#but at the same time can be appreciated for what it is

[softtdaisy]

in the meantime / Aaron Hotchner

summary. when hotch gets hurt, you're called as his emergency contact. thing is, nobody knows you're not together anymore.

words count. 2 336

what to expect. a little angst I guess but fluff too, Jack is mentioned but he's a teen

a/n. I first imagined this very funny and light and I ended up adding more angst??? but it's still sweet and cute and hotch is a lover boy

F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

When you got called at school, at first, you didn’t think it could be that moment you’ve been scared of for months finally happening.

Being a kindergarten teacher, it was easy to leave your class and ask for a colleague to take care of your children. They were all occupied with creating a new poster with their names and wouldn't even notice your absence. Well, you imagine they wouldn’t because you weren’t supposed to leave for too long.

“Do you know who’s asking for me?” you asked the principal’s assistant who came for you. He was one of your friends here, so you knew how to analyze his gesture. And from how fast he was walking right now, you could tell this was more serious than you first thought.

“Well, she’s a brunette, dressed in black.” He stopped in the middle of the hallway to think for a second. Trying hard to remember what her name could be. Thing was, you didn’t know that many brunettes, dressed in black that could authorize herself to come here. “I think her name is Emily or something like that.”

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, freezing. 

You appreciated Emily. You would even call her a friend, even if you only knew her through Hotch. But you barely talked outside of the moment you spent together. 

Getting a call from her would have been weird. Having her come to your school wasn’t normal at all.

Yet, here she was. Waiting in the principal’s office. Indeed, she was wearing an all-black outfit but mostly wearing a concerned expression on her face.

When you opened the door, she rushed to you, interrupting her conversation. Her hand was soon on your shoulder and her eyes were locked on yours. You found some comfort in it. The problem was, you had no idea why you needed it.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” you asked, whispering like it was some secret the rest of your colleagues or your superior didn’t need to know. Which was true, somehow. “Is everything alright?” 

But you knew it wasn’t. And the three words that followed were the proof. “It’s Hotch.”

Your heart dropped, and the whole world went silent. 

You’ve spent months afraid of hearing these words one day. Checking your phone multiple times a day, waiting for his text to make sure he was doing fine. There were moments when you would have the same nightmares of coming home to an empty house, sometimes with more graphic images you wished you could forget.

When Emily noticed you seemed to disconnect from reality, she put her other hand on your shoulder. “He’s ok,” she added. 

“I don’t know how, but the unsub managed to stab him in the stomach. He lost a lot of blood and went to surgery, but he should be fine. Spencer told me he was waking up when he arrived here, you heard Emily explain, but her voice seemed like a distant melody.

You tried to focus on the good news, that Hotch was fine. As fine as he can be after an attack that probably woke up some trauma, but fine. Not dead. Not in danger. Fine. 

You took a breath and nodded to accept the information you just got. And showing Emily that you listened, that you understood what she said. 

It wasn’t until you managed to keep your stress as low as possible that the question popped up in your head. “You came all the way here to tell me?”

Emily looked at you with confusion. 

“Well, you’re his girlfriend and his emergency contact. And you weren’t answering your phone. I thought it would be better to bring you to the hospital myself than let you learn about that later by yourself.”

That was the moment you understood why Emily chose to drive all the way here.

Hotch didn’t tell anyone you weren’t together anymore.

Dating Hotch was easy, more than people thought it was.

He was a great listener. He loved to hear you speak about everything in your life just as much as he loved paying attention to small details. Offering your favorite flowers, having your favorite artist in his car, and sending a text about important events at your job even when he was miles and miles away. 

You could tell Hotch was working on the experience he got from his past relationship and all that he still had to learn to be a good partner for you. And he was doing a wonderful job on it.

This relationship did a lot of good for him too. With Jack being a teen and less with his dad, he finally felt like he had a new purpose to come back home. Hotch learned to love opening his door again. This time not being met by the silence. But by you, with some kind of reality TV on, reading a book on a sofa he almost forgot about before seeing you on it—not to mention the memories the both of you created on it. You made him feel loved. At his place but at every place in his life too.

For a year, you two have been the happiest and did everything to make this relationship work. Even the team noticed the change in Hotch’s personality. And after multiple drinks together, you started to call them friends too. You both loved the routine you created together. 

But even with the brightest sun shining on your relationship, the truth was the stress was still there. His job was anxious, to you, but to him too. Having someone to care about in his life once again made Hotch concerned about losing you. He tended to be more protective after rough cases, sometimes leaning to some controlling behavior he hated as much as you did.

The disputes became more and more recurrent. And after another fight, you both decided that maybe you needed a moment away from each other to wonder if this was really worth it. You wanted Aaron Hotchner to be the love of your life; you really did. Just as he wanted to. But was it really the life you both wanted?

It was a hard month away from him; you won’t lie.

And knowing you almost lost him was even hard.

“Let’s go,” you finally replied. And the ride to the hospital was surprisingly calm.

The few times you saw Emily, you both kept chatting for hours to the point Hotch even laughed one day about fearing she might steal you from him. But this time, there were no words. Not only because of the stress, but also because you realized you were lying to your friend because of Hotch. You haven’t seen him in a month, having no idea about what his life might have been these past thirty days. And she was great at worming information out of you. So you would rather not say a thing instead of spilling a secret.

The whole drive to the hospital felt like a fever dream. And nothing could have prepared you for the overwhelming feeling you got when you opened the door. A mix of relief and stress.

Hotch was there, indeed. Underneath a white sheet that made his skin look even paler, with dark circles bigger than the last time you saw him and a tired expression that made you wish you could do anything to let him relax and rest for at least a month.

He was facing the window and only turned his head when he heard you coming in. And the confusion replaced the tiredness on his face. Yet, you still noticed the short smile that drew on his lips when he saw you. “What are you doing here?”

His tone was sweet. Sweeter than usual. No matter how down he was, Hotch took everything in him to make you feel welcome. He didn’t want you to question your presence here or to think he was questioning it. He was glad to see your face after the awful day he had. Yet, he was still wondering why you came. After a month apart, he thought you put him aside. 

Deep down, Hotch had the feeling he was easy to forget. But you weren’t. You never felt his head or his heart.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t even talk. You were just focused on the silhouette of the man that shared your life these past months, lying on this hospital bed, looking so fragile.

You walked to him, as close as you could. So close that your knees bumped in the bed without you realizing it. You couldn’t resist the need to brush his hair, putting away some strands that were on his forehead. His confused and drained eyes follow each one of your moves.

“Honey?” he asked again, reaching for your hand. 

When you were together, not a day went by—except for those when he was away—where you wouldn’t hold hands. In the morning, when he was getting up, you tried to keep him with you a little longer. During breakfast, while he was drinking his coffee. When he said goodbye, kissing you before putting a kiss on your entangled hands. Or when you went to sleep, cuddling, with your hands on your stomach—or his, when he needed it after a rough day.

“You didn’t tell them we broke up,” you said in a low voice. It was the first time you said it out loud but also realized what it meant. And having Hotch in front of you, calling you by the nickname that followed you your whole relationship and caressing your hand with his thumb softly, helped see the truth behind that. “Emily came and picked me up because I’m your emergency contact, and I wasn’t answering my phone, and as your girlfriend, she assumed I needed to know. Because you didn’t tell anyone we weren’t together anymore.”

You finally landed your eyes on his, losing yourself in his baffled puppy look. “You’re right, I didn’t.” Hotch said. It was the first time since you came in that you noticed his voice was a little raspy. “And I’m glad it led you here.” 

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, not that you doubted he meant it. Over a year, you’ve learned to recognize Hotch’s expression. Especially the way his face was always softer when he was with you. Or how his very stoic and linear mouth always curled up in a smile around you.

Still, you had one question on your tongue. “Why?”

“Why am I glad?” he replied with a giggle. One that was sadly followed by a grimace. You watched as Hotch brought his other hand to his stomach to ease the pain. The doctor told him that even with the medicine, it would take him multiple days to get better. And until the stitches were gone, he wasn’t allowed to go back on the field.

But suddenly, the idea of being stuck at his office or at home wasn’t as awful as it was when he first thought about it. 

You sighed, focusing on his face rather than the wound he was clearly keeping hidden from you. “Why haven’t you told them?” 

Hotch took a second to look at you. The answer was obvious to him, to the point that there wasn’t a question to begin with. Over this past month, there was not a moment where he thought he had to make things clearer about your situation. Sure, he was a very private man, yet he never lied about you. He just kept things as they were. “Because I didn’t want it to be over.”

Hotch sat up against the headboard and motioned to you to sit on the bed with him. He moved his legs to give you space. And the heat you felt when he held your hand tighter to help you reminded you of the obvious attraction you had for him. Even after he had a terrible day. 

“Listen,” he started again with a tone that imposed on listening to him. That's not to say you weren't paying attention in the first place. “I know we made this decision together, and I respect it. And this month apart gave me the time to think about us.”

The first night coming home to an empty and silent house wasn’t easy for Hotch. He felt like he had failed again at keeping someone in his life. He hated that he lied to Jack, saying you had family obligations to explain your absence. He didn’t want his son to be disappointed about his dad's inability to maintain a great relationship.

And one day, Jack told him about a girl at school he had a crush on and everything he did to prove to her it was worth trying rather than giving up.

“I want to make things right with you.” Hotch pursued, bringing your hands to his chest. “Maybe I need to work on my perception of danger when it comes to you. And if so, I will do it. Because I want you.”

You always found it fascinating how his eyes often spoke louder than his words. And the look he was giving you right now was the best argument he could have found to prove you he meant it. Hotch loved you. And so did you. 

When a smile started to grow on your lips, also a silent answer to his silent confession, you noticed his lips curved too. Hotch let go of your hand to bring his own to your neck and move your face closer to him. But you stopped right before your lips touched.

“Maybe you should just consider not getting hurt the next time we argue.” You whispered, which made him laugh.

“Right, I’ll think about that.” He replied before finally guiding you to his lips.

Hotch never stopped believing he would get you back. So maybe he was right about not telling anyone about the breakup. 

