#but i think they understand that pain on a personal level

[sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack]

Impulsivity

Modern Viktor x Fem! Reader

Your chronic pain has you at the end of your rope as you hopelessly search for something to relieve your pain. Help comes from the most unexpected of places: a walgreens at 9:45 pm.

Reader is mentioned to be an art/theater kid and is also disabled like Viktor and suffers from chronic pain. No use of y/n. Also not proofread we die like redacted

High key inspired by @meownotgood and @gaybybirth because reading their writing made me want to write again. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I'm terrified to post it. But I'm being brave! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I may make a part 2 depending on how this does. I hope you enjoy!

Pain makes it incredibly hard to think. Even though you're used to it and it's something you feel every day of your life, the burden is still quite heavy. But there is no pity for Atlas, and his shoulders will ache for the rest of time as he holds up the sky without the relief of Tylenol.

So now, you're standing in a Walgreens at 9:42 pm in the pain management aisle, shifting your weight from foot to foot to try and relieve the pain radiating from your hips to your ankles, trying to pick a topical pain relief gel that will actually work. You've tried most of them here; Bengay, Aspercreme, Biofreeze, Icy Hot, and nothing. Sure, they work for a few weeks but your fucking mutated joke of a body adapts and grows accustomed to whatever you use. The brace you wear on your left knee is itchy and pokes into you through your fleece-lined tights and it's not helping matters.

Giving up on reading the box of Voltaren you're holding, you crouch down to put it back and pick up something else. Your pain-addled brain is poor at making decisions it seems, as the moment you bend, your knee cracks in such a way that a painful heat spreads through your entire body. It was loud too, you know it was. Eyes are staring at you, burning a hole in your head as you wince and grit your teeth against the waves of pain.

You feel the urge to collapse, just sit on the floor, and read the labels and boxes there without having to stand, despite how utterly ridiculous you'd look.

"Are you alright?" Your right knee hits the floor as you shift into a kneeling position to look up at the person speaking to you. A long tweed overcoat, a thick red scarf, a cane, nice Oxford shoes, pale skin, worried amber eyes, and tousled brown hair meet your gaze. A man, a very beautiful man is standing a mere three feet from you, eyebrows pinched in concern. You blink a few times, willing yourself to remember how to act like a normal person and not a gobsmacked fool.

"Oh, yeah I uh…" You swallow and gesture wildly to the wall of products, and then visibly deflate "…no there's no way to make a joke out of this. " A laugh slips out, pitiful. You look back up at the man and the corners of his mouth are quirked up at the sides. Thank god, maybe he finds your misfortune endearing.

"They do tend to keep the best products just out of reach, don't they? Nothing at eye level ever seems to be worth your time. Just another cruel joke the health industry plays on the less abled." He looks between the wall of lotions and pills and you, his smile widening.

You smile too, less self-deprecative and more understanding, "Ah, a fellow health industry hater, amazing. Damn straight, they bleed us dry and expect us to thank them. Greedy schmucks." With one hand on the metal shelf and the strength of your good (better?) knee, you manage to pull yourself into an upright position, even with every nerve in your body screaming at you and the feeling that your left hip simply wants to cease to exist.

"Just trying to find something that doesn't stop working after a few weeks and also not develop an opioid addiction." Ah, maybe you could make a few cute jokes that this cuter man will appreciate.

"As one does." He leans both hands on his cane and nods his head conspiratorially. You giggle, you can't help it. Maybe it's the pain-induced delirium or maybe it's because you find the man in front of you incredibly attractive. But who's to say?

"Might I make a recommendation?" His accent is lilting and thick and it feels like every word out of his mouth is wrapped in a velvetine cloth. That metaphor makes no sense, your brain thinks. Shut up, chimes your heart.

"Please. I was just about to start considering just chopping off my leg." He laughs out loud at that.

