admit it, it helped that Makarov was who he was to them. It helped them see what was happening. They decided to change the subject.

"The girl. Where is she?"

Makarov gave a low hum and leaned back in his seat casually, "You know you used to stand like that when you wanted a treat from a store. A bit of candy or something." They tensed a bit, quickly shifting their position to something different. It pulled a chuckle from Makarov and made their face burn an angry red, "I suppose all things change with time."

"The president's daughter," their voice was a bit harsher than they meant for it to be and they knew it was because of their father's taunting. They took a moment to calm themself, "Where is the president's daughter?"

"I miss the days when you were so little and starry-eyed," Makarov sighed wistfully, "You used to hang off of my arm."

"Answer the question."

"I wish that you would drop this act of rebellion," Makarov narrowed his eyes at them, "Finally come home. There is a welcome place for you right at my side. There is always a place for family."

"This isn't a rebellion!" Their hands clenched at their side. Despite the fact that their father was the one restrained, despite the fact that they were the one standing with supposedly all of the power in the room, they felt like a helpless child. There were warring feelings in their chest, anger toward their father, and an ache for the family that they loved and missed. This was the problem. Their father was a terrible person, they'd accepted that. It didn't mean that they didn't love him. It didn't mean that they didn't feel like a petulant child when their father scolded them like this. They hated it. "This is an interrogation and you are going to tell me what I want to know!"

They stepped closer to their father threateningly, but it only pulled a grin from Makarov. "Am I?"

"Yes!"

Makarov tilted his head at them and gave them a look of pity, "No, I don't think I am."

The sound of a loud pop met their ears and they quickly found themself surrounded by darkness. The only think they remembered after their vision went dark was a brief flash of their father standing over them and a hand briefly stroking over their forehead.

Price:

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"What?" Their head shot up from where they'd been furiously scribbling at their paperwork. Despite their hard scratches, they'd barely managed to get anything done with the reminders of their failed interrogation from the previous day. Their pounding headache and the cut along their face certainly weren't making it easy for them to forget.

Price stepped into the room slowly and closed the door behind hi.. There was a long moment where he just stood and watched them, unmoving. "You're Makarov's kid." They froze and their pen snapped in half in their hand. Price's eyes shot down to it before moving back up to watch their face. There was a long moment of tense quiet that fell over the room before, "The IT department was able to piece together a part of the footage from yesterday."

"Price," they started carefully, their voice quiet, "I don't-"

"Why didn't you tell us," Price asked again, stepping toward them carefully. His voice wasn't harsh. In fact, he sounded almost soft with the way that he spoke, "We wouldn't have sent you in if we knew."

"That's why I didn't tell you," they responded quietly. "I'm capable of doing the interrogations. I'm capable of doing the missions." Their voice steadily grew louder and louder, anger burning at them at the reminder of why they'd been so afraid to tell anyone in the first place. At the reminder of how their father's choices could impact their life so easily. "Just because he is my," they cut themself off with a growl before continuing, "my relationship with him doesn't change how well I can do my job! He's a terrorist, and no matter who they are, my job involves stopping terrorists."

Price settled for a moment, watching them closely. "You should have told us," he settled on after a moment. When they went to respond, they were met with a hand from Price, silencing them. "Not because I don't think you can do your job." Price moved around the table, settling next to them carefully, "Because if I had known, I never would have made you go into that room. Whether you can handle it or not, you shouldn't have to." He paused for another long moment, watching their reaction closely. "Are you alright?"

They had to think about the question for a long moment. Were they alright? After so many years, after hunting him with the rest of the team, after viewing him as nothing more than a dangerous and unhinged man, they'd come face to face with Makarov and were forced to acknowledge the relationship they had with him. Forced to acknowledge the fact that he was still their father and that, despite their best efforts, they still cared about him. They hated it. It had been tearing them up since the wall had been blown open and their father had escaped.

"I don't know," they finally settled on after a moment. They buried their face in their hands, shaking their head at themself. Their father was a terrorist. He didn't deserve their sympathy or love. They could hear Price shift and, a moment later, there was a hand rubbing against their back. "I should be fine. I should only be upset that he escaped but...I don't know. I haven't seen him in so long. Then...that."

Price was silent for several moments, just offering comfort with a hand on their back, rubbing soothing circles against their skin. They just sat like that for a moment and, despite the silence, it actually seemed to help. It was nice just to know that Price was there, to know that the other man cared enough to sit with them like this. "You know," Price started finally, "It's okay to care about him still. He's your family, whether you like it or not. You can care about someone and still know that they're a bad person. It doesn't make you a bad person."

"I don't know if that applies here," they snorted and looked up at Price with wet eyes, "he's a terrorist."

"And you recognize that," Price nodded to them, his face serious. "But you can't just expect all of the memories, all of the love, all of it to just disappear. It's okay." There was a short moment that passed before they were rushing up from their chair to wrap Price up in a hug, their face buried into his shoulder.

"Thank you," they managed to mumble out. They were still conflicted. they still felt guilty. They didn't think that would be going away any time soon. But it certainly helped to have someone like Price around to provide them with a bit of comfort in times like this.

Ghost:

"You know, hiding like this won't do anything for you."

They looked up from where they were moving boxes around, just glancing at where Ghost was leaning in the doorway, watching them as they moved around the room. "I'm not hiding," they called back, turning their attention once again to the boxes they were moving.

Niether themself or Ghost spoke for several moments. They continued moving boxes around the small record room, trying to avoid Ghost's gaze as he watched them. "So," Ghost started finally, "You aren't hiding you just...decided to reorganize the record room on your off time?"

"I'm not off," They responded, still trying to avoid the conversation that Ghost clearly wanted to have.