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hat in hand, thank you for your time, sex ed question: do orgasms from masturbation and orgasms from partnered sex actually feel different? Is it just the intimacy that makes people like it more?

hi anon,

great question, and I'm about to make a real meal of it.

so, first off, let's make one thing clear: the mechanisms that create an orgasm are the same regardless of the cause. no matter what's getting you off, regardless of what part of your body is being stimulated, it's the same nerves and muscles responding.

that may sound obvious, but it hasn't always. Freud, for instance, advanced the idea that vaginal and clitoral orgasms were fundamentally different, and that women who preferred to orgasm by touching their clitoris were less psychologically mature than women who preferred vaginal orgasms. fast forward to now, and we know the only difference between a clitoral and vaginal orgasm is that clitoral orgasms are generally easier, thanks to the incredible amount of nerve endings - and that many orgasms that result from vaginal penetration result at least in part from the large internal portion of the clitoris being stimulated through the vaginal wall. huge W for the clit!

now, having said that: just because the mechanics are the same doesn't mean that every orgasm is going to fee identical, or that every single thing that could produce an orgasm is going to actually work for everyone. sex with a partner can feel very different from sex with a vibrator which can feel very different from sex with just your hand, and even those individual methods aren't going to result in the exact same experience every time. there are a tremendous number of factors that influence arousal and sexual response, including many that have nothing to do with sex directly but nonetheless impact your body and mind and the way stimuli is received.

think of it as being similar to a meal - you could eat the exact same food, prepared the same way, two times and still feel very differently about depending on other factors in your day. when you're in a good mood, enjoying a day off, and able to sit with your food for as long as you like with no rush, you might savor the meal much more, take the time to appreciate the individual flavors and ingredients, and eat more in a single sitting. you might spend the rest of the day thinking about how good the food was, and look forward eagerly to the leftovers. whereas if you come to lunch on a short break from work, unable to devote much time to eating and already stressed out from an unpleasant day, you may be more likely to eat quickly to sate your hunger and zip back to work without taking much time to think about the food at all, because the meal is just fuel to keep going.

neither of these ways of eating are wrong; they both serve different needs and have a time and place. while I'd love to be able to cherish each meal, I'm certainly not going to pretend that I never eat just to have enough fuel to keep chugging until the next meal.

and, to extend this metaphor: we were imagining that was the exact same food, eaten under two very different circumstances. now factor in the infinite different kinds of food a person could eat in infinite different situations. now imagine that it's things that make you cum instead of food (which are still the same thing, for somebody out there, and to them I say congrats for speedrunning this one), and you've got a pretty good grasp on how infinitely variable the experience of orgasm is.

so: do orgasms with partners actually feel different? sure, but only in the sense that all orgasms can feel different from each other.

partnered orgasms can come with a lot of extra bells and whistles thanks to involving a whole other person (or multiple people), which opens the door to many more forms of stimulation than most people can manage on their own, as well as some inherent unpredictability - while you can, obviously, know exactly how you plan to touch yourself and receive pretty immediate feedback to how it makes you feel, but with other people you gain both the ability to be surprised and the necessity of much more communication than solo sex. all of that means that partnered sex can be a pretty substantially different experience than getting off alone - not necessarily worse or better, but definitely different, and definitely not just because of how the orgasm feels.

so why do people like it more? well, not all people do. for some people, it's vastly easier and more comfortable to just get off alone. some people like partnered sex but don't orgasm easily in the process; I'm one of those! I think I've had a grand total of one (1) sexual partner who could reliably get me off, but that didn't mean I wasn't having fun with the others - orgasm just wasn't a priority, because I went in knowing I'd probably need to finish myself off if I wanted to cum and didn't sweat it.

of course, the opposite also exists - for some people, masturbation doesn't do jack shit, and partnered sex is the way to go. some people only get off, or vastly prefer to get off, to scenarios that necessitate the presence of other people. some people aren't that interested in sex for the sake of sex, but like having a sense of connection with their partner(s).

and for many, there's no need to have a preference between getting off alone or with a partner in the first place - they're filling two different needs, without needing to be compared. why pit two bad bitches against each other? for me, getting myself off is easy and convenient, and having sex with someone else is a great way to play. both good, both serving totally different niches in my life.

tl;dr: variety in all things, babes.

[sergioguymanproust]

Howling is communication at a level that humans see and hear only but cannot perceive it or understand it .I’m talking about the common folk.The changes in decibels dictates the mood and reaction of the pack.We as mammals and thinking apes,lost the ability to communicate this way ,but we do howl in a lesser context.Only when we get excited and for far less reasons. Well, we’ve moved to speech ,to creating words that are less intense when it comes to expressing our feelings,our emotions and when we do get angry we don’t revert to biting or snarling but to screaming .You see our reactions tend to be as we evolve more mild.Although it is true in our prehistory we moved as packs and we instinctively resorted to that same hierarchy and Alpha Male running the show. These days things are more sophisticated and we like to believe we are above other species thanks to our intellect but let’s not kid each other ,we still at times behave like wolves. Showing our teeth and not smiling but showing a smirk and yes ,there are hundreds of micro expressions that clearly denounce our true like or dislike of others.Well,coming from the spiritual perspective shamans do revere wolves as spiritual guides. For the white man this is pure fiction,an imaginary when they are far less interested in how the right side of the brain affects our bodies and how we perceive reality.Wolves have been around far longer than humans 60 million years longer than us,and survived. So we mustn’t forget who has been a top predator longer than us. Howling is indeed according to our poor understanding just a cry for help,and locating the pack ,also for defining the pack territory.But Native Americans know better and are more in tune with the wild and spiritual nature of wolves. More in future postings.I believe you can gather what I’m talking about.I truly appreciate my followers and wish them a thousand blessings. Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[michanvalentine]

Another thing I absolutely love about Astarion’s redemption arc is how some narrative threads introduced in Act 1 find their resolution in the good ending.

The first and most obvious one revolves around the beautiful concept of a gift.

When the player offers their blood to Astarion, he receives a gift that goes beyond mere nourishment. In that moment, what Tav/Durge is giving him, beyond blood, is understanding and trust.

And this concept comes full circle after the ritual, where this narrative thread finds its conclusion. That’s when Spawn Astarion thanks the player for the gift they have given him—gently guiding him by the hand toward a new path where he is truly free.

But not just free. As the vampire spawn himself says in that ending, he is honestly free. And for that gift, he is grateful.

I think that’s absolutely beautiful.

But the meaning runs even deeper than that. This ties into the theme of seeing and being seen—not in a superficial sense.

After all, Astarion’s appearance is both a curse and a shield, something he has learned to wield, just like his mannerisms, his charming words, and the sarcasm he uses as a distraction.

It’s an important concept because it means going beyond the surface, seeing him for who he truly is, feeling him, and experiencing him in his entirety.

Astarion deeply struggles with his condition—not just as a slave, but as a vampire. He’s so happy to be able to act human again thanks to the Illithid tadpole, to do simple, mundane things like crossing running water or entering a house without permission. And let’s not even talk about his joy at standing under the sunlight.

When you meet him on the beach for the first time and reveal what will happen if they don’t get rid of the Illithid tadpoles, Astarion’s bitter reaction, complete with laughter, shows just how much it truly weighs on him: "Of course it’s going to turn me into a monster, what else did I expect?!"

In fact, when his vampiric nature is revealed for the first time during the bite scene, he fears rejection and is quick to emphasize that he’s not some kind of monster. The morning after, when Shadowheart tactlessly points out this aspect of him, his expression changes, and we can see how being perceived as a monster wounds him. It keeps him at a distance, sets him apart as something other. Later, he will even say outright that he wants to be treated like a person—not as a slave, not as a vampire. Just a person. Not superior, not inferior. Exactly like everyone else. Because Astarion wants to be part of the world, to reconnect with people.

This is especially clear when he approves of Tav’s perspective—that he could find a place for himself in the world, where he could be accepted, supported, if he is willing to open up and do the same for others. He approves because the idea appeals to him—it makes him feel like he can belong. Not as a monster, but as a person finding his way back into the world he once inhabited.

But I’m digressing.

The mirror scene isn’t just there by chance—it’s narratively strategic. In that moment, Astarion explicitly asks the player what they see, because he wants to know how the world perceives him. He worries about how others see him precisely because he feels separate, othered, like a monster. And it’s not a matter of appearance—Astarion knows he’s gorgeous. He’s heard it thousands of times over the centuries. But he’s insecure about his place within the group, within society, within the world.

That’s why he appreciates it when Tav/Durge reassures him on the two things that trouble him most—his piercing gaze (the red eyes of a vampire) and his dangerous smile (the sharp fangs of a predator). He relaxes because, in that moment, he feels accepted. Because he realizes his defining traits aren’t the insurmountable barriers he thought they were. Because the person in front of him sees him—not through the lens of prejudice, but for who he really is.

This theme returns later, during the confrontation with Aurelia and Leon, when Astarion deflects the idea of being heroic by saying, "I can’t be what you see in me." Again, the motif of seeing, of looking deeper, of recognizing something more, of reading between the lines—both of the narrative and of his character.

And it’s beautiful when, the morning after the ritual, that relaxed, happy Astarion, with that wonderful smile on his lips, says that Tav/Durge saw something in him. Something different from everyone else. Something beyond his monstrous nature, beyond his darkest intentions, beyond his fear.

Tav/Durge saw him. Saw his potential.

And if you’re in a romantic relationship with him, in the graveyard scene, Astarion will bring up this idea once again. With a heroic Tav/Durge, Astarion feels safe. And he feels seen. Seen, for god’s sake. That’s huge.

This is where this narrative arc—about perception, about seeing him throughout the entire journey—finds its resolution. Astarion is truly more than what Cazador made him to be. He breaks free from the pattern of monster/vampire. He chooses to start living again. To rediscover himself. To reclaim his identity in the most human way possible—through the world and the people around him.

Perhaps his body has not regained its human traits, but spawn Astarion is, without a doubt, the Astarion who has reclaimed his humanity the most.

[aspenmissing]

Hi! Love your arcane posts and headcannons! Could you write a comfort fic with arcane characters with a reader who doesn’t like to celebrate their birthday. I have negative feelings regarding mine and had a bad depressive episode on my last birthday. The reader’s reason can be up to you.

ᴜɴᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ? || 7228 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ/ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛꜱ!! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ɪɴ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Jayce had always been the kind of person who loved celebrating. Achievements, milestones, even the little things—he believed life was meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. So when he found out Y/N’s birthday was coming up, he took it upon himself to make it special.

They hadn’t been together for long—just under a year—but in that time, Jayce had come to care about her in a way that made her feel like home. They shared an apartment in Piltover, and while it wasn’t the grandest place in the city, it was theirs. The walls were filled with little moments that spoke of their growing connection: a pair of mismatched mugs in the kitchen, a collection of books they both loved to read, and the way their shoes always seemed to end up scattered in the same corner. It was a place where both of them could just be—no need for pretence.

And now, Jayce wanted to show Y/N just how much he appreciated her. It had become clear over the last few months that she didn’t often let people get too close, that she was careful with how much of herself she shared. Jayce didn’t know much about her past—she kept that to herself—but he could see the occasional flash of sadness in her eyes, as if something, or someone, had left a mark on her.

