#bitch finally has one

[nebulous-library]

Nebulous-Library Masterlist ✨

MY AO3 - All of my works are posted ONLY either here (on my main blog in some cases) or on my AO3 account. Nowhere else has permission to post or use them. Do not feed my work to robots. I can’t enforce that, I know, but like, I work really hard on this stuff and it would make me sad.

This masterlist is organized in two parts: 

Things that have the utmost brainrot at the current point in time.

Everything else, organized alphabetically by series.

Read more below!

Relatively current obsessions -

TOKYO REVENGERS

Hajime Kokonoi (Koko)

Better Together (Koko x Reader x Inupi)

my thoughts will echo your name until i see you again (NSFW - dark content, not porn)

Seishu Inui (Inupi)

Better Together (Koko x Reader x Inupi)

Misc. headcanons, musings, imagines

little acts of intimacy - how they like to be touched (misc. characters)

what their kisses are like (misc. characters)

what they sound like when they cum (misc. characters)

how they fall in love (misc. characters)

Baji with a crush (HC)

SPIDER-VERSE -

Lyla 

the one where lyla gets a physical body (HCs)

UPCOMING - Untitled work (Hologran!Lyla x Reader)

Miguel O’Hara

UPCOMING - Untitled work (Dr. Olivia Octavius x Reader, Miguel O’Hara x Reader)

Dr. Olivia Octavius 

UPCOMING - Untitled work (Dr. Olivia Octavius x Reader, Miguel O’Hara x Reader)

Peter B. Parker x Bagel (feat. Reader)

Fifty Shades of Grain (NSFW) - Peter's love of carbs goes a little too far when he finds himself alone in his apartment one morning, fantasizing about his cute neighbor and not having anything better to satisfy his cravings than the bagel from the coffee shop. Whilst getting jiggy with this bagel, Peter manages to find himself in a little bit of a predicament only said neighbor can help him get out of.

BUNGO STRAY DOGS

Chuuya Nakahara

wine & dine (NSFW) - When your plans for Chuuya’s birthday go awry, he keeps himself busy with a nice bottle of wine. However, when you arrive later that evening, you find that the wine has caused certain complications for Chuuya. No matter — he’s going to have a birthday feast one way or another.

wine & dine - the bonus chapter (NSFW) - The unplanned follow-up in which Chuuya finally gets to smash

Sigma

mile high club (NSFW) - Sigma didn’t think his first sexual encounter would be with his assistant manager at the Sky Casino. But things don’t always go as planned, do they?

Everything else, alphabetical by source material

AVATAR: THE LAST ARIBENDER -

Zuko 

Like a Moth to the Flame (NSFW) - You are with the Gaang at Zuko's family's abandoned vacation home on Ember Island. Sozin's Comet is due to return in three days' time. The entire squad is stressed, especially Zuko. You approach him that evening in an attempt to help him alleviate some of his tension.

DEMON SLAYER -

Headcanons, musings, imagines

Being romantically/sexually involved with Kagaya Ubayashiki [part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3]

Douma + breeding kink, kind of (HC)

Eggplant HCs [part 1] -  [part 2]

DRAGON PRINCE -

Araavos 

Milky Way (NSFW) - Whilst sneaking about where you shouldn't, you discovered the mirror from Viren's study down in an empty dungeon chamber. As captivating as such a relic as the mirror was, it was nowhere near as captivating as that which you saw in the glass.

Runaan 

Bound (NSFW) - You didn't mean to start semi-regularly having sex with the leader of one of the most notorious moonshadow elf assassin groups. But it happened, and now after having not seen him in months, he is being held captive in essentially the basement of your place of employment. You decide to pay him a friendly visit.

A Nocturnal Affair (NSFW) -  Night has fallen in Katolis, and what a beautiful night it is. Beautiful, but lonesome. Your chambers at the palace were lovely, but so very empty. Perhaps a sneaky late-night visit from a certain lover of yours can do something about that.