"Ah, we've all been there." His attention is pulled back to the shelves and his fingers twitch as he looks for something. He's focused, insanely so, and it makes you feel important, seen. This random stranger, looking for something that will help you with such fervor.

God, it's been a while.

He bends at the waist to grab something off of the second shelf from the bottom and you definitely don't fixate on the way his long fingers curl around a box.

"This is Arnicare. The main ingredient was only legalized here a mere decade ago, it's never failed me thus far." He hands it over to you with a smile. You take it, a little awestruck and make a sincere effort to not freak out over the fact that your fingers brush his own. They're warm, good god.

"Thank you. This is invaluable insider information." You hold the box to your chest in gratitude.

"Of course. Tiger Balm is my favorite but they don't typically sell it in-store due to popular demand. I usually, unfortunately, turn to Amazon to buy it when it's in stock." he continues, putting one hand in his pocket and leaning onto his cane. You nod, making mental notes as you go.

"You are saving my life and my sanity right now. Truly." You pause, and then, with bravery that you didn't know you had-

"I'm (name)." You stick out your right hand, so that way if he chooses to take it, it won't be with the hand using his cane. He stalls for a moment and you fear you've made a horrible fool of yourself, but then he laughs and shakes your hand gently. You can't get over how warm his hand is, skin soft save for the callouses on his palm and fingertips.

"Viktor. It is nice to meet you." His eyes crinkle as the gentle smile he wears widens.

There's a charged beat where your hands linger a moment longer than what is expected and you laugh before letting go. "Sorry, I uh…have been running on far less than the recommended amount of sleep and meals that do not classify as full meals."

"I don't think I have ever gotten the recommended hours of sleep a day in my life."

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Really?"

"Really. I think my blood is 60% espresso at this point. Such is the life of academia." He shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

You look down at the product in your hands, and then back up to him, mind racing in a thousand different directions that all leave you terrified but at the same decision.

"You know, there's a really nice late-night coffee shop in this same shopping complex. Their coffee is the only coffee I confidently drink after 4 pm. Which, is arguably not healthy but, what can you do?" You blurt out, rather impulsively. He's a little shocked, it's clear on his face, but there is still a smile there.

"Are you asking me if I'd like to accompany you to grab coffee at…9:45 pm?" He tilts his head quizzically after checking his watch.

You nod a few times, "Absolutely I am. And maybe it's the fact that my hip hurts so bad and it's prohibiting me from feeling fear but…yeah. Wanna get coffee at 9:45 pm?" He's staring at you incredulously, but it's sweet and amused.

He laughs again, and it's a low, rumbling sound, "I was already planning on getting some kind of caffeine. Sure. I would love to." He's looking at you so intensely, almost like he's studying you. Self-consciousness washes over you suddenly as you realize you've sort of completely derailed whatever he'd been doing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your shopping or your night…"

He shakes his head as if it were impossible to interrupt, "Interrupt my night? My night full of no plans other than grading papers until my eyes bleed? Alone and without the company of a pretty girl? Ah yes, how dare you come between me and those plans." his tone is playful, sarcastic and the nervousness fades from you as quickly as it came. Your eyes narrow.

"Oh, so he thinks I'm pretty?" You grab your purse from off the ground and start to move backward toward the register, and he follows, adjusting his cane and bag sheepishly.

"He does."

"Good because she thinks he's pretty too." You venture quickly before your brain can catch up with your mouth. It only takes a second for him to catch up with you, strolling through the aisles of a near-desolate Walgreens.

"Lucky him."

The cashier at the counter looks as though they'll fall asleep as they bag your items: the Arnicare and a bottle of dark green nail polish. "I swear I'm not typically this impulsive." You call over your shoulder as the cashier hands you your receipt and you stuff your things into your purse. Viktor walks up and puts his items on the counter - allergy medication and a pack of multicolored pens, presumably for grading - and turns to you while fishing out his wallet.