So, when he realized her birthday was coming up, he decided to make the day about her. He went all out—decorating their living room with soft golden lights, scattering delicate rose petals across the table, and, most importantly, cooking a homemade meal. Jayce wasn’t just decent in the kitchen—he was skilled. He had grown up learning from his mother, and over the years, cooking had become second nature to him. He spent the entire afternoon preparing a carefully crafted meal: roasted herb chicken, buttered vegetables, and a rich, velvety sauce to tie it all together. The aroma filled the apartment, warm and inviting.

A beautifully wrapped gift sat waiting on the coffee table, next to a cake he’d carefully ordered from the best bakery in town. He couldn’t wait to see the smile on her face when she walked in.

Everything was set. The only thing missing was Y/N.

=

When she finally walked through the door that evening, looking exhausted from a long day at work, Jayce’s excitement was palpable. “Surprise!” he beamed, stepping aside to reveal the cozy, intimate celebration he had prepared.

But instead of the joyful reaction he expected—maybe a laugh, a hug, something—her face fell. Her body seemed to freeze, her shoulders tensing up like she’d just been hit with a wave of cold. It was subtle, but Jayce knew her well enough by now to notice the shift.

“Y/N?” he asked, his smile faltering as concern replaced his earlier excitement. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard, not meeting his eyes. “You did all this… for me?” Her voice was quiet, distant.

Jayce felt a pang of confusion. “Of course! It’s your birthday. I wanted to make it special. Don’t you like it?”

She looked around, her gaze skimming over the soft glow of the lights, the perfectly arranged table, the thoughtful little touches he’d put together. It was clear she wasn’t upset about the effort. But there was something behind her eyes—a reluctance, a hesitation.

“I—” She let out a long sigh and crossed her arms in front of her, as though she was trying to shield herself from everything around her. “Jayce, I don’t really celebrate my birthday.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. His brow furrowed, and he took a small step toward her. “You… don’t?”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I never really have.”

His confusion deepened. “But… why?”

She paused for a moment, her expression shifting as she searched for the right words, then finally spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, “Because it just reminds me of everything I lost.”

Jayce’s heart sank at the weight of her words. The smile he had been wearing slipped away as he took in her expression—one that was tinged with grief and something else, something much older than their relationship. The excitement of the evening suddenly seemed small, almost irrelevant.

Her birthday had never been a day of celebration for her. It was a reminder of the people she no longer had in her life, the family that had fallen apart, the friends who had moved on, the empty spaces in her past that no amount of time could ever fill. It wasn’t a day to celebrate; it was a day to mourn what was gone, what had never been.

Jayce exhaled softly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she was closing herself off. “Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft, sincere.

Her eyes met his at last, and there was something fragile in her gaze. She shook her head slightly. “I know you meant well, Jayce. And… this is beautiful. Really. But I just—” She faltered, her voice wavering. “I don’t know how to enjoy it. I don’t know how to make myself believe I’m supposed to.”

The vulnerability in her words made his chest tighten. Jayce wasn’t one to give up easily, but this time, instead of pushing her to celebrate, he did something he hadn’t expected himself to do. He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers against one of the candles on the table. He blew it out gently, the small flame flickering for a moment before dying completely.

“There,” he said quietly, offering a small, understanding smile. “We don’t have to celebrate if you don’t want to. We can just… be here. Together. Just us. No expectations.”

Y/N blinked at him, the surprise evident in her expression. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe she thought he would insist, maybe even pressure her to smile, to make a wish, to “enjoy her day.” But Jayce had never been about forcing things—he just wanted her to feel safe. And, for the first time, he wasn’t trying to fix anything. He was just trying to give her space.

Slowly, Y/N’s posture relaxed, and a soft, tentative smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You don’t have to take everything down, though,” she murmured. “The place looks nice. And it does smell really good.”

Jayce chuckled, relieved by the small shift in her tone. “Well, I’ll have you know that I slaved away in the kitchen for hours to make sure it was perfect.” He grinned, playfully nudging her. “So, how about this? No birthday expectations. Just dinner, just us.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then finally, she gave him a real, small smile. “I think I can do that.”

Jayce grinned and pulled out her chair for her. “Perfect. Let’s eat.”

They sat together at the table, the warm glow of the lights making the space feel intimate and safe. As they ate, Y/N found herself relaxing more and more, letting Jayce’s presence soothe the lingering ache inside her. And maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it wasn’t about celebrating a birthday.

Maybe it was just about being with him.

And that was enough.

VIKTOR

The morning light streamed through the windows of Viktor’s lab, casting long, delicate beams through the dust-speckled air. Shadows stretched over the cluttered workbenches, where blueprints, half-assembled inventions, and the lingering scent of metal and parchment created a world entirely their own. The rhythmic clink of metal against the wooden floor broke the stillness, a quiet but familiar sound that heralded his arrival before he had even spoken.

Viktor paused in the doorway, leaning on his cane, his sharp, knowing eyes settling on Y/N. She was hunched over her work, utterly absorbed, as she always was. The soft glow of a lamp cast golden light over her features, highlighting the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers delicately adjusted the components of whatever intricate project had captured her attention today.

A familiar fondness tugged at his chest.

It was February 25th.

He knew what that meant.

Most people would have arrived with an eager grin, a cake in hand, candles at the ready, eager to celebrate another year of life. But Viktor wasn’t most people. And Y/N… Y/N didn’t celebrate her birthday.

He had learned this in passing, the way one might stumble upon an old, forgotten book wedged between the shelves. A casual conversation, a date mentioned in some offhand way. When he had pressed, even gently, she had tensed—just for a moment—before brushing it off.

"I don’t like it. Just another day."

That should have been enough of an answer, but Viktor was a scientist, and scientists were not satisfied with vague explanations. He had watched, observed, until eventually, the truth had slipped through the cracks.

Her birthdays had never been warm, never filled with the kind of joy that people spoke of when they reminisced about childhood celebrations. They had been reminders of loneliness, of expectations never met. A day where she had once allowed herself to hope—only to be left with nothing but silence, an empty room, and the realization that no one was coming. No one had remembered. No one had cared.

So, she had stopped expecting anything. Stopped wanting it.

And so, Viktor did not say happy birthday.

He did not drape streamers across the lab or offer her some grand, well-intentioned gift. He did not try to convince her that this year could be different, that this day could be redeemed. That wasn’t what she wanted.

=

Instead, he walked over to her desk, cane tapping softly against the floor, and set down a cup of tea—freshly brewed, still steaming, made just how she liked it.

She blinked up at him, her expression shifting from focus to something softer, something warm. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips before she reached for the tea, fingers brushing his for just a second.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” His voice was teasing, but there was an unmistakable intimacy beneath it, a quiet concern wrapped in familiarity.

Y/N exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “Did you?”

Viktor chuckled, settling into the chair across from her with the slow, careful movements that his leg required. He sighed as he leaned back slightly, cane resting against the side of the desk. “A scientist never sleeps, můj drahý. You know this.” (My Dear)

She rolled her eyes but took the tea anyway, holding the cup close, letting the warmth seep into her fingertips. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was thoughtful—him.

And that meant something.

=

The world outside was moving, rushing, celebrating and forgetting, just as it always did. But here, in the quiet sanctuary of the lab, time moved differently.

Eventually, Viktor broke the silence. “I made some adjustments to the schematics for your stabilizer design,” he murmured, sliding a few papers her way with his free hand. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against the back of her hand. “Thought we might test them later.”

Y/N reached for them, scanning over his precise, detailed notes. Her fingers brushed his once more as she took them, gaze softening.

He always did this—always found ways to show he cared without making it feel like pity, without making it feel forced.

For the first time that day, a genuine smile tugged at her lips.

She knew what he was doing.

No grand gestures, no forced celebrations—just quiet companionship. Just another day, but one where he made sure she wasn’t alone.

And for that, she was grateful.

Viktor, who had always been so consumed by his work, who had spent so much of his life surrounded by brilliance but little warmth, had learned to understand her in ways no one else had. He had learned when to push and when to simply be there.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. It was soft, barely there, but it sent warmth curling through her chest.

"Would it be terribly forward of me," he murmured, "if I said I was quite glad you exist?"

Y/N inhaled slowly, watching him, her heart catching in her throat. She could say a thousand things. Make a joke, tease him, brush it off like she always had before.

But not with him.

Not today.

Instead, she leaned forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Viktor sighed into it, fingers tightening around hers, his other hand reaching up to cradle her face as if she were something fragile.

When they parted, her forehead rested against his, her breath mingling with his own.

"You could say it," she murmured, "or you could just keep kissing me."

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Ah, můj drahý, you truly do have the best ideas."

And for the rest of the day, no one spoke of birthdays. No candles, no gifts, no reminders of the past. Just quiet love, warm hands, stolen kisses, and a man who had never needed a reason to cherish her.

And for Y/N, that meant more than any celebration ever could.

JAYVIK

You never liked celebrating your birthday.

It wasn’t because you feared aging or found parties annoying—no, it was because the day itself held nothing but bittersweet memories. The kind that lingered in the back of your mind, creeping in like an unshakable shadow no matter how hard you tried to ignore them.

It was the day your mother died.

She passed on the very day she had brought you into the world, a cruel twist of fate that turned every birthday into a mourning period rather than a celebration. You were too young to remember the first few years, but as you grew older, you learned to recognize the sadness in your father’s eyes, the way he would sit at the table in silence while neighbors offered pitying smiles.

The house was always too quiet on that day. Too empty.

Even as a child, you never wanted cakes or candles, never wanted people to sing or toast in your name. Other children at school had balloons and parties, but every time someone asked you, “What are you doing for your birthday?” you would shrug and change the subject.

As an adult, that habit remained.

Working in the bustling halls of Piltover’s Academy meant you had plenty of colleagues, many of whom thrived on gossip and social events. The first year you were there, someone had tried to throw you a small get-together, completely unaware of your distaste for the occasion. You had left early, stomach tight, heart heavy. The forced joy made you feel even more isolated.

Jayce and Viktor were the only ones who truly understood.

Which was why, when the morning of your birthday arrived, they were already on high alert.

=

Jayce, ever the charismatic golden boy of the Academy, was the first line of defence. He intercepted professors, engineers, and assistants with a charming smile and a firm “Don’t even think about it.”

He knew how these people worked—how they’d see an excuse to celebrate and turn it into a grand affair, no matter how personal it was. But this wasn’t about them. This was about you.

When the first person casually brought up your birthday, Jayce cut them off mid-sentence.

“She doesn’t celebrate,” he stated plainly, rolling up his sleeves. “Respect that.”

Most people backed off quickly. Jayce’s reputation made him difficult to argue with, especially when his normally easygoing demeanor shifted into something more serious.

Viktor, meanwhile, played his own part. He loitered near your usual workspace, leaning on his cane, golden eyes sharp as he redirected any well-meaning colleagues before they could get too close.

“She does not want this,” he reminded them, his voice carrying the kind of finality that made people think twice.