"You're on medical leave," Ghost responded easily.

"I'm trying to stay busy."

"Boring way to keep busy." They stopped suddenly, dropping the box they'd picked up back onto the table with a huff.

They turned to glare at Ghost, leaning against the box for support, "What do you want?" They threw their hands in the air, "If you're so certain that I'm hiding, why not leave me alone?"

"Because," Ghost pushed himself off of the wall and stepped fully into the room, casually walking toward them, "We need to talk about the fact that Vladimir Makarov is your father."

They tensed at the words, their face crumpling under the gaze of Ghost's unmoving mask. It was times like this that they hated Ghost's mask, times when they wanted to be able to read what their lieutenant was thinking but couldn't because of that stupid mask. They avoided his gaze, desperate to have something other than that blank mask staring at them.

"Look at me," Ghost ordered after a long moment of tense silence. They begrudgingly listened, turning their gaze to meet Ghost's eyes through the mask. "Why didn't you tell us?"

They didn't answer at first, they just clenched their jaw and resisted the urge to look away. "Does it matter?" They finally landed on, "I figure I'm fired anyway."

"Fired?" Ghost tilted his head at them, "Why would you be fired?"

They scoffed, "My dads a terrorist that we've been actively hunting and I never said anything. If that's not grounds for firing I don't know what is."

Ghost gave a low chuckle, "I will admit, it wasn't the best choice on your part, but you aren't fired." Their entire body seemed to deflate at the words and they were quick to lean against the table for support as relief flooded through them, "Is that why you've been hiding? Because you thought you were going to be fired?"

"Wouldn't you hide too?" They glanced at Ghost out of the corner of their eye, watching him carefully as he watched them. A moment passed before Ghost was moving forward to wrap a comforting arm around their shoulders.

They were frozen at the move. It wasn't often that Ghost did anything like this, so, in the moment, it was a surprise to them. After a long tense moment they relaxed into his arms, accepting the comfort that he was trying to offer them. "Our team," Ghost spoke quietly, "We're a family, you understand that? You're family, no matter where or who you came from."

They tucked closer to Ghost's chest at the words, trying to fight back the tears stinging at their eyes. It was nice to hear those words from Ghost, to be reassured that, just because the team knew the truth, didn't meant that anything would change.

"You know we're still going to have to talk about you keeping this a secret, right?"

"I know," they spoke quietly, "I know."

Ghost gave a short nod, but didn't say anything else. He just continued to press them tight to his chest in a comforting hug.

Gaz:

"Hey, are you in here?" Gaz slowly opened the door to their room. He'd been knocking for the past minute with no response, so he'd decided the best option would be to just open the door and see if they were inside or not.

Their bedroom was dark with all of the lights in the room turned off and any of the windows blocked by heavy blackout curtains. For a brief moment, he was sure that they weren't in the room and that he'd been told wrong by Price, that disappeared when he saw the crumpled lump on their bed.

He gave a deep sigh, a small bit of amusement running through him at the sight of what was clearly his friend tucked into a ball under their sheets. "Were you ignoring me?" he asked after a moment.

"Go away," They groaned from the bed, "I don't want to talk to anyone."

"You can't just sulk in here all day," Gaz moved toward the bed and carefully lowered himself to sit next to them. He didn't try to coax them out from under the blanket, not yet. "I know that the past few days have been hard, but-"

They snorted from under the blanket, "Hard? My dad, a terrorist, kidnapped the Russian presidents daughter, allowed himself to be captured as a distraction and to taunt me and managed to get away completely free. What did I get out of it? A concussion and a scolding from Laswell and Price for not telling them anything. Hard is too light of a descriptor."

Gaz winced a bit, "At least we found the president's daughter?" His word were met with a groan and a hand shooting out to grab a pillow and smack him with it. He gave a short chuckle before leaning back against the bed, purposefully laying over their legs. "You have to understand how we feel, though, right?"

"I know," Their voice was quiet and it sounded weak to Gaz's ears. "I understand if you guys hate me. I know I shouldn't have lied."

"We don't hate you," Gaz assured quickly, "It's just shocking is all. I mean, I personally was firmly on team Makarov is definitely a virgin," he was smacked with a pillow again. Gaz gave a laugh and, even though they tried to hide it, he could feel laughter shaking their body as well. "Also you two just," he shrugged, "don't seem very similar."

"You'd be surprised," they muttered from under the sheets, "I actually take after him in a lot of ways. It's just I'm not a terrorist."

"Well," Gaz grinned, "personally I'm glad to hear that." There was another long moment of silence that sat between the two. They stayed buried under their blankets as Gaz stared up at the ceiling, trying to decide what to say. "You know we don't hate you? Right? None of us do."

They shifted under the sheets and were quiet for a long moment before responding, "Why don't you? I lied. My dad's a fucking terrorist."

"Your dad is a terrorist," Gaz agreed, "You aren't. You can't choose who you were born to. I'm sure if you could, you'd have chosen some celebrity and be living a life of luxury right now." They gave another small laugh from under the covers at those words and Gaz considered it a success. "And, well, we understand why you lied. We might not like it, but we understand. Just, uh, please tell me that your uncle isn't like...a war criminal or something?"

They gave another laugh at the words, "Don't worry, my dad is the only fucked one in the family."

"That's a relief."

The two stayed like that for several more moments. Gaz didn't move, he planned to stay as long as he needed to. As long as it took to cheer them up. After a few minutes, they slowly poked their head out from under the covers, their eyes meeting Gaz's carefully. "Thank you, for this."

"It's what friends are for," Gaz gave them a soft smile. They returned it with one of their own.