"Somehow, I highly doubt that." He pauses, thinking over his next words, "Not that being impulsive is a bad thing. I could stand to be more impulsive." It's an apology where there doesn't need to be one.

You shrug, "No offense taken, because you're right. I was just trying to save face."

"Why?"

"Well…" Why were you trying to save face? "I feel, maybe a professor wouldn't be so inclined to hang out with someone so uninhibited? Some people call me childish." As he takes the small bag from the cashier, you find his eyes again, and they are full of mirth.

"Firstly, not a professor. I'm a PhD student at the University not far from here. We, as TA's, usually get saddled with grading assignments and papers." He walks forward with you, letting you walk through the automated doors first, probably also so you can lead the way to the coffee shop.

"Secondly, I disagree. Impulsivity does not automatically equate to childishness. Some people say impulsive, I say driven, or passionate. Spontaneity is life." You stare at him unabashedly as you walk. This man, Viktor, waxing poetic about the benefits of impulsivity on your behalf. He's smart, obviously, but not in a haughty I'm Better Than You way. It's refreshing. And while you may not be a traditional academic, you understand to some level.

The cold bites at your skin, and you regret your decision to forgo a jacket, so you shiver when you tell him, "You're incredibly good at making me feel better about myself. I bet your students love you." He laughs at that - you're noticing that you seem to be quite good at making him laugh - and shakes his head disapprovingly

Then, guilty, "Not when I'm assigning pop quizzes after returning from winter break and calling them out for using AI."

"Ok the AI thing I completely understand, but assigning a pop quiz after a break is just cold on so many levels." College wasn't that cruel to you, but there had been many a quiz that you bombed simply because you hadn't been prepared for them. One or two that immediately followed a break.

The coffee shop comes up quickly and you move to open the door, but he's faster, shifting his bag to his elbow and grabbing the door for you as he quips, "Ah, so I see you would've been one of the students who failed that quiz." He's teasing you, and it's working.

"I can neither confirm nor deny. Although don't look at my freshman year grades. They force the art kids to take two semesters of stats and…it was just a fucking torpedo into my GPA."

"Fair enough." His laugh is starting to become one of your favorite sounds.

The warmth of the dimly lit shop is nice, especially after just being out in the cold. It seeps into your bones and mercifully leeches out some of the pain in your hip.

The shop is small, quaint, and its setup reminds you of a library. Secluded booths and tables with individual lamps on them, bookshelves lining the walls, and everything made out of dark wood. Viktor looks around in awe for a moment, then, "How have I never stumbled onto this place before?"

You mentally pat yourself on the back. It had been a few years ago that you'd found this place. After a bit of an insane night out cut short by a friend getting you kicked out of the bar, you frantically searched for food places open late. This place immediately popped up leading you and your friends to feast on pastries and sandwiches washed down by the most delicious coffee you'd ever had.

"I was just lucky. When you're drunk and hungry, you can find anything." You walk towards the back of the shop, picking out a booth in the corner, "Is this ok?"

Viktor nods, hanging his cane off the table and shrugging out of his jacket. There is a moment where you feel you might keel over right there, but it is through sheer power of will that you remain standing, because holy hell this man is attractive. He's wearing a three-quarter sleeve black turtleneck that clings to his body in a way that's not loose, nor is it skin-tight. You can see the barest hint of something underneath, perhaps a back brace to help with stability. Sitting down in the booth, you try to avert your eyes to no avail, as they roam over the dark brown slacks sitting high on his waist. It's a miracle you're not drooling. Staring down at the red, long sleeve sweater you'd paired with a deep brown skirt, you can't help but think we match.

He sits down slowly, and you recognize the strategy to minimize pain, then folds his hands in front of him. "So, freshman year statistics? I believe you called it a 'fucking torpedo'?"

"Of course you picked up on that."

"Well, you were rather emphatic about it." The smugness is radiating off of him in waves and it stokes the fire in your gut.

Huffing, "Not everyone can be a whiz at math and science. I mean, what are you getting your PhD in?"