Xadian Nights - Your relationship with Runaan has come to the point where you can no longer stand the sneaking around and the secrecy. Neither of you wants this to be all it is for the rest of your life. After what had started as wistful daydreaming of what your lives might be like under other circumstances, you decide you're going to do it. You are going to flee to Xadia. With Runaan by your side, you venture off on a life-changing journey. [prologue] -  [chapter 1] - [chapter 2] - [chapter 3]

HAIKYUU -

Oikawa Tooru 

The “Oikawa Has A Bedroom Full Of Mirror, Particularly On The Ceiling, And 100% Gets Off On His Own Reflection” saga (NSFW, drabbles/HCs) - [drabble 1] - [drabble 2] - [HC 1] - [HC 2] - [bonus]

Oikawa has both a praise kink AND a degradation kink (NSFW, HCs)

JUJUTSU KAISEN -

Kokichi Muta

Bringing him presents (HC)

Developing a relationship with him (drabble)

Going on dates with him if/when his body gets restored (drabbles) - [part 1] - [part 2]

Suguru Geto

Character Analysis Hours - [part 1] - [part 2]

High school Suguru + his piercings (HC)

Subby Suguru thoughts 

Misc. poly w/ SatoSugu thoughts [part 1] - [part 2]

Satoru Gojo

His sense of humor (HC)

Misc. poly w/ SatoSugu thoughts [part 1] - [part 2]

Kento Nanami

What flirting with him is like (HC)

Mahito

Learning how to speak like a person (HC)

SK8 THE INFINITY - 

Kaoru Sakurayashiki (Cherry Blossom)

what they’re like in bed (part 1)

Cherry/Joe/Adam cockblocking each other

Kojiro Nanjo (Joe)

what they’re like in bed (part 1)

Miscellaneous HCs (NSFW)

Cherry/Joe/Adam cockblocking each other

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam)

Adam’s shotgunning kink (NSFW, imagine)

what they’re like in bed (part 2 - the Adam-centric sequel)

Cherry/Joe/Adam cockblocking each other

Hiromi Higa (Shadow)

what they’re like in bed (part 1)

SPIDER-VERSE - 

Peter B. Parker x Bagel (feat. Reader) 

Fifty Shades of Grain (NSFW) - Peter's love of carbs goes a little too far when he finds himself alone in his apartment one morning, fantasizing about his cute neighbor and not having anything better to satisfy his cravings than the bagel from the coffee shop. Whilst getting jiggy with this bagel, Peter manages to find himself in a little bit of a predicament only said neighbor can help him get out of.

VOLTRON: LEGENDARY DEFENDER -

Takashi Shriogane

Missing Pieces series - A pre-VLD series in which you, Shiro’s partner, are coping with losing him to the Kerberos mission.

Part one - Let Me Call You Sweetheart (SFW) - You and Shiro had just moved into your new place shortly before he left. Now everything just feels empty without him.

Part two - The Moon and Back (SFW) - Keith comes to check on how you’re doing.

Part three - Stay with Me (NSFW) - Keith’s comforting goes a step too far

Part four - Just One Yesterday (SFW) - A glimpse into the development of your relationship with Shiro when you were both eager young Garrison students

Part five - Somewhere Only We Know (NSFW) - A bittersweet reunion between you and Shiro after his alleged disappearance on the Kerberos mission.  

Part six - The Impossible Year (SFW) -  [chapter 1] - [chapter 2] - It's been almost a year since the Kerberos mission, since you thought you'd lost the love of your life forever. But a fire is brewing within your soul. Despite your previous beliefs, you no longer can sit idly by and accept what the Garrison has told you about the disappearance of the crew on that mission. You need answers. And it's about time you find your missing pieces 

[thresholdbb]

I'm a Kai Winn apologist but not because I think she's a good person. She's a compelling tragic character

[dizzybizz]

how long since the last magma dump

[trappedinafantasy37]

Minthara is a paladin of her word. She does not make promises, she makes vows. She makes oaths. Even as an oathbreaker, she heavily adheres to the tenants of it. Being an oathbreaker just gives her more flexibility and freedom to fulfill the oaths she makes. She never breaks a promise and she never breaks a vow, and when she says she's going to do something she is going to do it.

So when she says she will go to Avernus with or without Karlach, she means it. She will personally throw hands with Zariel, and the only thing that will stop her is Zariel's death, or her own. And it is one thing if Karlach does go with her, but a whole other thing if Karlach dies on that pier.