Soap:

"You really shouldn't be here," Soap's voice was filled with concern, but they ignored it and continued doing their reps, sweat dripping down their face. "Didn't the doctor say you had a concussion? The last think you should be doing is lifting heavy shit right now."

They gave a deep sigh and racked the weights they were lifting to slowly push themselves into a sitting position on the weight lifting bench. they turned to glare lightly at Soap, a sigh leaving their lips. "I need a distraction."

"There are safe ways to be distracted," Soap responded, stepping closer to them. He was in his own workout gear, likely having come to the little gym on base for his daily session.

"You're right," They responded, standing up from the bench, "I'll go to the gun range instead."

Soap snorted, "Yeah, I'm sure that will be great for the concussion too." He gave a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, watching them closely. "You know you don't have to do this, right?"

"What?" They responded, grabbing their water and towel. They had an idea of what Soap was talking about, but it really wasn't something they wanted to discuss at the moment. Really, they would probably prefer it if they never had to discuss it again.

"This," Soap motioned to them, "The training and the pushing yourself. I can see what you're doing. You should be resting." He sent them a stern look that really wasn't befitting of him.

"Alright, captain," they rolled their eyes, "I'm not doing anything. I'm just trying to find a distraction, something to pass the time. No need to look into it so much."

It was Soap's turn to roll his eyes at them, "You really think I'm going to buy that?" He gave a deep sigh and stepped forward to put his hands on their shoulders and guide them to sit back down on the weight bench, "Listen, I get that you're upset with yourself and you're blaming yourself."

"Soap-"

"But what happened wasn't your fault, okay?" Soap shook his head at him slowly, "It could have happened to any of us. And if it was any of us but you, I hate to say it but we'd probably be dead right now."

They clenched their jaw and looked away from him. "I should have known what he was doing," they tightened their fists into a ball, "I did know what he was doing and I still couldn't do anything to stop him." They looked up at Soap with harsh eyes, "What good am I to the team if I can't keep my head on straight when he's around?"

"Don't talk like that," Soap dropped into a squat in front of him, his eyes soft as he spoke, "You weren't prepared, none of us were. We all should have been paying more attention, we all should have known that something was going on." He shook his head and took one of their hands into his own, giving it a comforting squeeze, "You can't blame yourself."

"I'm," they hesitated for a moment, "I'm worried. What if he's able to get to me again? When it's more serious?" He shook his head at Soap, "I can't let that happen. I can't put you guys in danger because I can't get past my relationship with him."

"And you won't," Soap assured, "The next time we run into your father, we'll all be more prepared. You won't be alone. We'll be there to keep him from getting in your head." He gave another squeeze to their hand, "You just have to trust us."

There was a moment of silence between the two for a few moments. Finally, they nodded. "I trust you guys," their words were quiet, but they pulled a grin from Soap. "Thanks, you know, for this."

Roach:

"Course, that's what I'm here for." Soap popped up to his feet and held a hand out to help them up, "Now, come on, I say we go get something sweet and see if we can talk Gaz into letting us bully him on Mario Kart."

There was a hesitant knock on their door and they wanted to groan. They knew that it had to be another member of the team come to try to talk to them. The other members of the 141 had been trying for hours to get them to come out of their room, but they'd turned them all away. They didn't want to talk to them. They didn't want to have to explain.

"Go away!" They called, frustration eating at them.

"It's me," they recognized the voice as Roach's immediately.

"I said go away," they huffed, "tell Price that I'll come out to talk when I'm ready."

There was a quiet moment before Roach was calling, "I'm not here to talk about that, not unless you want to. I brought you food."

That caught their attention. They hadn't left their room in hours, too afraid of being cornered by the team. While it had worked great at keeping the team away, it had left them feeling terribly hungry. So the idea of food, food made by Roach especially, sounded incredible at that moment.

"Promise that you actually have food and aren't just trying to get me to open the door?" They stood from their bed and hesitantly started over, waiting for a response from Roach before actually letting him in.

"I promise," Roach called back. "I even brought dessert and drinks."

With those words they were quick to open the door and tug Roach inside, closing and locking it behind him. "Thank god, I'm starving." They were quick to grab the little bag that Roach was carrying and take off toward the small table in their room, unloading the several containers of food, drinks, and plates that Roach had packed for them. "You're a life saver."

"Yeah," Roach chuckled nervously, "Well, I may have lied a bit."

They looked up at him, betrayal on their face, "You're here to talk about my dad, aren't you?" Roach nodded slowly, an apologetic look on his face. "Traitor," They gave a sigh and collapsed into a seat at the table, "I can't believe you would use food against me like this."

"I'm sorry," Roach moved to sit next to them, "it was the only way I could think to get inside. But, hey," he slid one of the containers of food toward them, "Won't it be easier to talk about with a baked potato and steak to eat while we do it?"

They groaned a bit and took the container from him to begin loading food onto their plate. Roach was right, at least if he had to talk about it he could have some good food to go with it.

"Alright," they didn't speak until they finally had all of their food laid out and could start digging in to the meal, "Go on, ask what you need to."

"Why didn't you tell us that Makarov is your dad?" Roach spoke through eating his own food, digging into his own steak casually, as though he wasn't asking them such a loaded question.

They sighed, taking a few bites before responding, "I was worried Price would take me off of the missions. That he wouldn't let me help." There was a moment of silence where the two just ate, letting the words sit between them. "I want to help take down my father."

Roach watched them closely as he took a drink, just observing their face to try and read if what they said was the truth or not. "That's a lot," he finally landed on, "I mean...no matter what, he's your dad, right?"

"He's a terrorist," they snapped quickly.