It looks like he's biting back a shit eating grin, "Biomedical engineering."

"Oh fuck off."

He releases the hold over the grin he was hiding and you're blinded by it. It absolutely makes sense, in retrospect. His analytical gaze, as if taking things apart in his mind and putting them back together, even just the way he talks speaks, so sure and confident. Your mouth opens to say something but a waitress decides that moment is prime opportunity to get your drink orders.

Viktor orders a Turkish coffee and you order a french vanilla iced latte with cinnamon. As the waitress leaves, he wrinkles his nose.

"You call that coffee? It is just sugar. And iced? It's freezing out."

"Oh so first you critique my grade in stats, and now you attack my coffee order? You hate me and want me dead." Your arms fold in front of your chest as you stare at him in mock challenge. His hands shift to rest on his biceps, fingers spreading over the evidently lean muscle there and you fight to keep your breathing steady.

"I retract my statement, I bare you no ill will."

"Yeah you better, me and my sugar coffee will beat the shit out of your boiled coffee grounds." Now it's his turn to raise his eyebrows.

"You mock my drink, a traditional drink from my home country? Now you hate me and want me dead."

A warmth pours over your cheeks and you feel it heat the tips of your ears, all the way down to your shoulders. Something flashes in his gaze that tells you he definitely noticed.

"Touche." It's only a minute more before the waitress returns with your orders, said minute filled with meaningful glances and sitting adjustments on your part, your hip still aches slightly, but it's easier to ignore at this point.

You're mid sip when he fixes you with a stare, hands wrapped around his own drink, and asks, "So I can rule out anything to do with statistics, but what do you do, miss (name)? I believe you referred to yourself as an 'art kid'?"

Ah, the tricky part of explaining what you do to an academic. Not to say you weren't an academic yourself, just…a very different flavor of it.

"Yeah. In college I dual majored in Psychology and Theatre Arts. So I feel like I play both sides of the court, despite how many of the other scientists refuse to recognize psychology as a science." You spit the word as if it were a dagger, still holding a vendetta against your 11th grade physics teacher who called it a pseudo science.

"But my real love is Theatre. Whether it be Musicals or Shakespeare, it's my passion. I dialect coach on the side to make extra money, but mostly I love performing." There it was, out in the open. Would he call you foolish? Tell you to get a real career? Get up and leave? Probably not, but anxiety can lead you to places you wouldn't dare venture with a gun.

Pensive, he sits, staring at you with renewed interest, "Your impulsivity must suit you well in that career path, always having to think on ones feet and remain immersed in the moment." You instantly smile again.

"Exactly! There have been so many times when people have forgotten their lines and I've had to come up with something on the fly. It's…exhilarating." There's a certain sparkle that lights up your face whenever you talk about theatre, it's your passion, you can't help it. You only hope it translates.

"I know it must seem silly, pursuing the arts. Hell you're probably going to go on to change the world in a field like 'biomedical engineering'." You muse, leaning your cheek into your hand as you meet his eyes. It flatters him, you can tell, as he shifts in his seat, puffing his chest out slightly in pride.

"While I thank you for your vote of enthusiasm, I do not find it silly to pursue the arts at all."

"You don't?"

"No. I find it inspiring that you are pursuing your dream. I am pursuing mine. We should all chase after what interests us." His eyes are thoughtful, kind, and you want to swim in them forever.

A beat, then, "A lot of people have called me stupid. But I can't see myself doing anything else. I know it's cheesy to say, but it feels fated. Like, I'm supposed to be doing this. It's what my atoms traveled billions of years to do." Staring into your cup, you're hit with the intensity of this confession. It's not something you tell to most people.

"And…" he clears his throat, "I think it is the most admirable thing one can do, to follow what you believe your destiny to be." Good god you like this man, you like Viktor. Not just as an infatuation or a crush, you want to get to know him.