Not only will Minthara be grieving, she will be wrathful. And she's going to channel that wrath to the front to avoid feeling the grief (cause she doesn't always approach her emotions in the healthiest way). And she's going to take some of Karlach's rage and Karlach's fury with her. She will kill any demon or devil that gets in her way. There will be no distractions, unless the side quest gets her closer to Zariel or increases her chances in the fights to come.

Minthara is not doing this for power, she is not doing this for glory, she does not care for a crown or a throne. She is down there in Avernus to avenge the love that burned out too soon.

[compaculaaa]

some kids tend to be little "escape artists" when they're little, as was i

were any of the little sparks escape artists or got out a lot?

AT: you three were ruthless with your escapades ＿|￣|○

OP : well to give me the benefit of the doubt, Sentinel made us do it (^^;;)

[tev-the-random]

"Aw man, what are they gonna do with Shadow now that he got his closure with Maria's wish and everything? What sort of story can he possibly have after that?"

*points frantically at Sonic 06*

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

The Fear of Being Forgotten

Ok, it’s time I talk about Pomni.

That’s right I’m doing another character analysis! Really it’s more of an analysis of episode 2 from her perspective, but I have a lot feelings about how they are handling her character so far.

I know we’re only on episode 2 and I don’t want to get ahead of myself so I’m gonna be keeping my speculations about this character to a minimum and focus only on what the show and Gooseworx has given us so far.

So I think everyone and their cat knows by now that Pomni’s name roughly translates to "Remember". Of course the irony being that it’s a name that was randomly given to her in the Pilot to replace the one she doesn’t remember.

So in a very meta sense, Pomni’s name is a joke, one that’s given at her expense.

Now, her entire motivation in the Pilot was centered around escaping this new reality that she suddenly finds herself in. And for the first half she’s kinda in denial, using the “dream” excuse as a flimsy way to rationalize everything, but still remains vigilant in finding a way out of this “dream”. So when Caine asks her what she wants to be called she tells him “I don’t care just pick anything.”, because she’s still convinced that what’s happening to her is reversible in some way. So what does it matter what she’s called in this new fictional place?

But in the end, it dawns on her that she is, in fact, trapped. No waking up, and no getting out. The Circus is her new home. And "Pomni" is now her new name. Whether she likes it or not, this is her life.

It really adds to the identity crisis of these characters that they know who they were but they just don’t know who they are. They don’t have full on amnesia when they enter the Circus, they just lose their identities (their names AND their physical appearance). And since it’s just their names that they completely forgot, that makes this scene

far more eerie.

Because just imagine how weird it is to suddenly find yourself looking at a face that is not yours. You know what you’re supposed to look like but your reflection is not showing that. Brain cannot compute.

(Actually I’m sure there are lots who relate to that specific feeling.)

So we know that these characters cannot “die”. They can get squashed, stretched, stabbed and suffer all other manners of bodily harms via cartoony physics without any lasting consequence because their bodies aren’t real. Their minds are the only part of themselves that is. Which is why Abstraction is the only major threat to be feared in the Circus . It’s the threat, because at that point, they lose what little else is left.

I love the different abstracted designs that fans have come up with, but this makes a lot more sense. You are no longer you when you abstract. And it’s irreparable. A broken mind creating a broken body. Caine, being an A.I., treats the abstracted like they’re just a whoopsie, sweeping them away in his cellar to be ignored. They are no longer considered characters. They’re arguably not human anymore either.

After they abstract, they’re nothing.

So the opening for episode 2 establishes Pomni’s fear of this right out the gate.

She’s not just trapped, she’s in danger of completely losing herself in this place. But this little scene does so much more than that. Because the choice in dialogue here is sooo interesting.

Pomni’s dream/ nightmare interpretation of Ragatha is someone who is mocking her for not being able to handle living in the Circus for more than a single day. Ragatha has managed to at least maintain this facade of cheerfulness, and everyone else has survived for years in spite of it all, yet here Pomni imagines that her mental health is so fragile that she couldn’t even last very long before suffering the same fate as Kaufmo.