Roach held his hands up in surrender. "I know that and I know that you know that," he clarified, "it doesn't change the fact that he's still your father." He paused for a moment before adding, "You know it's okay for this to be hard for you, right? None of us are going to judge you struggling with this. We're not going to doubt your ability to do the job."

They seemed to deflate at those words, all of the fight gone from their system. "I don't want to let you guys down."

"You aren't going to let us down," Roach's tone was serious. "You're strong, I've got faith that you can handle this. I just want to make sure that you know that you don't have to handle it. You don't have to be strong."

"I know," their voice was quiet, it was clear that Roach's words had helped a bit with the worry that seemed to be plaguing them. They'd managed to calm down enough to continue talking through the issue with Roach, venting their frustrations as they ate.

At the end of it all, they felt a million times better about everything. Roach had reassured them and talked things over with them. "That was a lot," Roach clicked the lid back on to one of the food containers, packing everything up. "I'm proud of you for talking about it."

"Thanks," they gave him a slight smile, "I feel a lot better. Thanks for listening."

Roach gave them a bright grin, "Of course, I'm always willing to listen. Now," he pulled another container from the bag and pulled the lid off, holding it out to them, "How about some cookies to make you feel even better?"

[livvy-fallen]

To add from my last post. (I'm so sorry it took so long:( I'm trying my best to get it to you guys as soon as possible)

Yandere obey me when MC goes to the past

I'm so sorry it took a while. It got deleted as my cousin was messing around and then it wouldn't save .

Warning! This fic contains: blood, yandere stuff, cannibalism and maybe dead dove no clue! But it has disturbing subjects matters

You have been warned

People say rose tinted glasses make red flags look like just normal flags... And now your wondering how many glasses you owed.

You never really thought about how the brothers habits we're.... Let's say a red flag parade.But now you wish you realized you need to disappear and put Houdini to Shame. At first it was nothing big. A few comments from Mammon. Nothing you couldn't handle.

"Hey! Don't be going out ! I'm your first you should be spending time with me!...be grateful that The great Mammon wants to spend time with ya!"

And

"Your just asking for any lower demon to just take ya! "

Then your stuff keept on going missing. It probably wasn't just that stupid, greedy demon who was doing so but he differently was in first place for it!

Then you noticed your few friends from RAD are gone... Like that really nice succubus you were friends with. She was so nice to you always there to help you with anything. You never saw again after you said you were hanging out with her to the brothers! You were the last person to see her alive. You had to hold her funeral. You could bearly keep it together at said funeral. You never cried so hard.

You still keep a picture of her and your friend group hidden in your room. You know dam well if the brothers find it.... You don't want to think about it..

Now you wish you never made that STUPID pact with him or any of them! You couldn't of even go outside without them trying to drag you back in!

Then you saw Mammon killing one of your few friends left... The way their blood dripping making a horrible wet sound as it hit the floor. The way you could see the blood drip out of his mouth! The way he had a stupid grin on his face! You saw the poor demons insides put on display.... The poor demon was still alive! And they looked so scared... You don't blame them...... The way their life was ended by one loud stomp! And you saw the blood splatter every in a certain distance. You threw up.. Like a large amount of throw up... It didn't help you saw that bastards hand grab something.... You don't want to know what. But you then... You heard a loud chomp. And him sallowing...... You saw the insides dangling out of his mouth.... The blood still dripping.. ...

It's been.... You don't even remember..... Since then...

"I'm sorry but you made me do it. Now you have a ugly scar on your once beautiful face... But I still love you!"

You still have have a scar from trying to escape amso....its not even that noticeable from far way but he won't let you live it down! You hate all of those 7 fuckers!

You tried everything! You even used your pacts.. You managed to get away for 2 weeks and back to the human realm before Lucifer found you... You don't even know how! You dyed your hair,changed your name! you changed everything... But you think the pact is way too strong of that....

You took away to many showers after you got brought back.. You still have nightmares about it but you rather die a horrible death then tell them that..you wish that you stayed dead!

So when you got brought back to the past you were actually happy... Because they don't even remember you!! Meaning no more yandere!! You gladly took that deal and ran with it..

However the brothers didn't take it so well.... You escaped their grasp and this time they have no way getting you back!

Lucifer

He is pissed. Not only did he lose his darling. That shady wizard bitch is getting to be all yours! His anger wasn't obvious at first glance due to his pride. But if you look closely you can see how he is inraged. His coal black wings were puffed out like an upset cat. Last time he was this angry he ended up with Satan. He looking for anything that can get you back. And once you do come back he's never letting you out of his sight again. If your able to walk after you go back it's a miracle. All though the Demonus companies are really thankful. They haven't seen so much profit in the start of its production! But at the same time he feels like a failure of an oldest brother. He isn't there for his baby siblings. He feels like a failure of his family. He's watching his siblings ruin themselves. He needs to be strong for them... But he just can't bare the pain of you no longer there. The pain of knowing dam well that you could be hurting and no one is there to wipe away your tears and to pick you up. Just like how you did with his family

Mammon

Oh boy... Where do I start? He is absolutely devastated! His Human, treasure his everything is gone and probably in danger! And you just want him to except that?! (Yes. Yes we do) if he can do anything he will! If Solomon comes back with a single scratch on your perfect body he is going to regret the day his mother had to give birth to him. Mammon is using EVERY connection he has to see if they can help. Before they knew you were in the past he was the first one out the door looking for you. And we all know he isn't going to make the same mistake again. I hope you enjoyed going to the bathroom alone. Because when you get back you NOT having that again. He also is picking up the slack because of Lucifer. Mammon is the second oldest and he CAN NOT deal with the image of his siblings in pain. He cares for them. So even if gets insulted, hit and hissed at by his brothers he doesn't care as long as they aren't upset as much.