"Thank you Viktor." Another sip of your drink and the sugar spurs you onwards, "Do you happen to like theatre? I'm sure an English lit class somewhere forced you to read at least on Shakespeare play. They did always seem to make the STEM kids suffer through classic literature as some sort of revenge for putting us art kids through math." His gaze fixes you to your spot and you find that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to pull away from it. It's hypnotizing and has you pinned with the sheer intensity of it. You were learning that above all else, Viktor had a quiet intensity to him.

"I have read my fair share of Shakespeare as well as a few greek plays, but I admit, I read them mostly from an analytical standpoint, and not for mere enjoyment or to marvel in the artistry. My favorite would probably have to be Macbeth, though." He takes another sip of his coffee that still has steam curling off the top of it.

You nod approvingly, "A splendid choice. Your aesthetic certainly fits the more tragic, macabre, dramatic plays. Though I could see you enjoying Much Ado About Nothing."

"I…thank you?" Eyebrows pinched in confusion, he laughs.

"No, no it's a compliment! You just have a very…dark acedmia, gothic vibe to you. it…it tracks."

He leans back in his seat, "Gothic?"

"Yeah. it's incredibly attractive don't worry."

…

Wait-

"Incredibly attractive you say?" And he's sipping on his coffee again, watching as that all too familiar flush spreads over your skin again. Damn your mouth.

"You…I…hell-" You sip your coffee in an effort to keep yourself quiet. He's making you bolder, making you feel comfortable, loosening your tongue, beckoning you into the sea like a siren and you're not sure if you'll be able to tread water.

"Hey," his voice is soft, coaxing, "for what it is worth, I too find you incredibly attractive. I'm sorry, I did not mean to make you so flustered." The sincerity in his voice has you reeling. Placing your coffee down, you rubs at your cheeks with your hands.

"Somehow, I find it hard to believe you're that sorry when you seem so pleased with yourself watching me flush." You accuse, somewhat parroting what he said about you denying your impulsivity. Now it's his turn to flush, his pale cheeks turning rosey at having being caught.

A comfortable silence washes over the both of you momentarily as you sit with the confessions that have just been made. Well…it's nice to know that the attraction is mutual. Both of your coffee's were near finished by this point, and there was a part of you that regretted how fast you drank it.

"How is your leg?" He breaks the silence after the waitress returns to take away your empty glasses. You roll your hips slightly, testing the tension in your hip and how far the pain radiates.

"Mm, better. Could be worse, it's starting to ebb finally, but I'm still planning on slathering that Arnicare you recommended all over my leg and laying in my bed until the pain finally goes away." You conclude, hoping to God that the Arnicare works as well as he's hyping it up. "Maybe go crazy and light a lavender candle."

He's digging something out of his bag as he responds, "I'm glad it is feeling slightly better. I fully endorse the Arnicare, it has helped me immensely over the years and I trust it will help you too." The waitress returns to drop off the check and it's too late that you realize Viktor had been looking for his wallet as he places money in the little booklet and hands it back to her with a soft, "Keep the change."

You stare at him in mock offense.

"What?"

"Don't what me, you didn't even let me attempt-"

"There was no universe in which I was going to let you pay, so why even entertain it?"

"Let me pay? You are evil." But you're smiling as you slide out of the booth.

"Maybe so." Is all he says as he stands up, readjusting his shirt and grabbing for his coat. Checking your watch, you realize it's 10:45 and you've spent nearly an hour with this man, and yet it feels as though it's only been minutes. Bidding goodnight to the workers, you bothexit the shop and are hit with a blast of cold air.

"Why are you…you did not bring a jacket?" Viktor stares at you as if you've grown another head. "Are you…it is below freezing out!"

You pause, and breathe in the crisp cold air, "I like the cold, it's not so bad, I promise I'm ok." But he's already moving to grab the scarf from around his neck and balance his cane on his arm.

"Viktor-"

"Shush." Your mouth shuts and you let him wind the red scarf around your neck. It smells like him, woody and warm and you know you'll be breathing it in later.