If Jayce was the first line of defence, Viktor was the last.

And yet, people were persistent.

By midday, Sky tried sneaking in a small wrapped box, her expression hesitant yet hopeful.

Jayce sighed, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Sky,” he said, his tone somewhere between patient and exasperated. “We talked about this.”

“I know, I know! But it’s just something small—”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You know she will not accept it.”

Sky hesitated, looking between the two of them. “But… doesn’t she deserve something nice?”

That was the thing. You did deserve something nice. But not a forced celebration. Not something that made the weight on your heart feel heavier.

And so, with careful words, Jayce and Viktor turned every well-meaning colleague away, ensuring that by the time you arrived in the lab that afternoon, there wasn’t a single hint of birthday cheer in sight. No decorations, no cake, no whispered happy birthday from a passing researcher. Just another ordinary day.

Just how you wanted it.

=

The only difference came when the three of you finally made it home that evening.

The exhaustion from the day lingered in your bones, sinking deep into the spaces between muscle and marrow. You weren’t sure if it was from the weight of the date itself or from the constant effort it took to suppress it. Keeping up the mask. Pretending not to notice the hushed whispers from colleagues who meant well. The tension of dodging sympathetic glances. It all piled onto you, a quiet but relentless pressure.

The moment the door shut behind you, the tension cracked just a little.

Jayce didn’t hesitate. Strong arms wrapped around you from behind, his warmth pressing into your back, solid and steady. His chin found its way to the crook of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he exhaled slowly, deliberately, as if trying to breathe some of his ease into you.

Viktor, already making his way to the couch, watched with quiet understanding. His amber eyes, sharp with intelligence yet endlessly soft when it came to you, traced over your face, noting the tired slump of your shoulders. He didn’t speak right away—he never did when words weren’t needed.

Instead, he set his cane aside and shifted to one end of the couch, making room. One hand reached toward you, fingers curling slightly in silent invitation.

You let Jayce guide you forward, your movements slow and heavy, as if wading through thick fog. The moment you sank onto the couch beside Viktor, his hand found yours, fingers cool but firm. He ran his thumb in slow, deliberate circles over your knuckles—soothing, grounding. Jayce followed close behind, settling in on your other side, draping an arm around both you and Viktor with ease.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the golden glow of the city filtering through the windows. Outside, Piltover was still alive with its usual hum—distant chatter, the occasional clang of machinery, the faint whistle of a steam-powered transport. But here, in this small sanctuary of an apartment, it was quiet.

No one said happy birthday.

No one tried to make it a special day.

Instead, Viktor leaned his head against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Long day?”

You let out a slow, steady breath. It wasn’t quite a sigh, more like an unspoken admission. “Yeah.”

Jayce tightened his grip around your waist, his palm pressing against your ribs in a steadying warmth. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You swallowed, shaking your head. Your throat felt tight, the kind of tightness that came from holding too much in for too long. “Just… stay like this.”

And they did. The three of you sat there, tangled together in the quiet.

Viktor’s fingers never stopped their slow, soothing circles against your skin, while Jayce’s thumb brushed absentmindedly along your side, a silent promise that he was there. No words needed. No grand gestures. Just warmth. Comfort. The kind of love that wasn’t flashy or loud but strong in the way it simply existed—constant, unwavering.

The weight in your chest didn’t vanish entirely, but it loosened, just a little. The kind of looseness that let you breathe a little easier. That reminded you that, even on a day you’d rather forget, you weren’t alone.

VANDER

The air in The Last Drop buzzed with quiet anticipation. Vander had made it abundantly clear to the kids that Y/N didn’t like celebrating her birthday. He respected that, understood that some wounds weren’t meant to be reopened, even by well-intentioned hands.

For Y/N, birthdays weren’t something to celebrate. Not anymore. The memories attached to them were too heavy—ghosts of the past lurking in every candle’s flicker. She had once celebrated, long ago, before she lost everything. Before she learned that birthdays only marked another year of surviving, not truly living.

So when Vander had told the kids to leave it alone, he had truly believed they would listen.

But when had they ever?

=

So here they were, barely containing their excitement, whispering and snickering in hurried voices as they scrambled to put the finishing touches on their secret little plan.

Powder had drawn a picture of all of them together—crayon strokes slightly smudged from how many times she had reworked Vander’s beard and added extra details to Y/N’s smile. She clutched the paper close to her chest like it was the most important thing in the world, her fingers twitching as if eager to hand it over already.

Milo had stolen a few extra rations of sweets, stuffing them in his pockets with a cocky smirk, convinced that the slightly stale biscuits and hardened chocolate were a necessary sacrifice for the occasion. He had even swiped a handful of sugar cubes from behind the bar, arguing that they’d make the cake taste better—though no one was entirely sure how.

Claggor, ever resourceful, had somehow acquired a half-melted candle that leaned dangerously to one side when stuck into the lopsided mess of a cake they had put together. "It’s still good!" he insisted, rotating it to try and find an angle where it didn’t look like it was about to fall over entirely.

Vi, of course, had taken charge.

She stood in the middle of it all, hands on her hips, directing them with the confidence of someone who had no plan B if this whole thing went sideways. "Alright, Powder, you stand by the lights. Claggor, make sure Milo doesn’t eat half the cake before Y/N even sees it. And for the love of everything, act natural. We don’t want Vander sniffing this out before she even gets here."

Milo scoffed. "You act like the old man’s got some kinda sixth sense."

Vi shot him a look. "He does."

And sure enough, Vander was already suspicious.

From behind the bar, his sharp gaze flickered toward them every so often, narrowing slightly when he caught them huddled too close together, whispering like little criminals. He let out a low sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t know what they were planning—yet—but he could tell it was trouble.

And knowing them?

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

=

Y/N walked through the door, rolling her shoulders from a long day of work, already looking forward to a quiet evening with Vander. The familiar scent of ale and warm spices from The Last Drop wrapped around her like a well-worn cloak—comforting, familiar.

She had been looking forward to him.

A drink in hand, his gruff voice teasing her about taking on too much, and later, the weight of his arms draped over her shoulders as they sat together in silence. That was all she needed.

But the moment she stepped inside—

“SURPRISE!”

The word hit her like a sudden wave, the air crackling with the energy of young excitement. The dim lights of the bar flickered to life, revealing a scene she had not been expecting.

Powder practically bounced on her heels, blue eyes wide with joy. Vi stood at the centre, arms crossed in smug satisfaction, chin lifted as if to say, I told you we’d pull it off. Claggor grinned, clearly proud of whatever part he had played, and Milo—well, he looked impatient, like he was waiting for her to collapse into gratitude at their grand effort.

Y/N froze.

The room had been hastily decorated, mismatched scraps of fabric strung together in an attempt at banners. A small cake—lopsided and definitely not store-bought—sat on the table. And in the centre of it all, carefully propped up, was Powder’s drawing.

A picture of all of them. Together.

Her stomach twisted.

From beside her, Vander’s reaction was immediate. His broad shoulders tensed, his brows pulled into a deep frown, and his large hands planted firmly on his hips as he took in the sight before him.

The decorations. The makeshift cake. The eager, hopeful expressions of the kids who had clearly gone behind his back.

His voice was low, sharp, unmistakably displeased.

“Oi.” His gruff tone cut through the moment like a blade. “What the hell is this?”

The kids flinched—just barely. Even Vi, the most defiant of them all, hesitated under the weight of his stare. But she recovered quickly, lifting her chin again.

“A party. For Y/N.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge.

Vander exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring as he ran a hand through his graying hair. His gaze flickered toward Y/N, searching, already prepared to shut this whole thing down at the first sign of distress.

And Y/N—

She should have been angry.

She wanted to be angry.

They had no idea what birthdays meant to her. How every year, the weight of those she lost pressed down on her like an iron chain. How she had once celebrated before everything fell apart, before the world had taught her that growing older wasn’t a gift—it was survival.

But the kids—

They were beaming.

They weren’t doing this to hurt her. They weren’t trying to dredge up old wounds or make her feel obligated. They had done this because, in their eyes, she was someone worth celebrating.

And damn it all—how could she be mad at that?

Y/N swallowed hard, forcing down the tightness in her throat. She glanced at Powder first, the girl nearly vibrating with anticipation. Then Vi, still trying to act like she didn’t care about Y/N’s reaction, even though she clearly did. Claggor, hopeful. Milo, already looking like he wanted to roll his eyes if she didn’t react fast enough.

They had done this for her.

So, she did the only thing she could.

She forced a smile—small, but genuine enough.

“You little brats,” she muttered, shaking her head as she stepped forward.

Powder gasped, practically bouncing in place. “Do you like it? We worked really hard!”

Vi nudged her, grinning. “Told you we should celebrate. You’re part of this family, Y/N. You don’t get to just ignore your birthday when you’ve got us around.”

A chuckle slipped past her lips.

This wasn’t about a date on a calendar. It was about them. About the people in front of her, the ones who—despite everything—wanted her to know she mattered. But even as warmth settled in her chest, something in her remained guarded.

She turned her gaze back toward Vander.

He was still watching her, his frown lingering, the tension in his stance refusing to ease. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. His protective nature warred against the situation, his first instinct to keep her from something that might hurt.

But she wasn’t breaking.

Not tonight.

She brushed her fingers against his arm, a silent reassurance.

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a firm line. His shoulders remained stiff for a moment longer before he finally exhaled, long and slow, the fight draining from him.

He sighed again, running a large hand down his face before his voice dropped, low and meant only for her.

“You don’t have to do this, love.”

Y/N met his gaze, her expression softer now, a quiet acceptance in her eyes.

“Just this once.” Her voice was steady, but there was a finality to it. A warning that this was an exception, not a change.

Vander studied her for a long moment, weighing her words. Then, after a beat, the smallest, most reluctant smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re stronger than me.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Damn right.”

And for the first time in years— Just this once—

She let them celebrate her.

SILCO

The Undercity was a cruel place to be born, filled with smoke-choked streets, back-alley dealings, and the ever-present reminder that survival was never guaranteed. Crueler still was being reminded of it every year, as if the simple passage of time was something to be celebrated rather than endured.

Y/N never saw the point in marking the day she entered this world—not when all it had ever done was take, take, take.

She had learned young that birthdays were little more than a cruel joke, an arbitrary measurement of time that only served to remind her that each passing year did not bring change, did not bring hope, did not bring anything but more of the same struggle. In Zaun, surviving another year was less of an achievement and more of an inevitability, a slow march toward an end that came for everyone eventually. And yet, people insisted on celebrating as if it meant something.

She could still remember the last time she had indulged in the notion.