Leviathan

He's not very happy. Is all I can really say? But because of his crippling self worth issues he's saying stuff like "of course they wouldn't want to be around a yucky otaku like me" and similar stuff.. It's a little depressive. But don't be fooled if you think he isn't lashing out at everything. He nearly damaged his figures in a fit of rage once. If that doesn't show how upset he is then what does? He is the general of hell's Navy so one wrong comment from a lower demon and their swimming with Lotan

Satan

Avatar of wrath so you can guess how he is dealing with this.. Not very fucking well. He has destroyed so much of the devildom it's common practice for demons to be jumping over creators just to go to school. His room is worse for wear. It looks like a war happened in there. He is reading every single book he can about this subject so he can get you back faster but every dead end only leads to a ruined building. However most of his wrath also steams from the fact he knows how he was back then. He's worried that he will hurt you. All though he harsh with punishments he isn't very found of the idea of you getting killed by his wrath

Asmo

Asmo isn't recognizable. At all. His hair is greasy from not showering or bathing for long times.. His eyes red and puffy for crying his eyes out, lips cracked from not drinking water. He spends most of his time sleeping. He didn't get how belphi could sleep all the time but now he does. All mirrors are broken in the house. He couldn't stand seeing himself in the mirror. Not only are you gone ( he thinks your scared without them and crying without them to which your definitely not. You celebrated the second you were free) but so is Solomon! And no one other then him is there for you! That Shady sorcerer.. What if you get a scar! What if you don't drink water? (The call is coming from inside the house I swear-) what if a stupid lust demon tries to take you?! Their scent on you definitely is gone by now! He has his good days though! If he realized that you could be back soon he has to look the best! So he washed his hair and everything else, did a face mask his daily routine and put a lot of chap stick on. Just in case you're back at that day! It usually lasts for a week until he gets upset.

Beelzebub

Beel is trying to keep his family together. He's trying his very best. But he just can't always do so. He's the protector of this family. He always has been but he doesn't feel like he should anymore.. After all not only did he failed to protect Lilith. He couldn't even protect you! He I'd having nightmares after nightmares about his failures of not protecting his family to the point belphegor often goes to his beloved twin's dreams to try to put a good dream in his mind. His appetite is all over the place! One day he eats everything like normal then the next day he can't actually eat anything. It worries his other siblings. Another thing is he keeps food for you just in case you're back. He has no clue if your eating correctly! Your way from the people who protect you. Your probably so scared! (Your really not-) so he keeps food he just in case for you. No one is allowed to throw it away though... So when or IF you come back ignore the moldy rotten food. You know during the early lessons while belphi was in the attic? It's like that. Demons are pact animals pretty much and beel is the biggest family man know to man. So he was destroyed and don't get me started how he feels thinking that if he was just there with you, you would be safe and there with them. You know when you called for Beelzebub in the past because of the apples he felt that but not 100% . He felt you call for him to help you. He didn't know if he actually did in the past. He has no clue if you got hurt because HE wasn't there for you. He wasn't there to pick you up and save you

Belphegor

He is PISSED to say the least. Not only did you get out if their grasp there's no guarantee that your coming back let alone safe! The one day they let you lock yourself in your room and didn't join you is the time you were taken away by someone. That is NEVER happing again. Hope you enjoyed having a door because that is coming straight off. His sleep schedule is so off wack. One day he sleeps for 23 hours and only getting up because Beel is making him eat. Beel be dammed if he loses another loved one. But the next 3 days he isn't sleeping. He is only sleeping when beel put sleeping pills in his food. Belphi is now never leaving Beel's side. Not like Beel was letting him leave longer than 30 minutes. Belphi isn't very found of the idea that your in the past for MANY reasons but one main one is because the simple fact. You went to the past where Lilith's death was fresh. His hate for humans were so strong. He already killed you once he doesn't want to lose you again.

While all this is happening your living the life that the brothers ripped away from you. So when your looking for books about Nightbringer and when Mammon freaks out... All you get are flashbacks. You feel the pain of the brothers keeping your away from everything and everyone. The pain of knowing if you left the family alone you wouldn't of been hurting... You wouldn't of had to buried your friends bodies... You wouldn't of had to cry at a locked door begging to be let out. Only for an hour in the human realm... You missed your family... All that comes back and you can't hold it anymore. You sob your eyes out. Your crying on the floor as everyone fights... Because you know if you stay any longer it will happen again.. "To hell to this family! FUCK THIS FAMILY! LET THEM DEAL WITH THEIR OWN SHIT!" Is what your mind is yelling at you as you hold your arm. This family will be the death of you... Not like they will let you die...

[geniarts]

BillFord is canon

This was the title of a post I made on my previous tumblr account 6 years ago (acc was banned for unknown reason and I can't see my posts). Now, with the kind help of @decaying-dimension who gave me HD scans of the Book of Bill pages, I want to make a new summary of the subject.

You know, a month ago I was really surprised to see all those BillFord posts. Like people only realized it just recently even though there were plenty of hints in the series and especially in Journal 3. Back then, when I tried to say something about Bill and Ford relations, I got only hate and accusations. So now I feel a sense of triumph as all my thoughts were correct. Now let's see why we can say BillFord is in fact a canon.

Ford's feelings. Well, this point is so obvious that I'm really amused some people still can't take it right and keep talking about abuse, manipulations, etc. Yes, Bill used Ford to achieve his goal and then broke his heart, but those two years before his betrayal were the happiest years of Ford's life.

Ever since his childhood, Ford was teased for his fingers and had such deep communication issues that he gladly moved to a secluded place in the woods. He wished to someday become famous and show all his abusers that they were wrong. He wanted to be a hero, not a freak. He needed attention, admiration, recognition, and Bill gave him just that.