And then we have NightmareJax chiming in about how he can’t even be bothered to remember her name, the new fake name that she’s had for only a few hours.

So this tells us two very important things about Pomni already. 1: She has very very little faith in herself and 2: She’s terrified of being completely forgotten. Both pretty reasonable and relatable fears.

Of course, we know this is just a dream cuz Ragatha wouldn’t be this callous. And we see this not a minute later after Pomni wakes up when she personally comes to check up on her immediately the next morning. With none of the quiet awkward tension from the day before, just normal awkwardness because Ragatha is too gay to function still trying too hard to make Pomni feel at home.

Now, I love Ragatha very much. I love her because she’s such a sweet person while being absolutely TERRIBLE about consoling people.

She speaks to Pomni but she doesn’t talk to her about what happened the other day. And this distinction is very important because what happened the other day was awful in many ways for both of them, and one of the first things she says to Pomni is

You can’t do this. You can’t undermine a traumatic event by calling it something like this. Pomni lost her home, her name, and her hopes of escape all in one day. Not to mention she has witnessed someone becoming a monster, getting seriously hurt, and being shoved down a hole with no regards to who they used to be. Nobody has really addressed her directly about all of that until now. And it was all condensed in one silly little word. (I love how this frame shows how Ragatha is fully aware that what she just said was BS)

And when someone tries telling you that what happened wasn’t so bad (when it obviously was) it makes you feel…shitty. More specifically, it makes it look like you were not personally capable of handling the bad thing that happened.

“You’re feeling bad not because the situation was bad, but because you are lesser for letting the situation affect you the way it did”

We already know Pomni thinks very little of herself for believing that abstraction will happen easily for her compared to the others, so hearing this definitely didn’t help.

To Ragatha’s credit, she tries to reassure her that there is no ill will between them by affirming that Pomni’s thought process for abandoning her was “understandable”. But it unfortunately comes off as a little passive aggressive. We know Ragatha is being sincere, because we as the audience have the benefit of hindsight, but Pomni doesn’t. “Understandable” does not mean “acceptable”. Jax’s destructive behavior towards the others and everything else in the Circus is “understandable”.

Abandoning Ragatha a second time after promising to come back to help her was not ok. Did it make sense in the moment, yeah. Was it still kind of a dick move, yup. And Pomni is very well aware of this. So it’s likely she doesn’t 100% believe Ragatha when she says shit like “there’s no hard feelings” nor can she think of her as a friend (yet) because she’s still not ok with her situation. She’s not terrified anymore and she’s past the bargaining phase that there’s still a chance for escape, now she’s just more or less resigned to it (and only after one day which is remarkable).

What also doesn’t help is that for the majority of the episode Ragatha’s attitude comes off as a bit patronizing.

So. Yeah. She wouldn’t appreciate this level of infantilization from someone she had previously dreamed was making fun of her.

What’s sad is that Ragatha’s not acting like this to be deliberately condescending towards Pomni. She really is just this into the adventures.

Bless her heart

Unfortunately, Pomni’s not having any of it because it’s gotta be kinda disheartening to know that your new eternal life just amounts to playing make believe with a bunch of maladjusted adults.

One of my favorite scenes that I haven’t seen a lot of people talk about is this one

Because I caught how she didn’t start looking away all irritated until Ragatha said “some way you could help”. Now I interpreted her reaction in two ways: Either she really doesn’t feel like getting involved in the adventure and is frustrated that Ragatha is still trying to push her to participate or (my personal favorite read on it) she thinks Ragatha is subtly rubbing it in her face how useless she was at trying to help her the day before.

Remember, Pomni actually went to a lot of effort to find Caine before she saw the “Exit” door. We don’t know for sure how long she spent looking for help, but it was a valiant effort on her part to explore the Tent on her own, only to fail at the end. Both at helping and not finding a way to leave.

She is two for two on the girlfailure checklist. And I’d imagine her self esteem would continue to decline with every little reminder that anything she tries to help herself or anyone else is futile.

Which is why her conversation with Gummigoo becomes such a turning point for her. It also shows how much better Pomni is at talking to others by allowing herself to be vulnerable.