"Bláznivá žena." He murmurs in what you can only assume is his mother tongue.

"Well that didn't sound very nice." His hands still on the edges of the scarf as he finishes securing it. Whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as he stares down at you. Despite the freezing air swirling around you, everything suddenly feels warm. And you know how cliche it sounds, but truly, it feels as though the world melts away and you are stuck in this little circle of warmth.

He looks from your eyes to your lips, "Can I-"

"Absolutely." You answer far too quickly. He laughs again, and its lighter than the others, as if a weight has been taken off of his chest and the laugh had been filled with air, just waiting to escape.

He wastes no time in bringing his hands up to your wind bitten cheeks and pulling your lips to his. They're slightly chapped, but warm and sure and soft as he kisses you. Your breath is gone and you realize every cheesy thing you've ever read about kisses is true. It is all encompassing and earth-shattering. If you knew anything about physics you would say that it feels like atoms colliding.

Seconds, minutes, hours, you don't know how long it is before you finally detach. You leave your eyes closed for a few seconds more, basking in the feeling.

"Wow." It's barely a whisper when you finally speak, opening your eyes to find him staring down at you, smiling unabashedly.

"My thoughts, exactly." His hands slips down your shoulders before one of them finds your hand, the other taking his cane as he leads you back to the parking lot. It's nice, just walking hand in hand with him to your cars.

"This is me." You murmur sadly as you come upon your car, parked in the handicapped parking spot. He stops and looks at you in disbelief, and you furrow your brows in confusion. His hand detaches from yours, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys, clicking the unlock button. The car parked directly next to your beeps and unlocks. You'd parked right next to one another and you absolutely lose it, doubling over in laughter.

"Oh my god that is crazy."

"Well, given the fact that we both have handicapped stickers-"

"Nope, shush, let me have this." You turn back to him after catching your breath and hold out your hand, "Let me see your phone."

He obliges, even unlocking it for you before dropping it into your waiting hand. With half numb fingers, you input your phone number and contact info before returning it to him.

"To let you know how well your recommendation works." You smile as you head toward your drivers side door, unlocking it and sliding into the seat so quickly, you leave Viktor stunned. He shakes his head in mock annoyance and walks over to your window, tapping on it until you roll it down.

"Yes?" But he's leaning in and kissing you again, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. When he pulls away, you're left just as stunned as he was.

"Nothing, just wanted to say Goodnight." He walks off, gets into his own car, right next to you, and drives off, all while you're sitting in your car, window still down, and processing what just happened as the cold blasts you.

Wordlessly, you roll up your window and smile uncontrollably.

For the first time in your life, you are thankful for your chronic pain.

[glisten-inthedark]

A few days ago I posted this tiny snippet here but I don't know if I should finish writing and if I should post it.

What do y'all say?

"I wish I never said yes" Will stated, eyes sharp and hands balled into fists.Mike stared at him, feeling his heart beat widly inside of his chest."Wh- What?"

"I wish I never said yes to being your friend" Mike flinched, and the words hurt so much they took his breath away.

"You..." Will was staring at him - eyes hard and lacking the usual warmth Mike loved so much.

"Saying yes to being your friend was the worst thing I ever did".

And that's when Mike knows he'd rather die, he'd rather cut himself open right then and there rather than listen to this. The pain is so sharp he stumbles away, and he wonders how is he going to survive the fallout, or if he can survive it at all".

"I don't –" he couldn't breathe and Mike tried to reach for him, to no avail. "Why –"

Why was he saying this? Was Mike so... Was Mike so terrible that he managed to drive away the only person he loved more than words could describe?

"I don't understand –".

That was a lie. He did. He knows he's broken, and that his sharp words with their sharp sting push everyone away, and that he is wrong on a deep, fundamental level, but he always thought he had more time. He always thought he'd be able to hold onto Will for a little while longer.