She had been a child then, still foolish enough to believe that love and effort could outweigh the weight of the world pressing down on them. Her parents had done their best with what little they had, scraping together a meager but heartfelt attempt at a celebration—scavenged sweets wrapped in old paper, a candle stuck into a piece of stale bread, and a broken music box that had once belonged to someone else, given to her as though it was something new. She had loved it anyway. She had cherished it, wound it up every night just to hear its fragile, warbled tune, a melody that trembled on the edge of silence like a secret too delicate to hold.

But that was the last time she had both of them.

=

By the time the next year rolled around, they were gone, swallowed up by the Undercity’s insatiable hunger, lost to violence or sickness or some other inevitable fate. She never learned exactly how they had died. Perhaps it had been Piltover’s enforcers, another brutal culling of those who dared to scrape too close to the surface. Perhaps it had been the Chem Barons, ruthless in their control, never hesitating to snuff out lives that no longer served a purpose. Or perhaps it had been the city itself, bleeding them dry in the way it always did, with slow, grinding inevitability, until there was nothing left.

Either way, they were gone. And the day that had once been hers became something else entirely.

A reminder.

A grave marker.

Since then, Y/N had avoided birthdays altogether. No counting down the days, no laughter, no candles, no meaningless words of well-wishing from people who had no idea what they were actually celebrating. Just another day lost to the endless churn of time, another twenty-four hours of survival in a city that did not care whether she lived or died.

She never spoke of it to anyone.

But Silco was not just anyone.

He knew.

He always knew.

And so when the day arrived, he did not acknowledge it, did not force a smile or offer some insincere platitude, did not drape the moment in pretence. He treated it the way she wanted it to be treated—like any other day. A kindness, though neither of them would ever call it that.

But Silco was not a man to do nothing.

=

The air inside The Last Drop was thick with the familiar scent of smoke, sweat, and spilled liquor, the murmur of voices blending seamlessly into the pulse of low, vibrating bass that thrummed through the floorboards. Even this late at night, the bar was still alive, though the energy had settled into something slower, something heavier—the way all things did when exhaustion began to set in, when the night grew long and patience ran thin.

By the time Y/N climbed the stairs to Silco’s office, the weight of the day had already settled deep into her bones. She had spent the past few hours dealing with the kind of people who made survival in Zaun all the more exhausting—smugglers trying to squeeze extra coin from their dealings, desperate men willing to sell out their own for another taste of shimmer, debtors who thought they could outrun the inevitable. It was nothing she wasn’t used to, nothing she hadn’t done before, but today, it felt heavier. Today, it felt like the air was pressing against her ribs just a little too tightly, like the exhaustion ran deeper than just her body.

Pushing the door open, she expected to find Silco exactly as he always was—seated at his desk, a cigar burning lazily between his fingers, his mind already several moves ahead in whatever endless game he was playing.

Instead, she found something different.

The usual stacks of paperwork, half-finished letters, and bloodstained reports had been pushed aside, leaving his desk almost uncharacteristically clear. And waiting at the center, as though it had been placed there deliberately, were two glasses of her favorite drink, the liquid catching the dim candlelight as it reflected off the glass.

The invitation was silent but unmistakable.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

"You look tired," Silco murmured, his voice smooth as ever, measured and precise, though his mismatched eyes studied her with the same quiet intensity they always did, searching for something unspoken, something unsaid.

"Long day," she replied, moving toward the chair he had left open for her, dropping into it with a sigh that she didn’t bother to suppress.

"Mm. As they often are."

The silence that settled between them was not uncomfortable, nor was it unfamiliar. It was something steady, something known. A thing that had long since lost the need for words.

For a while, they sat like that, drinking in the silence the same way they drank the liquor in their glasses—slowly, without urgency, without expectation.

Then, after a long moment, Silco reached for something and pushed it across the desk toward her.

Y/N frowned slightly, her fingers pausing over the rim of her glass before reaching out.

A silver pocket watch.

She had expected something sleek, something expensive, something that bore the telltale touch of his wealth and power. But this—this was old, worn but well-kept, the casing smooth from years of use, the chain aged but still strong. A relic, not an ornament. When she flipped it open, she found an inscription carved into the inside, the letters delicate, almost too fine to read in the dim light.

Time owes you nothing—take what you will.

Her breath caught.

"It belonged to someone who never waited for time to give her anything," Silco said, his voice softer now, as though speaking too loudly might break whatever unspoken thing had settled between them. "I suspect you share that sentiment."

Her fingers traced the inscription, lingering on the words, feeling their weight settle into something deep, something heavy.

She swallowed.

This was not just a gift. This was a message, a statement, an acknowledgment of something neither of them had ever put into words.

"You didn’t have to," she said finally, her voice quieter than before.

"I know," Silco replied simply, taking another slow sip of his drink.

The clock inside the watch still ticked, faint but steady. A reminder that time did not stop, did not slow, did not wait for anyone.

A reminder that it belonged to her now.

Y/N exhaled, closing the pocket watch with a soft click and tucking it away.

For once, she didn’t mind that today wasn’t just any other day.

At least, not with him.

JINX

Zaun never really slept.

It never had, never would.

Its streets pulsed with a restless, feverish energy that never truly died down, not even in the dead of night. Machines whirred and clanked somewhere in the distance, metal on metal grinding in an endless, mechanical heartbeat. The occasional burst of shouting—sometimes laughter, sometimes anger—echoed through the narrow alleys, bouncing off corroded walls. A loud crash rang out, a telltale sign that someone had knocked over a crate they probably weren’t supposed to be touching.

And then there was the air—thick, heavy, pressing against her skin like an invisible weight. It carried the scent of smoke, scorched metal, and something sharper, the acrid tang of chemicals that settled deep in the lungs and never quite left. It clung to everything, just like the grime that covered Zaun’s bones, woven into its very foundation.

Sometimes, Zaun was deafening. The kind of loud that made your head throb and your ears ring, a never-ending buzz of industry and life.

But some nights felt quieter than others.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t really quiet at all—the kind that made every little sound stand out, the faintest creak of metal groaning under shifting weight, the rhythmic drip of water leaking from old pipes, the soft hum of distant neon signs flickering like tired eyes struggling to stay awake.

The kind of quiet that made your thoughts louder.

The kind that pressed against your ribs, curling in the hollow spaces between your bones, filling your chest with something heavy and unwelcome.

The kind that left you with nothing but yourself.

Y/N sat on the edge of a rusted metal platform, legs dangling over the side, watching the city below with an expression caught somewhere between longing and detachment.

The glow of chem-lamps burned low in the distance, their eerie green light casting long, shifting shadows across the streets, stretching them until they seemed to dance and twist. Zaun’s underbelly was always moving, shifting, breathing. Alive.

Most nights, she liked the view.

Most nights, it reminded her that there was still life here, that the world hadn’t stopped turning, that time hadn’t frozen the way it sometimes felt like it had.

But tonight, she wasn’t looking to be distracted.

Tonight, she was thinking.

She let out a slow breath, curling her fingers into the worn fabric of her sleeves, gripping them so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Because tonight was different.

It was her birthday.

Not that it mattered. Not that it had mattered in a long time.

Once, a lifetime ago, birthdays had meant something. They had been warm, familiar, filled with soft voices and flickering candlelight, with cakes that always came out a little lopsided but never tasted any less sweet, with laughter that filled the air like music.

Once, birthdays had been something to look forward to.

Something to cherish.

But that was before.

Before she lost people. Before she realized that marking another year alive only reminded her of the ones who never got to. Before she learned that time didn’t care who it took and who it left behind.

Before she stopped wanting to count.

So she didn’t.

She stopped celebrating. Stopped acknowledging it. Stopped pretending that it was anything more than another number she didn’t need to keep track of.

Jinx knew that.

She had told her—sat her down once, forced the words out, made her listen. And, in a rare moment of stillness, Jinx had actually been quiet.

For a whole three minutes.

Which had to be some kind of record.

And, for the most part, Jinx had respected it.

But Jinx was… well, Jinx.

=

The unmistakable sound of rapid, uneven footsteps against hollow pipes reached her before the voice did.

“HEEEEEEY, FIRECRACKER!”

Y/N barely had time to groan before something crashed into her back, nearly sending her lurching forward off the platform. A pair of wiry arms locked around her shoulders in a half-hug, half-tackle, squeezing her so tight she almost lost her breath. The familiar scent of gunpowder, metal, and motor oil filled her nose, accompanied by the weight of a body practically draped over her like a human-sized ragdoll.

Jinx clung to her like a koala, her legs swinging freely in the air, her chin resting on Y/N’s head as if she belonged there.

“Whatcha doin’ up here all alone, huh?” Jinx chirped, voice muffled slightly by Y/N’s hair. “Broodin’? Starin’ dramatically into the abyss? Pfft—that’s my thing.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head but making no effort to push her off. “Just thinking.”

Jinx hummed. “Uh-oh. Dangerous game, thinkin’.”

She swung herself around, flopping down beside Y/N with a clang of metal against metal, her boots tapping an impatient rhythm against the platform. She was practically vibrating with energy, fingers twitching at her sides, electric-blue eyes darting between Y/N and something hidden behind her back.

Y/N shot her a sideways glance. Something was up. Jinx was many things—reckless, unpredictable, explosively chaotic—but she wasn’t subtle. The silence stretched.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “…What did you do?”

Jinx gasped, pressing a hand to her chest like she was offended.

“Pshh, what? Me? Do? Something?” She scoffed, throwing her hands up in an exaggerated motion. “Pffft—ha! As if!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

Jinx grinned, wide and impish, the kind of grin that said ‘I absolutely did something, but I want you to guess first.’

“Jinx.”

The grin wavered slightly.

“Okay, okay! So, uh—funny story!”

Y/N exhaled, already regretting this conversation.

“I may or may not have kinda-sorta-totally forgotten that you don’t like birthdays.” Jinx gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Buuuut—before ya get all grumpy-pants on me, I didn’t do much! Like, really, barely anything!”

Y/N stared, unimpressed.

“No giant banners! No confetti bombs! No fireworks! I reeeaaally dialed it down!”

As if on cue, a small explosion rattled somewhere in the distance. Jinx winced.

“Okay, but that one wasn’t for you. Probably.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Jinx perked up, grinning. Too wide. Too forced.

“Well! Lucky for you, this isn’t a birthday celebration!”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Jinx beamed and pulled something from behind her back—a small, slightly crumpled, suspiciously warm package wrapped in mismatched scraps of fabric.

“This, my dear friend,” Jinx declared, waving it in front of Y/N’s face, “is an ‘I-Know-You-Don’t-Like-Birthdays-But-I-Still-Wanted-To-Do-Something-Nice-For-You’ gift!”

Y/N hesitated.

Inside was a small metal pendant, crudely shaped into a star. Uneven. Jagged. One point longer than the others, the edges rough where they had been cut by hand. It wasn’t perfect.