Ford called himself a Cipherholic, and that he was. Just think about a guy who turned his own house into a shrine. He was so obsessed with Bill that he collected every Bill artifact he could find, and in addition, surrounded himself with glass pyramids and dozens of hand drawn portraits all around his study.

Some people said that this wasn't a romantic feeling, just a religious one, but you know what? If you don't love someone with all your heart, you wouldn't be eager to see him in your dreams, you wouldn't reflect about the complex fates that brought you and him together, you wouldn't choose him over your only loyal friend. (Speaking of fate, in the Book of Bill there's a picture of baby Ford reaching for a yellow triangle as a sign that their destinies will be tied together) My, Ford even saw Bill's image in the stars! This was the most romantic thing in the whole Journal 3.

Ford trusted Bill so much he let him into his body and mind, and this is the highest level of trust a man could ever give. Bill was his beloved Muse, his sunshine, the center of his life, and he didn't want to hear anything bad about him. Ford ignored all the warnings like some blind lover and even kicked Fiddleford because he trusted Bill more than his old friend.

So now we clearly see that Ford didn't consider Bill just some kind of deity, but his partner, his closest friend, his beloved.

I won't speculate if there was something between them during "karaoke night" as I'm sure in this case Ford wouldn't behave the same way he always did (or maybe he just forgot the ending of that night :)) but the whole picture of them drinking together and the excitement Ford felt at that moment... well I'm sure he wouldn't mind if "one thing led to another" to its peak ;)

Bill's betrayal wounded Ford very badly and I can understand why he vowed to take revenge on him. He spent 30 years seeking information about Bill and building a weapon capable of destroying him, so we can say the most part of his life was dedicated to Bill in one way or another. Even now that he's reunited with his family, he can't get rid of his thoughts about Bill, and I doubt he will ever be able to.

Bill's feelings aren't so obvious as he's a hardened liar and pretender. That's why most people saw only one side of his personality, but even 6 years ago there were some hints of his inner thoughts and motives. The Axolotl said Bill was pretending to be happy, but deep inside he missed his home that he couldn't even return to. Hirsch also said that he used the concept of Flatland (a book written by Edwin Abbott) where triangles were one of the lowest classes, so this was another reason for Bill to seek power and to show others they were wrong about him (just like Ford).

Now in the Book of Bill we clearly see him having issues after destroying his home dimension. Even though he tries to deny his guilt, these thoughts are torturing him, and "the ghosts of his family are haunting him still” (a code from TBOB). He even called himself a monster while talking to Ford! There's no way such an egomaniac would call himself that if he didn't realize he deserved this. After his break up with Ford, he went to the bar to get drunk and forget, but he couldn't. He said Ford was his pawn, but in fact, Bill needed Ford more than Ford needed him.

After losing his home Bill didn't find a place where he could be happy again. He gathered some interdimensional scum around him and tried to numb his pain by torturing and abusing inhabitants in other worlds. He spent trillions of years doing this, but he still didn't get what he wanted - to be needed, to be loved. And he got all of this from Ford.

Ford's sincere adoration and devotion made Bill feel something new, something so important and necessary, but also something he didn't know how to deal with. He was scared, he never thought that he was able to make such a deep connection to another person... to a _mortal_ one. His phrase "handcuffing your happiness to a mortal is like gluing yourself to a time bomb ‘till death do us part’” is the saddest thing in the whole book. Bill tried to convince himself that their breakup was the right thing because these thoughts were really unbearable for him.

But despite all of this, he tried so hard to get Ford back. He invited him twice, and the first one was right after Ford's attempt to kill him. Moreover, it was during that moment Bill was sure he became the ruler of Earth and didn't need Ford's assistance anymore, so he asked him to join just because he wanted Ford to be with him.

What he didn't understand was that Ford hated him for all the pain he caused him and his family. For Bill it was just entertainment, so he couldn't understand why Ford was so upset. But I think there's a potential opportunity for both of them if Bill finally finds courage to admit his mistakes and to improve himself. He just has to look deeper inside himself and allow his remorse, his pain and his true wishes to take place in his soul. And I'm sure if he sincerely asks for help, Ford wouldn't turn his back on him.

[guapoduoshipper]

q!Cellbit has already noticed that something is off. But that doesn't mean he's falling out of love with q!Roier, let's try to see things from his perspective because then we'll notice that this is not what is happening:

q!Cellbit returned from purgatory, after which he himself said he had been fighting and killing to survive, every day the same thing, for weeks, months? he doesn't know. He lost track of time, time is a spiral, it seemed like an eternity but in the blink of an eye, he was back. Everything is still confusing and he doesn't remember things well, so after returning from almost hell he finally meets his husband again, smiling, happy? q!Roier knows how to hide his pain very well behind a smile, so after asking how he is and explaining that the choice to stay in purgatory was made because he thought that q!Roier would be better off away from him... he has a confirmation of this ?

This specific scene has a lot to analyze, first when q!Cellbit says he felt saudade [the strong feeling of missing, longing for someone or something] of q!Roier and apologize, he makes a joke and says "You left me alone culero", probably Doied thought that would be the most appropriate and safest reaction to fake being q!Roier, right? Maybe that would be correct if it weren't about such a serious situation that lasted so long, because we know that q!Roier told Richas that he felt like he was just existing, he was preparing a plan and doing everything to find his husband so that would definitely not be the appropriate reaction that q!Roier would have to this situation. Then q!Cellbit says "I thought you'd be better off without me and you..." at this moment his voice breaks, despite believing in what he's saying he doesn't want it to be real. "You're okay, aren't you?" it's as if you can perfectly feel the mix of sadness and fear that q!Cellbit's voice transmitted when saying this. "Yes, I'm fine! I'm feeling good, I'm feeling new!" - "See? Maybe that was the best thing to do" the confirmation that q!Cellbit was terrified of having, his sad tone of voice when he said that maybe being away from him was what brought the joy back to q!Roier it's heartbreaking. But q!Roier [Doied] doesn't seem to want to talk about these things for long, changing the subject, speaking only superficially or just going somewhere else.