"Understand this, I don't need you".

****

Mike was frantically searching for something, desperately trying to find it.

Where was it?

Where was it?

He can't really remember, the walls of his basement are empty and there was supposed to be something there but...

What was it?

He remembers being a smaller boy, scared and all alone, and thinking about the boy on the swings.

He recalls going over there, almost stumbling on his little legs, and saying.

"Hi! My name is Mike! Do you want to be my friend?"

And the other boy looked at him - eyes hard and mouth turned into a frown -".

"I – well, I guess?"

And it wasn't the "yes" Mike was looking for, it wasn't a "yes" at all but... Maybe he could work with that?

But the boy sees someone else, another boy and he grins wide, leaving the swingsets and Mike behind:

"Actually, my friend is here so I guess I don't really need you! Bye!"

And...

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did. It shouldn't hurt like that one time where Mike feel from his bike and scrapped his knees, it shouldn't hurt more than the day broke his arm, and yet it did.

[doublejango]

HELLUVA BOSS SINSMAS SPOILERS, OCTAVIA EDITION-- [Spoilers below! Am tagging this as well, of course, but just in case you didn't catch the tags, this is your sign to stop now if you don't want a spoiler.]

I freaking love Octavia SO MUCH, you guys!!!! I love her, love her, love her! What a fantastically written character. And good lord, her singing voice! That was absolutely incredible. Not what I need to post about, but I had to mention it because she absolutely blew my socks off! Aaaahhh! but okay, okay, focusing and moving on.

I am 99% sure Octavia knows. Deep down. She knows that Stolas really does love her. And I think she understands, or really, truly will understand. She knows how important antidepressants are, clearly, and even if she didn't fully understand why he has them, she knows they're meaningful and that he does need them. And like, the first real "reason" she had to go see him, she immediately leapt on it. Giving him the medications--showing she cares, even if she's yelling? And she immediately moved to his defense, absolutely fearless.

Octavia loves Stolas.

She pushed back at him, yelled at him, questioned him, doubts him--all things that I really don't think she would do if he hadn't made her feel safe, loved, and wanted all her life. She can push back against Stolas, because I think she believes, on a purely subconscious level probably, an instinct born of the fact that he raised her with so much love and tenderness, that he would never hurt her, never judge her. And that is exactly how it should be, that is wonderful. Stolas instilled a sense of safety in her when it comes to him, or else she wouldn't be so honest with him, wouldn't let her pain show so clearly.

She doesn't do that with Stella and Andrealphus. She doesn't even really confront them at all, it seems. She could have been sassing them all along, snapping at them for taking her phone, for limiting her at all, but she just doesn't bother... and I think it says so much. If she really trusted Stella to have her best interests at heart, to be the loving and understanding mother--I like to think Octavia would've called her on her bs. But on some level, Octavia didn't seem to feel there was any point to confronting Stella or Andrealphus.

Only Stolas.

Because he is still the one who matters most to her, and with whom she is intrinsically safe.

She still trusts him. Even if she doesn't think she does right now, she turned to him with questions and exposed her vulnerabilities. Maybe she didn't react "logically" to his answers, but I mean, she's a teenager. She's a good kid, she's just also going through devastating heartbreak and loss right now, she's young, she's allowed to act out, act up. Yes, of course it's painful to watch, because I want our sweet Stolas to have his reunion with Via... but I think he will. I really, really think he will. It's okay that she's not ready for that time to be now. She'll get there eventually, and the two of them can be whole again <3

I think Via is too good a person to ever be fully corrupted by Stella's hatred and indifference, or Andre's casual cruelty. She has a lot of pain of her own to deal with right now, but as that heals, I choose to believe she'll see Stolas as a person too, not just as a father, not just as the one person in her life who was always there for her, but as a person. I think she'll see. She'll forgive him. And she will love him all the more deeply--

And that every day, until that day, she will love him still.

I adore her.

I adore her so much.