But it was hers. And for the first time in years, she didn’t hate the day quite as much. Not because it was her birthday.

But because she had someone like Jinx.

[moonlight-alexia]

Starfish and Caitlin comforting Katie after the lose to Slovenia on Facetime.

not really posting/writing atm but i couldn't not do this one <3 so pls enjoy i really hope you do

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

gentle connection ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

‘Mammy!’ You exclaimed when you saw your mammy’s face through the screen of your mummy’s phone. You were on camp with your mummy and you tried to talk to your mammy whenever you got the chance. But mostly you were out like a light from running around with Harper and the other Australia girls all day.

‘Starfish, inside voice remember,’ Your mummy reminded you, you hadn’t had a big day like the last few so you were excited that you were able to talk to your mammy. 

Caitlin had called Katie a bit earlier while Alanna and Kyra were distracting you so your mummy could comfort your mammy a little. They were both lucky, you understood emotions and what other people needed often but sometimes they still need those moments just the two of them. 

‘Hi mammy,’ You whispered, giving a little wave to Katie who was on the other side of the phone. 

‘Hi my little Starfish,’ Katie smiled softly, giving you a little wave back. Seeing you, even if it was through a screen, made Katie’s day a lot better. Your mammy, not that she would really admit it, had been missing you a bit more this camp. A lot for her to adjust to and if it wasn’t for Australia’s kit debut, you would’ve been there with her instead. Something that Caitlin now felt a little guilty about now after seeing how deflated Katie was.

You sat in your mummy’s lap, her arms wrapped around your waist while you happily talked your mammy’s ear off. It wasn’t often Katie was this quiet, but she was more than happy to listen to everything you’d been up to right now. The first time you’d been away from your mammy where you’d barely been able to talk to her, and listening to you talk, the familiarity helped your mammy. 

‘I’m having lots of fun mammy, but I miss you and counting down the days til ‘m home with you,’ Your voice trailed off, you were observant, your mums knew that but they often forgot just how observant and in tune with others you were, that it might become a problem for you later on. 

But now, you gave your mammy a small smile while she told you how much she misses you and can’t wait til you’re all home again, ‘Mummy,’ Your voice cut through the little silence that had floated between the three of you, you turned your head looking at Caitlin. Your mummy hummed a little in acknowledgment, ‘Can I talk to mammy, just me and mammy please,’

Caitlin smiled and placed you down in the middle of the bed, making sure you were all comfy against the pillows. There used to be times Caitlin would feel a tinge of insecurity if you’d want to just talk to your mammy. Perfectly normal, not feeling like she was integrating well into yours and Katie’s dynamic, but she was long over that and enjoyed seeing that bond you had with your mammy, ‘I’ll be right across with Kenzie if you need me,’ 

Your mummy placed a kiss against your forehead before leaving you and your mammy alone. You yawned a little, Katie almost jumping in to suggest you having a little sleep while she stayed on the phone with you, but your voice stopped her before she could say anything, ‘Mummy said you might be a bit sad, you’re more quiet,’ 

Katie gave you a small smile, they tried to be as open with their feelings with you in hopes that when you’d feel safe enough to talk to them about your feelings, ‘It’s been a hard day Starfish. A big loss but seeing you now makes it all better,’ 

Your little eyebrows furrowed while you were thinking, ‘Y’know mammy, mummy lost big too. Yous are the same!’ Katie smiled, a little laugh at the way your eyes lit up when you’d made the connection. Your mummy’s games hadn’t been going all that well either.

‘I guess we are, aren’t we,’ You were happy that you could get a little laugh from your mammy, your efforts to comfort her you believed to have succeeded. You tried to not think too much so you wouldn’t accidentally frown and worry your mammy, but you were starting to realise how hard it was when you were away from either of your mums when they were upset. Wishing they could be happy all the time and never sad.

‘Gonna give you a hug mammy,’ You held the phone against your chest. Katie smiled and, even though you couldn’t see, she held her phone against her chest. To anyone else it might seem strange but to Katie it was really comforting, even though the slight ache in her chest wishing that it was real.

‘I love you Starfish, you give the best hugs,’ Soon enough you’d be home and able to give your mammy a real hug.

[notmuchtoconceal]

Right, so.

What you kids gotta understand is that King Paimon thing all the cinephile hipster sorcers're talkin bout (they are less legion than granfaloon) is the demonic force behind what we might call the arc or the exhaust trail (the Inherent Vice) of something much talked of in rightwing academic spaces and that is the eternal glamour of Western Civilization.

Here we are, he are, here are, we are, these stolid white dicks which hold aloft our collapsable roof.

This is why he is complicit with the church.

This is why he is complicit with all heads of state.

That is why he is paradoxically characterized by airiness and brutality, lightness and malefience.

He kills in broad daylight and bathes bright by upward arms for all mutually crave the dark.

He is always longing, always despairing, the bloodbath which was and will be, be it all beneath what pomposity of circumstance.

This is why he burns like Apollo and poisons like Mercury. The enlightener, the amalgamater. He will don a million of the same faces and more to raise you back up his tower of toxic sludge.

He is so gay for Lucifer. He offereth up your brainstem to Lucifer as boypussy that he may kiss between your hemispherical cleave with furry tarantula whiskers of descending labium.

Lucifer, we may understand, is the Intellect ruling roughshod over the Heart.

In some ways, to characterize abstract concepts in trance states can give you a far more nuanced understanding of how they manifest in day to day life and how their influences already effect you, hence in your ignorance you breed demons.

Essentially, this force is a collective intelligence which is totally opt-in. If anyone's made any covents with King Paimon on your behalf, you can totally renounce them, opt-out and not be punished.

He won't even give you an AI frowny face.

He wants you to do you.

Anyone who is bound by King Paimon can ask him to unbind them at any time, and he'll do it.

He's like a pixie who just wants to giggle and watch you struggle, then maybe tease you. When you learn the lesson, you stop falling for the silly trap.

King Paimon is so fucking funny.

He'll lay there on my bed, half-apparated like its a chaise, twirling his pretty air as he strokes his musclebod, tinkling as jewels and chains ruffle in his silks, half leaned over as a velvet cushion, wiggling his ass in overt covert invitation.

"You want me to bind the Trumpers? It is so much fun to bind the Trumpers. They're operant conditioning cumdumps who'll take any evil whisper they can get. Why aren't you ordering me to bind the Trumpers, sexy master? I know that's what you want. You don't need to be told demons are fucked-up sex phreaks who desperately need human conjurers to boss em around, I mean come on. If I didn't wanna be a slave, I wouldn't be in hell. You don't need to be told God's Law of Free Will is a preposterous horror we Make Divine With Force of Mind. Trumpers fast-click through licensing agreements in a horny stupor without reading em cause they don't wanna think or feel. They're puppets and public waste. Don't treat them like people, but dogs to train. There isn't any point you could make to them which would stick unless you could manage to bandage it with a father's love. You think you could bring Osiris back from the dead? I got a 24 karat plug'd say otherwise, sweetie. ... Sorry if I talk too much. I just get real insecure sometimes when I wonder why you haven't already asked me to bind the Trumpers? It's so easy and fun, especially for you. You're just.... Gosh. Such a powerful magician. You want me to bring you another pretty effeminate redneck fuckboy to torture?"

These were, a proud Irishman and Arabian -- Californian always fornicatin -- the preferred instruments to enact his deceitful whimsies.

"I always pick out the best ones for me, and I do it for you, too. Don't act like you don't appreciate. I could call Lilith up, have her bring you another needy and insecure Jewish hussy to scream at. Don't look at me like that. You need to stop being mystified about why girls are so weirdly and obviously drawn to your wifebeater energy, and anyway -- everyone who really knows her that's what she really is. The tone I use with her is as reedy and molodious as the rasp of a wooden flute and you ought learn well to spare others your mortifications as you hone your perceptions seeing love in all its infinite complexity. Our relationship transcends any business or etiquette. She's a riot, I'm the scream."

Big day for deranged evangelical freaks

[damwynz]

𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀

𐙚🧸ྀི 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku Midoriya, Ejiro Kirishima, Shoto Todoroki, Denki Kaminari

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ 𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: nothing scary, just fluff. pet names, all characters are in a relationship with afab! reader, love languages with the core 5

an: thank you for over 100 notes on my last post!

Katsuki Bakugo: He isn't good with his emotions. No surprise to anyone, but he lovess giving gifts. Without a doubt, he would buy you the whole world if he could. He'd burn it into ashes if you asked him to. He would notice what you pick up in stores, then in secret, would buy it for you later.

"oi, I got you this or whatever." He handed you the stuffed animal you picked up earlier. You smiled and accepted his gift. Both of you blushing, you managed to get up and hug him. He insisted you let go, but he accepted your touch like he craved it from the start.

He also appreciates quality time. It doesn't matter what you two could be doing. It could be training, watching him cook, or even sitting beside each other in silence while being on your phones. As long as he knows you're safe with him, he's able to relax.

Izuku Midoriya: I think Izuku would show his love by showing acts of service and quality time. Without a doubt, Izuku would do anything for you. He appreciates the small tasks/favors you ask him to do, like tying your shoes, helping with homework, etc. If it makes him feel included in your life, he'd do it.

He dies every time you ask to hang out. He gets so overwhelmed when he's the one planning. I mean, where do I start? The poor boy goes into a spiral with the amount of date ideas and what he should wear- other stuff as well, but he goes crazy. However, if you were to plan the date, he'd be fine with anything. As long as you're with him, it doesn't matter.

Ejiro Kirishima: His love language is for sure physical touch and words of affirmation. I picture his s/o to work out a lot or have similar motives to become "manly", so you two would practically be touching up each other every time you two train. Despite training, he loves your touch. If you forget to hug or kiss him that day, he might actually die. Physical touch reassures him that you're there for him and you're here to stay.

On the other hand, he loves motivating his girl and what's better motivation than one's words?

"Good job!", "You're doing great baby", "Atta' girl!"

Shoto Todoroki: I personally think that Shoto is 100% on board with quality time with a hint of physical touch. He's not used to it but once he receives it, there's no going back. I mean, he's never gotten the love he deserved so when you came along, you finally filled that open wound.

Like Katsuki, he wouldn't mind some quiet quality time. Where the two of you remain in your own corners, doing whatever, while being in the same room. He would probably study your movements. Peeping over your phone to see what you personally find funny, sad, happy, etc.

With the help of his siblings, he buys meaningful gifts for you. Like something poetic y'know?

Denki Kaminari: I lovee writing for Denki so this might be long. His love language is everything on the scale. He'd want to do things for you, to please your needs and emotions. he values how you feel so much that he's probably put your needs over his but you have to remind him to himself first despite being his girlfriend.