Doied once again seems to have understood well how q!Roier works most of the time and with most people, but that's not all he is, that's not the essence of q!Roier. Doied cannot fake the deeper layers that make up q!Roier's existence, he becomes just a puppet with ready-made lines and repeated actions. And maybe that's why in a way he's also avoiding deep talks with q!Cellbit because if there's anyone capable of noticing that something isn't right with his husband, it's q!Cellbit... and that's exactly what's happening. Doied needs to divert topics and tries to move away because if he spends more time around him, the facade will become too obvious and this was shown to be true after two big things that Doied failed to replicate, the aspects of q!Roier's personality, and q!Cellbit noticed.

1- q!Roier would never attack q!Cellbit to hurt him. They already had a pvp fight, in which q!Roier lied about the result to make q!Cellbit feel better, they give each other shoulder pushes, light slaps on each other's arms and are very close physically, always talking close and with physical contact, they are known for always having their foreheads together when talking and this hasn't happened even once yet. During purgatory q!Roier really refused to kill q!Cellbit, constantly nodding his head to say no and stopping attacking but when he killed q!Cellbit, it was something that was soon explained as it was part of the event and it wasn't "real deaths" since things remained with them after they died, but even so, after this event q!Roier stopped smiling and demonstrated how much that affected him. There's even a moment that could almost be a parallel, in one of the days of purgatory, q!Roier had a very strong sword and asked q!Cellbit if he wanted it to be tested on him, this time q!Roier [Doied] simply started attacking q!Cellbit without even saying anything, and after q!Cellbit got very confused and said "Well... if that makes you happy", Doied chooses the safer answer "It's just a joke!"

2- q!Roier is extremely protective of his family. Upon seeing Pepito and Richas fighting a boss and q!Cellbit asking for help, Doied was just making jokes and took a while to actually try to help, something that q!Roier would never do, he would be the first to ask them to stay away and would be fighting to protect them.

So with everything that's happening now, what is q!Cellbit feeling and thinking? It's necessary to keep in mind that the key issue in all of this is something that is impossible for q!Cellbit to discover on its own. He doesn't even know about Doied's existence, q!Roier doesn't remember anything about his past and nothing was ever said about body swap, despite knowing that the federation carries out absurd tests and experiments, nothing like that had ever happened. However, there is something similar that may be considered in the future, the existence of something like q!Quackity and ElQuackity, perhaps at some point q!Cellbit will begin to suspect that perhaps this is not his husband because no matter how much he hates himself and has a very low self esteem, by now he must be confused as to why his husband is acting like this, but the love he feels for q!Roier is something that saved him, so it is strong enough to survive everything. I keep asking myself, what will happen when he discovers that the person in front of him has the same smile, the same eyes, the same body but the soul is not the same, that's not his soulmate.

[justalittleratman]

idea: instead of afab and amab, we could say cisfem-perceived and cismasc-perceived?

I've been meaning to talk about cisperception for a while, which is a term i made up to talk about the differences in experiences by people who are visibly trans, and people who are perceived as cis (regardless of if they are or not) and i just thought it could maybe be used in this way also

are there any obvious reasons for this to be a bad idea that I'm missing? /gen

more explanations and elaborations on the terms below :3 (quite long)

.

cisfem-perceived would mean a person that is perceived as a cisfeminine person (going away from female/woman to include intersex people that are not necessarily perceived as women but are still perceived as fem, as well as removing any mention or reference to sex and focusing on gender instead), meaning that their gender expression is perceived as being the gender expression of a cisfem person.

in discussions about trans non-binary people, I've seen a lot of reluctance from trans *binary* people to call those who are not visibly trans, trans, because there is a difference in experience between trans people who are visibly trans, and those who "pass" as cis. specifically trans non-binary people whose gender expressions aren't androgynous and conform to binary gender norms. i felt the need to use a new term because the language used to discuss the differences in experiences would often be transphobic or could be perceived as transphobic. i wanted a way to talk about it with language that wouldn't imply or give the impression that cisperceived trans people are not trans enough to be considered trans. because they ARE trans. i also wanted to move away from "passing" in my language because it's very unclear, subjective, etc. I think using language around perception shifts the focus on how people view us and *their* perception, rather than if we have achieved something arbitrary in our transition such as "passing" or not. (if this is unclear i can elaborate)

i think it's important to note differences in experience because the transphobia that cisperceived trans people and transperceived trans people are subjected to is very different. (not trans enough vs too trans) ((i can elaborate if wanted/needed but i think we're all aware of the different forms transphobia can take and how gender expression modifies what types we're subjected to))

.

examples :

non-binary person whose gender expression aligns with cisfem gender expression: cisfem-perceived

non-binary person whose gender expression is gender non conforming: trans-perceived/gnc-perceived and/or anything else that the person feels is accurate for them

transfem person who has not started transitioning yet: cismasc-perceived

intersex person whose gender expression aligns with cisfem gender expression: cisfem-perceived

intersex person whose gender expression is ambiguous, gender non-conforming, etc : trans-perceived, enby-perceived , intersex-perceived (this term would be exclusive to intersex people) , and/or anything else they feel is accurate to them

transmasc person who has started transitioning and is visibly trans : trans-perceived / transmasc-perceived / queer-perceived, etc

transfem person whose gender expression doesn't conform to fem conformity : trans-perceived / transfem-perceived or even cismasc-perceived when talking about contexts in which they are treated like other cismasc people (example: exclusion from "everything but men" spaces), etc

pls let me know if you have questions/need me to elaborate <33

also feel free to point out if anything i said is insensitive, incorrect, transphobic, intersexphobic, etc /gen /nf