She doesn’t try to make what Gummigoo is going through a lesser deal than it is. I also think the purpose of Gummigoo as a character was to be a sort of parallel narrative to Pomni.

The extreme wide shot of them sitting together under the map of his fake world makes them both look so small and inconsequential. And then it pulls back into a full shot of them with Pomni trying to convince Gummigoo that he does have value because he has people that he cares about and that care about him. (It won’t be until the very end where Pomni realizes that she’s in the same position as he is).

Gummigoo makes the argument of why should any of that matter when he, as an NPC, doesn’t have the luxury of having what little he has (his friends and his affection for them) when it will all go away as soon as the adventure ends. He was only designed for a single purpose, and that purpose ends with being forgotten.

Now we already know how Pomni feels about that, so she gives him what she’s been wanting: a way out.

She offers him a chance to be something more than what he was designed to do, where the fear of being forgotten doesn’t have to come into fruition (at least not in the way he would have to worry about)

And then he asks her the very fair question of why does she even bother helping him if he’s not even real, and her answer helps to further establish Pomni’s overall character. It’s not just a short term goal like wanting to find a way out of the Circus, it’s her defining motivation that will encompass her arc for the rest of the series.

Even in the Pilot, she proved to be a compassionate person when she chose to help Ragatha (both in offering her hand the first time and choosing to go back for her later). So I imagine she will start to actively be there for the other cast members once she grows more comfortable with them. Pomni has the benefit of being the newest addition to the Circus so she’s able to look at the others more critically by just passively observing them. Then calling them out on their behavior, not out of malice, but out of altruistic concern. These people have issues, she may not be able to fix them, but she’ll be willing to listen.

(This might be nothing, but a little detail I noticed after Gummigoo agrees to go with her is that she asks him for his name (and it’s also the first time we ever hear it in the episode itself) but he doesn’t ask for hers. In fact, he doesn’t call Pomni by name at all in the episode. Which could have an indication of some serious death flags. Again, I could be wrong about this and I’m giving it way more significance than it deserves. Just a stray thought.)

Anyway, Gummigoo gives Pomni the lead to get them both out and it’s telling how little she believes in herself the way she keeps downplaying her own ideas.

Because up until this point, Pomni has felt rather useless. So in her mind, the chances of something going right for once were slim. That’s why when her plan works as intended and manages to save not just herself but her new friend as well, she visibly starts to feel better. She’s actually smiling, she’s a lot friendlier towards Ragatha, and begins to act like living in the Circus might not be so bad.

…yeah…about that.

I think we are all in agreement that Pomni is a girlfailure. And she is, but not in the way we’ve come to understand it.

What I mean is that Pomni fails. A lot. Not because she’s an anxious mess or due to general incompetence, but because the narrative consistently prevents her from winning.

She tried to get Ragatha help -> Caine was nowhere to be found, abstracted Kaufmo was hot on her trail, and the door shows up to entice her to leave.

She goes through the “Exit” door believing it’s the way out -> She wastes an indeterminate amount of time going through countless doorways that lead to nowhere and is told in the end that the “Exit” was never real.

She tried to get Gummigoo to join the Circus -> Caine obliterates him Thanos style.

That is the face of someone who thought she was doing something right for once, and was abruptly proven wrong. God really said “LOL nope” to this poor woman. (I also love how Pomni’s trauma response is laughter, really leans on the whole jester imagery she has)

That she did, and it amounted to nothing. Pretty on brand for her really.

Yeah, it seemed like Pomni was not gonna catch a break. And once again Ragatha immediately tries to undermine what just happened, with Pomni going back to being paralyzed with shock at the utter insanity she had just witnessed. Homegirl is not ok. And she would have stayed that way if not for Ragatha actually being real for once by inviting her to grieve with them.

The ending of this episode truly caught me off guard.

Not poor Gummigoo’s “death”, that I actually expected, but it was still shocking to see.