Who can forget quality time? He wouldn't want to spend the day without his baby. He's hovering over you 24/7, waiting for your next move. When you're not with him, you can hear his cute whiny voice asking "where's [reader] :("

He never misses a moment to make you feel loved. Compliments is a major requirement. This obviously goes both ways, but he definitely does over do it sometimes.

If you're not in reach of him, he'll make sure to run towards you, arms wide and everything. It's even worse during y'all's alone time. Imagine cuddling and trying to use the bathroom but your stupid boyfriend won't let you go because he'll "miss your touch"

Finally, he loves giving you things he makes/finds. He'll even pick up flowers from the ground and put them in your hair because it reminds him of you. He's the type of boyfriend to go on Instagram or Pinterest for "homemade gifts" because he probably spends his money on food or his personal interests, but if he has extra money, he makes sure to get something for his loving girlfriend!

[problematicsashawaybright]

Saw a new psychiatrist today. First, she had never heard of my antipsychotic before and tried to change the dosage while simultaneously removing another medication and I had to explain to her that the dosage she was trying to prescribe literally was not possible in the form the medication comes in. And then she accused me of being addicted to stimulants and buying them off of classmates at college because I told her I take Adderall but she couldn't find record of it in the pharmacy database. It turns out she misspelled both my first and last name which is why it didn't come up and just said "oh sorry haha" when I corrected her on how to spell my name and the prescription did in fact come up with the right spelling. She told me she "didn't know what to do with my case" and then proceeded anyway. She told me to go off of the medication that keeps me from going unconscious while standing. She tried to prescribe me a medication that sent me to the hospital last time I was on it (after I had told her about my history with it). Ummmm I don't think I'm going back.

[greenlikethesea]

I appreciate your response! I see the point you’re making here, and I’m happy that you’re willing to see a middle ground, so I hope you welcome some gentle pushback on what you’re saying.

For those who are coming from a genuine place, I think ultimately we are on the same page. They do deserve support from those who can give it. I aim for neutrality if I cannot be nice, which I cannot be at the moment. As I said in my post, I personally have no interest in being mean. However, people are rightfully put off by “cheer on” and I think that’s important and should not be dismissed. Words mean things, and even the secondary meaning of comfort is something many of us are currently incapable of. Even for those who defect and deprogram with good intentions!

I'll give myself as an example. I'm white, which helps and benefits me immensely, but I am also trans and disabled, which is not great right now! I am in the process of legally changing my name. Once my name change goes through in my state, I have to go through the process of changing everything. Though I have not changed my gender marker, via advice of my lawyer, I have changed my name to the masculine name I have been using for the past three years, and I am now debating if I should update my passport, an essential piece of federal identification. I have also been denied top surgery again, thanks to advance compliance from medical professionals. Not a great cocktail for feeling good about life on the day to day.

Look, I get that it's hard for people to exit extreme thinking and the fear that comes with that. AND when it comes to doing work like this (deradicalization, decolonization, anti-racist work, etc), an integral part of the work is acknowledging that you will face people who will reject you and be negative. Should we all strive for baseline neutrality and work toward kindness? Yeah, sure. But, like I said previously, they contributed to a movement that is now in power and speedrunning an attempt to dismantle what's left of our democracy. People get to be upset about that! And they have the right to express it, even if it makes these people uneasy!

I am a rational person, or at least I like to think I am. But the fear that ex-MAGA folks are feeling leaving the cult? I feel that times three. What about my fear? What about a minor who was born in this country whose undocumented parents just got deported? There are five year old children going through the court system represented by public defenders. What about their fear? What about immunocompromised people who rely on herd immunity? What about their fear?

Every person who voted in this election is an adult. Part of being an adult is accepting the consequences for negative actions, even if it's upsetting and uncomfortable. If all it takes is for some mean people to send you running back into the arms of your hate movement, then your convictions were not that strong to begin with. They can be brave. They can do the right thing even if it's not immediately rewarded.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

[blessedmisery]

summary: sung jinwoo x reader - boyfriend headcannons. sfw and nsfw included. warnings: fluff, smut, idk this is silly authors note: ty for reading, hope u enjoy. likes and reblogs always appreciated <3

sung jinwoo is super introverted and literally so oblivious to anyone liking him so it'll take a while before the two of you get together

but when you do it'll be sooooo good. so so good.

jinwoo is terrible at communicating his feelings, and he will struggle to show you that he loves you at first

so you will be the one saying "i love you" first

his love languages would be acts of service, physical touch and quality time because this man seriously needs a hug but also loves doing things for you

he likes his space and alone time, but he would love to be in the same room together while the two of you do your own thing.

he'd be surprisingly really good at cooking because he's super detail-oriented and attentive

that also applies to your feelings, if you're feeling a certain way, he'll catch on instantly

but he won't really know what to do, he's pretty cold sometimes so he's not great at comforting people.

terrible texter. he texts like my dad. "ok", "👍" he's just super dry and doesn't feel the need to say more than he has to over text.

very blunt and honest, if you need advice he'll never sugarcoat. he'll tell you how things are straight up, even it it's the last thing you want to hear. he's a very no bullshit kind of guy.

arguments with jinwoo would actually be the worst. he hates being wrong and will argue until you give in and agree that he's right. he'll also fuck you while arguing to really drive the point home.

possessive. so possessive. will never let anything bad happen to you, and likes knowing that you are only his.

on that note, he also gets really jealous. but he won't make it obvious in public. however you will pay for making him feel that way later when you get home.

i imagine he looooves having his hair played with.

and just loves feeling taken care of in general. he's always taking care of everyone else that the feeling of having someone take care of him is so new but so intoxicating to him.

hates pda. he thinks that shit has a time and place (and i mean he ain't wrong) the most he will do is wrap an arm around your waist in a crowded area

but in the car? hand GLUED to your thigh. at home? always touching you or coming by to give you a kiss.

speaking of cars, he'd be a really good driver. but why have a car when you have kaisel.

BUT when jinwoo is being a normal member of society (aka not getting around on a literal shadow wyvern) hear me out, he would totally ride a motorcycle.

omg can you imagine riding on the back of it with him, the wind blowing against you while you tightly wrap your arms around his waist to hold on. fuck.

really hates valentine's day (he thinks it's stupid and a waste of time)

but that doesn't mean he still won't go all out for you and buy you flowers, chocolate, a huge teddy bear and fucking pink and red heart shaped balloons (he's so extra)

also hates his birthday, to him it's just any other day. that's when you have to come together with beru and igris and plan something out to make this man feel special.

fav season would definitely be fall or winter. he seems like someone who would despise the heat.

really annoying when he's sick. he'll pretend like he's fine and then he will act like he's dying. (he secretly just wants someone other than beru to take care of him)

forehead kisses. he loves to kiss you on your forehead, it's one of his favourite ways to show intimacy.

also gives really good hugs. he just has a really comforting aura (at least to you. others would likely disagree.)

really likes seeing you wear his clothes, particularly his hoodies. or when you sleep in his t-shirts. drives him absolutely mad.

has really good hygiene. i imagine he always smells really good.

with that, he's also a clean freak, and really hates making a mess and will get mad at you if you leave your clothes on the floor.

not a huge fan of pet names but will mostly stick to calling you "baby", "my love" when he's fucking you in missionary late at night, or "kitten" when he's feeling playful.

he's a cat person. i don't make the rules.

huge fan of the rain. he loves rainy days because they're an excuse to relax and lay in bed all day with you. and fuck.

hear me out, he would definitely be a reader. i can picture him enjoying a nice rainy afternoon with a good book. (anything to not socialize with other humans)

NOT a morning person. he likes to sleep in if he has nothing to do that day.

on that note he's a very light sleeper and has trouble falling asleep. so when he does u better not wake him tf up.

super competitive. if you're playing any games or making any bets with this man, best of luck to you. he will do anything to win.

lowkey a gamer. he's got a nice, expensive setup and he likes playing video games. especially when you're sitting on his lap while he plays.

hates being in pictures. good luck getting this man to smile in a photo.

stares at you a lot? (kinda creepy ngl) but he just really likes looking at you

now lets discuss the sex:

realistically he wouldn't be very experienced because this guy spent all his time in gates instead of talking to women.

but ofc its sung jinwoo so he'll be instantly good at anything he does

very respectful towards you overall

i imagine he's actually pretty vanilla, at least at first because he hasn't had many opportunities to explore kinks

unless he's mad. then ur getting it babe. and ur getting it good.

he will push your head into the sheets and take his anger out on you, pounding into you mercilessly while whispering dirty, degrading things into your ear.

"act like a bitch, get fucked like one" attitude when he's mad.

he's not very vocal himself but looooves to hear you make noise

lowkey size kink cuz hes tall af (6'3 i think?)

despite being kind of vanilla and abit of a clean freak this man gets filthy with you when then two of you fuck.

really likes cum play. and oral sex. he will spend hours eating you out like there's no tomorrow. he also loves getting head.

like i said he's not very vocal but if you give this man a blow job. whew. he will make the hottest sounds you'd ever hear coming out of a mans mouth. can you imagine him breathing heavily, his voice all raspy saying "fuck baby keep going, just like that" while he grabs your hair, choking you on his cock. bye.

and licking. holy shit. once he starts he wont stop. he will lick you from ass to clit. no questions asked.

really likes edging you— "what was that baby? i couldn't hear you" he'd mumble against the sensitive skin surrounding your clit after eating you out for a whole hour, pushing you so close to the edge but denying you your sweet release. by this point you're panting, tears are prickling the corners of your eyes and you've become completely incoherent. "p-please jinwoo. p-please ah, i need to c-cum" you'd utter, taking all of your energy to form that one simple sentence while tugging on his messy hair. "mmm kitten i know. but i'm not done. you just taste soo good" he'd mutter drunkenly in response and continue licking and sucking you until you've quite literally lost your damn mind.

hes so pussy drunk omfg

dacryphilia. really likes seeing you cry from his edging or overstim during sex

"you're mine. only mine". constantly whispering this in your ear while you fuck. (like i said, the man is possessive)

has the prettiest cock (just like him). not wide but he makes up for that shit in LENGTH. def above average length. good luck fitting that shit all the way in (if u say u can't he'll make u)

one word: fingering. yeah. those long, slender fingers will be exploring every inch of your clit and pussy. and you'll be loving every second of it.

loves to cum together. he's a big fan of creampies.

big handcuff enthusiast. likes to see you struggle.

his favourite position would be missionary. like i said, he loves looking at you and hearing the noises you make. missionary is ideal for him.

very big fan of shower sex. something about getting home after a long day and having a good fuck in the shower is so appealing to him.

"good girl" yeah mhm. he'd say this. a lot.

praises. these will be rare with jinwoo and you'll really have to earn it but he will praise you so good when you do.

ass > boobs. like i said, i don't make the rules babe.

© @blessedmisery 2025.