[snailyman]

surprised that i havent seen any posts about how the rescue base camp is Autism Central

so many of the castaways have fun little quirks and they are Very Normal about their interests, hence why they dropped everything to go to a mystery planet in the hopes of discovering things about their Specific Field Of Study

Outside of just listing every castaway's special interest, specific highlights are:

Bernard - Has a distinct speaking style that implies poor volume control. Seems to not pick up on social cues (entirely unaware that Santi doesn't like him), might be poor at communicating tone himself. Invented a meal-in-a-cup one time, and is also a picky eater, so he probably has sensory issues.

Pitunia - I'm certain that at one point, she only gave me one (1) line (she started telling me more about her Onion Theories later on), telling me to go away so she could study the onion.

Komo - Makes comments about being bad at conversation and making eye contact - her dialogue is written with a pretty flat/monotone tone of voice. Talks a lot about her study of water. Not Even Subtle.

Twyla - Talks about being overwhelmed by the environment. Seems to prefer theory to practical work, mostly because she hates to get dirty.

Kit - Loves to talk about geology!! Uses cute themed terms like "oh pebbles". Needs to be super thorough and exhaustive with his papers, so he submits them a bit slowly... he also frequently apologises for when he starts to infodump :(

François - He wants to be friends with plants.......... the trait of, like, relating to/preferring the company of non-human things......

Sheeba - Is very dedicated when she decides to do something, and seems to be pretty insistent on doing things the way she thinks is correct, sometimes to the point of (self-perceived) pushiness.

Keesh - Infodumps about geology to Kaia. Likes planning and scheduling, and struggles when her plans are disrupted. Enjoys Kaia's company while "quietly working"/not really interacting (parallel play type behaviour).

Chowder - So absorbed in his real-estate work, he rushes into dangerous locales, and works through the entire night, but misses social cues (expected his other workers to have the same work ethic until he was informed otherwise).

Molly - Uses personal language that doesn't have an obvious meaning (describes things as POPping a lot), makes "weird" content but doesn't get why it's perceived that way. Seems to follow trends without entirely understanding them.

Beaux - Super dedicated to acting. Needs real life experience to fully get into a role - maybe either a perfectionism thing (he needs to get every detail right), or that he struggles to imagine things.

Grace - Speaks in her own whimsical way. Mentions not doing well with noisy environments. Much prefers to be in her own environment in space.

Horatio - I dunno it's just vibes.

Bonus ADHD haver Kaia - spaces out frequently, forgets tasks and struggles to work on things long-term, has poor impulse control, struggles with planning ahead and with studying more complex subjects.

i wonder what else other players might have picked up on :)

[chopshajen]

~ The Trickster Cat ~ Compelling, Enigmatic, Condescending ~

I said a bit ago that I had a Kooza/Cats crossover in mind and even if it was cursed I would draw it anyways, and here it is now, surprisingly uncursed, or at least, surprisingly satisfactory! I'll have to do some dance poses sooner or later but I'm happy with this as a start :3

I tried to keep the design true to both sources of inspiration. Some thoughts on the design under the cut:

There are some elements of the Trickster's design that translate pretty well to stage!Cats costumes, namely the smooth-limb effect of the Trickster's extra-long sleeves and flared pant legs compared with the Cats arm/legwarmers. It's something I really like about the traditional Cats costumes (and a big part of why Cats 2019's designs don't work)* and something I REALLY like about the Trickster's outfits, so it's great for me.

*For further expansion on the subject, @missing-sock-misto has a great breakdown of the Cats costumes here. The relevant part is this:

They help shape the limbs and invoke the feeling of fluff. Human limbs taper, especially at the joints: wrists, elbows, knees, ankles. The arm and leg warmers help cover this, because they’re thick, making them more like cat limbs, which are functionally tubes.

It's one of the first elements I noticed when I first watched the Cats stage show, and when started interrogating myself as to why I liked the designs so much, I realized its importance in "evoking felinity", as azerairis and missing-sock put it. There are a lot of Cats adaptations that, for some godsforsaken reason, get rid of the arm and leg warmers, and it's almost always a mistake. We're trying to make them look like cute cats, not like painted humans.

For the Trickster, why they have long sleeves and flared pant legs may not be as obvious, but they do still serve a visual purpose. They make the Trickster appear that much more ethereal and otherworldly. Everything about them is smooth and continuous - legs flowing into feet, stripes swirling uninterrupted across their body, movement lithe and serpentine - and that makes them seem inhuman, especially when put in contrast with the stick-like, stumbling, uncertain Innocent.

Other more minor elements also translate pretty well. For instance, the Trickster's makeup is already very exaggerated, as is their "hairline" (hat...line?), in a way that doesn't look out of place in Cats. They have stripes on their face, monochrome eyes, and the :3 kitty mouth. The stripes on their body were easy to translate as well. Honestly I didn't have to think over it as much as I expected LOL Except for the wig. Don't ask me how that works. I do think this design is maybe...too simplistic? Like I maybe could've incorporated some of the suit elements of their costume, cuz the Trickster does look kind of odd without their tie. But I wasn't going to give them a collar because pfffftbl lmao could you imagine. Maybe they could have something Skimbleshanks-esque for a top with some formality to it, though I'm not sure putting human clothes on a cat version of an unknowable trickster god person makes sense either LOL