No. much like Pomni, I wasn’t expecting the others to actually throw Kaufmo a funeral (and apparently this is a custom that they do regularly, which is bittersweet). And I wouldn’t have blamed Pomni for believing that they don’t really care about each other because all of them saw Kaufmo be thrown into the cellar and then the they all proceed to just eat dinner as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I’ll be frank here, I didn’t get emotional from that scene because of Kaufmo. He never had a speaking part or even an actual on screen appearance; the man had no character outside of telling bad jokes and that had to be given through exposition, so there was no resonance in his “death”. But that is clearly intentional because they didn’t even bother making the other’s eulogies about him be audible. Pomni has never met Kaufmo, she never knew him, so her attending a funeral for someone she had no real connection with is odd.

And that’s because all Pomni needs and by extension what we need to know is to see that he clearly meant something to the characters we HAVE been spending time with. This funeral was less about mourning Kaufmo and more about putting Pomni’s fears to rest that even if she were to abstract, she would not be forgotten. And even more importantly, these people genuinely do care about each other (Jax is still up in the air, but 4/5 ain’t bad). So if anything could make Pomni more comfortable in her new home, it’s the affirmation that she’s not alone (Hence the title of the theme that closes the episode). So abstraction won’t come as easily as she previously thought.

It’s remarkable that the writers managed to make a FUNERAL feel like we were ending on a high note compared to the dread that the ending of the Episode 1 evokes. And I really like that because everything from the gentle music, to the visuals of everyone being sincerely doleful, to Pomni’s small smile at the end really stresses how this show isn’t trying to be nihilistic with its premise. That Pomni, in spite of everything, is going to be ok.

[welcometogrouchland]

I also think it's nice that they made Camilla a sci-fi nerd and Luz a fantasy nerd. They're genres that are often seen as completely opposing one another by many people, which is what we're led to believe about Luz and Camilla in season 1. Luz is silly, nerdy, frequently in over her head and irresponsible and loves the boiling isles. We're led to believe that Camilla is the normal, conventional TV mother who'd be disgusted and terrified by the demon realm if she saw it.

Then yesterday's lie gives us a lot of nuance to this, and we realize that while they're still very different and now on opposite sides of a conflict, both mother and daughter are incredibly kind people (seen in their treatment of Vee) who love each other but struggle to make the right choices without hurting one another.

Then thanks to them drops all this Camilla characterization and we realize! She was a nerd too this whole time! The wedge between Camilla and Luz is motivated by past traumas and grief! and for the future has them switching sides on the central conflict of where Luz should stay (Camilla now wanting Luz in the demon realm because it's what's best for her, and Luz believing that staying in the human realm is what's best for the people she loves). They finally talk and realize that, like Willow pointed out earlier in the ep, the two are so alike. Camilla reveals that she's a secret nerd too! That she had a hard time growing up and accidentally hurt Luz trying to save her from the same fait! It's so important to me that Camilla keeps calling Luz a good witch. It's affirming her interests and goals, reminding her that she's just as good as the hero of her favorite story. And Luz finally only realizes that she wants to be understood...when she's finally able to understand her mom. When she realizes that the woman she loves and admires is just as much of a nerdy screw-up as her and that there's hope for her. Her palismen ends being multiple animals at once, showing both how Luz making unconventional choices (like carving an egg) keeps paying off for her and how her potential is limitless now that she finally knows and accepts her own goals, but to me it also reminds of the fact that Camilla is a vet and passed a love of all the weird and unliked animals (like wolves, possums, snakes, etc) to her.

It's just so so sweet and it really shows how much love and thought the crew put into this mother daughter storyline (FTF haters are not welcome on this page, respectfully). I can't wait to see how both of these misunderstood but healing women (who radiate "little/big sister" and "mom" energy respectively) are gonna interact with a) the lonely, easily manipulated and well intentioned but ignorant collector (a mix of both their interests as a magic being with a space motif! I just realized that lol) and b) the nasty puritan white man who's really obsessed with conforming to society's norms even when it literally doesn't benefit him at all.

Anyway, I believe in noceda( AND clawthorne 👀) family supremacy 💙

[valaruakars]

Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2  → Part 3 → Part 4  → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6  → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference. 

Except maybe in your quadriceps. 

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough. 

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to. 

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something. 

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them. 

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house. 

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention. 

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that. 

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one. 

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive. 

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left? 

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :) 

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me? 

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it. 

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets. 