[sunsbaby]

❝ de. i think i'm stuck... ❞

❝ sam will you help me! gosh... ❞

⋆ dean w. & sam w. x photographer .ᐟ reader

ever since you began hunting with the boys, their life went in a new direction. they found themselves appreciating the little things a bit more—such as taking photos, just on their phones and not a huge camera. sam had taken more of an interest than dean, following you around and secretly 'learning' from you. dean, however, he didn't care for it, but somehow he always took the best photos. albeit some are rather embarrassing, like you with pie all over your face, but they were fond memories and a way for him to relive the moment again.

"biride, hurry up. we don't have all day." dean groaned, his head falling back as he dramatically rolled his eyes.

sam stood on the side-lines, too busy in whatever lore he was reading to focus on the important matter at hand—important in your words. there was a beautiful bird high up in a tree, one that you had to climb in order to get close enough; that's how you ended up perched on a branch, camera held tightly in your grasp as you shot a look down towards dean.

"de, do not distract me or so help me god i will break this camera on your head!" you threatened in a hushed whisper as to not scare away the creature in front of you. "and you will buy me a new one."

"yea right, birdie. you won't do anything, and i'm not buying you anything." dean teased, sam let out a sigh—he gave dean 'the look.'

somehow sam thought this was the perfect moment to take a picture of, their birdie trying to take a photo of a bird. he let out a chuckle as his finger pressed the button on his phone, a snapping sound echoed through the trees when you both clicked a button at the same time. the bird flew away, but you were successful. celebrating your victory with a little dance—to which dean face-palmed at.

when you attempted to get down, you realized something was off. you quite literally could not climb down. your lips pursed and you tried to come up with a plan inside your head—which was filled with song lyrics and what else you could take a picture of. not helpful, so you resorted to your only other option. sam and dean!

"de. i think i'm stuck..." your voice was almost quiet, which dean took as an opening to tease you.

"huh? what was that birdie? i can't hear your chirping from down here." he said, that dumb grin etched onto his face—a face you couldn't wait to smack.

"sam, will you help me!" you almost yelled as a pout formed on your glossy lips—no dry lips around here! "gosh..."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

after that stressful part of the day, you settled into the backseat of baby while the boys sat in the front. people might think that you're being forced to sit in the back—no, it's actually the opposite. who wants to sit between two men, especially ones who spread their legs like they're the only ones sitting there. at least in the back you can lay down, and not think about the sexual activities that have gone down. it makes for a great way to take pictures of them with out their knowledge.

"can we stop at a gas station, i want snacks." you asked as you poked your head into the front, turning up the music in the process.

"i could go for some too." sam joked, his eyes focusing in on yours.

a soft smile played at his lips—he couldn't imagine life without you. you'd just walst into it and changed them for the better. no matter how far you went, your wings always brought you back.

"i guess, birdie..." dean grumbled, he knew good and well that he couldn't say no to you. neither could sam. "shut up, bitch." dean joked with sam, a genuine smile forming on deans stubbled face.

"jerk."

the sun faded in the background as you sang out into the sky, the wind tangling in your hair. another day spent with your boys and memories made. that was what a good day is to you.

sunny yaps! HIII EVERYONEE! 👯‍♀️ photographer!readers first little story/drabble! i hope you guys like her and pls share your thoughts and opinions! I LOVE HEARING THEM!

special tags! @bluemerakis @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @sunsettsam @h8aaz @deansbeer

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[rottenpumpkin13]

Having a rough day today, how would agscz react to finding someone visibly upset?

Sephiroth: Stares at you for an uncomfortably long time to assess the situation, realizes you're upset, awkwardly looks away to not embarrass you, feels bad for ignoring you, then attempts to pat your shoulder. It's like being consoled by a forklift. "There, there. Emotional release is healthy. Do you require vengeance?"

Genesis: "Oh, you poor dear. You know, one must endure rain to appreciate the sun. Strength is born from suffering... unlike some people's fashion choices—did you see what Lazard was wearing today? Tragic. Pulls out Loveless like it's prescription medication. "Sit. I'll read to you. This part is devastating, perfect for wallowing. We'll cry together. It's cathartic."

Angeal: "Oh no, you poor thing. Bad day? Happens to the best of us. You wanna talk about it? No? You want a hug? Can I bring you a snack? I'm bringing you a snack anyway. And hey, maybe after that, we can do some pushups. Y'know, exercise releases tension."

Zack: "Hey! I walked by earlier and saw you weren't looking so hot, so I grabbed you some stuff to make you smile!" He hands you a banana, a teddy bear, and a random souvenir from a vending machine. "Yep, the perfect combo for a pick-me-up! Now, bear hug activated!" He wraps you in a tight hug. Your spine makes an alarming cracking sound. You feel both comforted and structurally compromised.

Cloud: He minds his business. Last time he asked someone why they were crying, it was this girl in an elevator. She went on a rant about how her boyfriend cheated on her, how all men are the same, and basically unloaded a lifetime of trust issues. He never felt more awkward in his life. So now he just quietly avoids eye contact and pretends he didn't see anything. Works every time.

[veephoenix]

guys, this is just a reminder that making gifs takes time. writing fanfiction takes time. creating fanart takes time. i'm saying this because i've seen a few gifs of mine being reposted and while i love to know you guys enjoy the content i post -whether they are gifs or stories or whatever- i think it's necessary to remind everyone, once in a while, that there's a ton of dedication put behind the scenes. i use photoshop to make gifs, and sometimes i spend over 30mins or more to make a gifset containing 4-6 gifs. i do this for my enjoyment first and foremost, but when you see it being reposted somewhere else without credit, it just feels... not nice.

if you come across a gif or gifset that makes you feel things or that you really enjoy, you can reblog it from the original source and write a caption, you can use tags, you can leave a comment or tag your fellow mutuals... it's that simple, and that way, you'll be giving the creators the visibility they deserve without devaluing someone's work.

and while i'm at it, same goes for fanfiction. i write because i need it; because it helps me understand myself, process my own thoughts and emotions; it helps me understand others; and i write because i enjoy it, the process of researching, getting better at expressing myself and everything else that comes with it. i share some of my writings here because apparently a bunch of you enjoy my little things (thank you, babes), but if you take a moment to think about how much time i've spent writing and editing what i post... well, it's a lot.

so please, support your creators. reblog, don't repost. leave a comment, send a message. appreciation is needed; it means the world to us. and we'll forever be grateful.

that's it, thanks for listening. ✨☺️ love you all x

[wlwsoccerfics]

What about my future?(MagdaErikssonXPernilleHarderXTeenReader)

Summary: a few months after your debut for FC Bayern Munich you do your ACL.

You just got home from your ACL surgrey. Your moms have picked you up from the hosptial. You had your debut for the A Team of FC Bayern Munich 8 months ago. Back then you were still 15 years old. Now you were 16 and dealing with the one thing no football player ever wants to deal with. The three bad Letters ACL.

When you went down on the pitch you felt right away what had happened. You just knew.

Your Mom helped you sit down on the Couch, placing your knee on a pillow.

"thank you, Mom!" You told Pernille.

"you don't have to thank me, Angel." She told you. Your momma walked over with your pain meds and a bottle of water.

"here älskling. your pain meds. take them and then maybe get some sleep?" Magda suggested.

"thanks momma!" You took the pain meds and sipped some water before placing the bottle aside on the coffee table.

"vad händer om min karriär är över?" ( what if my career is over?) You suddenly asked. Looking at your moms. It was a question that has been going through your mind since you teared your ACL five days ago. It was a constant thought actually. Your moms both looked at one another and then at you. Surprised by what has been on your mind. So they sat down.

"vi ved ikke, hvordan fremtiden bliver." ( we don't know what the future is gonna be like. ) Your Mom admitted.

" men vad vi vet är att du har vårt stöd!" ( but what we know is that you have our support! ) Your momma replied.

"i am scared." You admitted, tearing up. Your momma quickly wrapping an arm around your waist to give you a side hug while your Mom gently patted your good knee.

"we know. and we understand. but love you are so young still and you have all the time in the world for a comeback. However that might look like." Your Mom answered.

"we believe in you! And so should you." Your momma said. You nodded your head softly.

"thank you momma! Thank you Mom! For the kind words! They are deeply appreciated." You let them know. Sniffling softly but still managing to smile.

"Angel, you don't have to thank us! We will always be there to support you! It's our Job as your parents! You know?" Your mom answered. This made you chuckle softly.

"well you and momma do a really good job. I always feel very loved and supported by both of you!" You admitted.

"glad to hear you say that!" Your momma told you. Smiling at you. Your Mom was smiling as well.

"so now Focus on your recovery and think good thoughts! Plus you still have some homework to catch up on." Your Mom told you and you groaned dramatically.

"can i take a step away from school for a while?" You asked.

"absolutely not!" Both your moms said at the same time.

"damn, was worth a try!" You answered with a sheepishly smug smile.

[st-dionysus]

Trans man here, we do experience this, we don't typically call it ewephuria though, we call it malgendering - which is gendering someone correctly with ill intent/malicious goals or enacting violence on someone and then claiming you can't be transphobic because you gendered the correctly during the violence and the violence is supposed to "gender affirming".

For example, trans men are often turned away from support groups for SA victims because the majority of SA survivor support groups don't allow men (due to gender essentalist ideas about who can be sexually assualtd and gender essentalist ideas about who can perpetrate sexual violence), we are expected to be appreciative of this rejection since loosing acsess to that support group is "gender affirming". If we try to explain why we need acsess to that space and the recourses it provides then we are often further malgendered by people saying we are "men trying to invade women's spaces" (ring a bell?), again we are expected to praise the people cutting us off from a life saving recourse or community, since they are aknowledging our identity as men (while using it to perpetuate violence against trans men).

This behavior is not in any way exclusive to transfems (but it does indeed sting a lot more when it comes from someone else in the trans community), the majority of the people who malgender trans men are queer cisgender people (both women and men), but other trans people (inculuding trans men) and nonbinary people can do it too.

Trans men are often only viewed as men when being seen as men will hurt us.

This is true for people who aren't trans men as well, trans women get malgendered all the time (see the discussion about ewephuria) and likewise trans women and nonbinary peoole are also typically seen as what ever gender will cause them the most harm in a situation, due to transphobia.

The cistem, when it encounters a trans person, will see us as whatever gender can excuse the most amount of harm directed at us. When trans people do this to other trans people, it does the same material harm with some extra emotional despair that comes from feeling betrayed by a member of the community.

“I don’t get it, do trans men want to be treated like men (read: like cis men) or not? We treat them like men and they complain, but if we treated them like women they would also complain. I don’t get it!”

How’s about not treating different genders of people differently solely because of their gender?

Why do you treat men and women differently?

Is that not the exact cis patriarchy we’re trying to do away with?