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs. 

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal. 

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones. 

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home. 

Not until he’s standing above you.  

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention. 

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan. 

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat. 

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him. 

You just can’t. 

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him. 

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot. 

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize. 

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down. 

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not! 

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor. 

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter. 

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you. 

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser. 

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.” 

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.  

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.” 

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin. 

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught. 

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity. 

It doesn’t, of course. 

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.  

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same. 

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him. 

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you. 

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought. 

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually. 

Of stretches.  

The familiarity sparks excitement. 

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses. 

“These are from the physical therapist?” 

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie. 

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?” 

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?” 

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never. 

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit. 

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry. 

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready. 

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree. 

So you don’t.  

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting. 

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky. 

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl. 

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?” 

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise. 

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.  

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is. 

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”  

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth. 

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation. 

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually. 

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it? 

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight. 

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.  

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you. 

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone. 

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?” 

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really. 

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?” 

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.” 

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to. 

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door. 

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot. 

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy. 

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become. 

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.” 

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?” 

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will? 

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.  

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over. 

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it. 

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?” 

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded. 

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live? 

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer. 

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time. 

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again. 

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew. 

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all. 

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence. 

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?” 

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be. 

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot. 

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship. 

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense. 

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck. 

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” you squirm. 

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?” 

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...” 

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus. 

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.  

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.” 

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.” 

“He is.” 

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right. 

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.” 

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask. 

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.” 

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.” 

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.” 

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.” 

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night. 

Is it any wonder that another slips? 

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.” 

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone. 

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.  

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.” 

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.” 

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.” 

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy. 

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit. 

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.” 

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind. 

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.” 

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?” 

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped. 

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly. 

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too. 

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like. 

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No. 

“Is your mother alright?” 

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?” 

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask. 

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger. 

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him. 

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it.  “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have. 

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days. 

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel. 

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce. 

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?” 

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit. 

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried. 

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee. 

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers. 

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

[maybeinanotherworld]

the other day, i said i was tired of seeing legendre polynomials everywhere and a friend of mine said, with no explanation whatsoever, "le gender polynomials" and i just think that's the funniest thing i have ever heard

[ratatatastic]

"what are you thinking about?" that time in march when forsblad picked each other for the which teammate would you want to cohost a podcast w question

and ekky was too shy to look at the camera when he professed his love for forsy for the millionth time and that being the reason for his choice meanwhile forsy had absolutely no qualms staring into that thing and going we can talk about fishing :D

[sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes]

TSS compilations need to stop popping up in my reccomended I don't want to be back in the fandom 3 years after I left in the year of our lord 2024 I think my brain would explode

[justworthlessreblogs]

society if kirakira acknowledged noir's backstory as being kinda lame instead of trying to make you feel bad for him

[bisexualchaosdemon]

Okay, but what if Andrew could actually score a goal?

I know, I know, just hear me out! We know that Andrew can bat the ball all the way to the other side of the court ("He swept his massive racquet around in one long swing and hit the ball so hard Neil heard it bounce off the away court wall behind him.")

And we also know that he has crazy good aim when deflecting shots on goal (There are a lot of examples of this, but let's go with "Andrew stopped every shot on goal and bounced a couple rebounds off the strikers' helmets just to rile them further." because I love how much of a little shit he is)

So, if Andrew is strong enough to hit the away court wall and precise enough with his aim to smack multiple players in the head/knees/feet, it's possible he could hit a ball into the other goal, right?

[justmenoworries]

If I have one wish for Hazbin season 2 it's please, please let Charlie go apeshit and just absolutely destroy someone.

Season 1's been teasing us with how powerful Charlie is and how much potential she has only to basically nerf her into the ground for the final battle so Lucifer could be all badass and shit.

Alastor's been allowed to go berserk so many times in season one and he's canonically weaker than the Morningstar family so can we let Charlie have the spotlight now?

[assblastergaster]

I am finally starting to see the light on just how robust all of the companion origin romances are (i.e. romances within the party outside of tav). While larian obvs had to work with sudden, abrupt story changes and losses, somehow they still managed to make all of their stories so intertwined that all possible romances are good.

Take Karlach for example:

• Wyll: Their stories are literal parallels; They both were following someone with power and influence, yearning to serve them and others to the best of their abilities—and were both discarded after being tricked into (literal) hell. together they provide for each other what was taken without denying themselves what has changed them (more devilish? so be it, i am stronger for it). She will guard what he loves without question—all he's ever tried to do—and he will stand against the forces that served to get them here, all she's ever wanted. They have both been forever changed to be more devilish (scarred, marked, horned, dehorned) but still yearn to thrive amongst their peers to no avail. He will always be a human with fangs and horns, and she will always be a tiefling with no horn(s), no heart. They are each other's only peers, the hunter and the prey.

• Shadowheart: One young girl is torn from the people she loves, her home, the authority figure she serves. She is marred by this person. Her parents are lost to her—she will never get to say goodbye, never get to hug them again. Her peers shun her, believe her dead or worse. Her only friends are lost to her (or so she thinks). She is a half-elf forcibly blinded to the ways of the world, sent on a suicide mission to secure her master's authority. She is a tiefling who has forgotten the joys of the world, escaping a suicide mission meant to secure her master's authority. They were both taught to selfishly strike out against the world to just survive. Together they find something alien to both of them—self prioritization without selfishness (I am not made to serve, i was made to be here. with you).

• Astarion: He is empty of life, cold and buried; She is being consumed by her life, toiling and burned. They were both, for lack of better words, Baldurian hot-shots in their youths. A learned magistrate and the head guard of an up-and-coming Baneite. They were both likely very corrupt. Astarion is obvious—his attack by the Gur was prob in response to prejudiced rulings. But Karlach was working for fucking Gortash. She's not an idiot, and while she certainly has a soft spot for the community, she had to have had a hand in his nefarious doings. Regardless, both of them are still furious about what happened to them, rightfully so—and neither is willing to accept (yet) that the version of them they left behind was not what they want now. They both want revenge, to kill the fucks that stole them away. And they both get it, only to find that they need to make a life after this, not to mourn the life before this.

• Lae'zel: This, like all Lae'zel romances, is a tale of two cities. Lae'zel wants to serve someone so badly, else she cannot prove to others (and herself) that she is worth the air she is breathing. Her culture demands it, history commands it, and she was born for it. But she can't do it. Not blindly. Karlach was a rough and tumble child on the streets of Baldur's Gate looking to eke out her livelihood without serving authority. But she couldn't avoid it, nothing she's good at could make money or earn respect except for serving as a guard, as a soldier. At first meeting, they both immediately respect and pity each other. Karlach likes seeing someone so proud of who they choose to serve, but innately understands that it is not a choice. Lae'zel likes seeing someone strong enough to command respect, but knows that she "should" want to serve someone too. They see themselves in the other. Neither understands, but they will. Karlach will see why Lae'zel is so desperate to belong, to serve—Lae'zel will see why she is too scared to submit.

• Gale: We both have a bomb in our chests. A divine being, omnipotent in all but name, placed it within you and quelled its fire so long as you obey and worship. The most obscene devil, queen of the Hells, ripped me from my home and gave me this, its flame fanned by servitude and snuffed by disobedience. Gale has lost himself to depression, Karlach to rage. He pours through books searching for the answer he will never find, but that's how he got here in the first place. Karlach smashes her way through everything, making ragtag enemies and allies along the way, but that's how she got here. Before anyone says some bullshit about Karlach being too "dumb" or Gale being too "pretentious;" Karlach is not dumb, she is naïve (which lends itself to dumb decisions) but wise. She's led an experience-rich life (encountered through misplaced trust and naivety) and has learned lessons from every single one, something she learns to temper within Gale as well. Gale has done many things but actually learned from very few of them, which is one of the reasons why he's immediately eager for the Crown. But he's also not an idiot, he's just vulnerable. Together, they balance each other emotionally and pedagogically.

Obviously this is focusing on the narrative aspects of these relationships—not the personal intricacies. But the majesty of this writing is that these are all characters written by separate people, forging separate stories with thousands of paths each. It's just unheard of.