Adding, TLDR: I think it's so important that she feels she can safely reject him, because deep down Via knows that Stolas will never reject her, no matter what. Even now. She doesn't need to placate or tolerate him. She'll always be safe with him, and even if she doesn't know that consciously... I think she still knows.

[ingravinoveritas]

"We've all got to be fighting that fight every day."

Happy Pride, everyone...

[ingravinoveritas]

I’m 96% sure that Michael is bisexual, so that explains a lot of things...

sometimes i think about straight actors like michael sheen and david tennant being so comfortable playing queer characters on screen, when in the past any hints of queerness in characters was shunned to the point of straight actors especially not wanting to be associated with it.

i think about how far we've come in terms of queer representation in main stream media, with two Major productions released within less than a week from each other, and how the majority of posts about Good Omens hasnt even been the kiss, when not even 5 years ago having an on screen gay kiss would be all people would talk about for months

I dont know how much I'm making sense right now im just very emotional and grateful for creators like neil gaiman for creating amazing work like good omens that work towards creating such safe spaces for younger queers

[shakingparadigm]

In a modern au I think the wagyein would be like one of those gaint ass crocodiles that Ivan gets away with keeping because its technically a service animal. As long as its on a leash its all good and not a threat to the public!!

Ivan being rewarded with a more expensive and unique kind pet like a whole fucking crocodile honestly seems pretty in line for him 😭 especially since it adds a new "chic" flair to his photoshoots and his general aesthetic. Imagine Ivan's new photoshoot drops and he's in a suit posing with a fucking crocodile. Insane.

I really like the imagery of this large, scaly and dangerous looking reptile being tamed as Ivan's pet, something that could help boost his image and push that luxurious, enigmatic vibe. You know, like how stereotypical evil lairs have sharks or other rare and dangerous animals guarding the entrance or simply acting as accessory. That kind of vibe. I also like the imagery of this sharp creature being forced into submission and captivity. Forced to become a good, obedient pet, holding in its urges and keeping its teeth hidden. A being taken from the ruthless, grimy darkness, cleaned and maintained to perfection, forced to perform for the cameras. Ivan can empathize, he knows what it's like.

"Technically a service animal" is fucking hysterical. Ivan going Hello, sir! Please excuse my emotional support 12ft crocodile. Don't worry, he's very well-behaved.

I actually think Ivan would get along very well with his hypothetical crocodile. Just like the wagyein, he'd feel connected to it in a very personal way. Also just like the wagyein I think Ivan would be the only person it would never harm. In my head I have the mental image of Ivan petting and cuddling it as if it were a puppy.

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[cuntstable]

caant stop thinking about that comic i reblogged earlier about canon genderbent laios being a miserable housewife. but what if she also went to the bar with her baby. hi

[topicaltropic]

oops! all wips

[2024skin]

It's fucked up that the sober population straight up ignores how a huge portion of addicts have chronic illnesses

[coachbeards]

Every time I see anything now from Good Will Hunting... I think about Beard and Jamie. 

AS YOU SHOULD

[symphorine]

.

[tj-crochets]

Weirdly specific medical question for y’all! Do you have any advice for dealing with vasovagal syncope/a vasovagal response? I’m very familiar with low blood pressure in general*, but something about minor injuries to my hands drops my blood pressure like nothing else and today’s the first time I’ve put two and two together that it’s probably vasovagal syncope. I accidentally hit my hand against the fridge (but successfully caught the falling tube of dough!) and then had to lay down on the floor and put my feet up against the wall for a while because I got so dizzy. Walking into the kitchen and seeing me on the floor really alarmed my brother and my dad, so I’m wondering if there are any techniques I am unaware of that might help with vasovagal syncope other than laying down on the floor?  For the record, I am okay now. I was on the floor for a few minutes with my feet up, then gradually got up, went back to my desk, and had water and some salt pills. My dad and my brother both kept an eye on me until I was back at my desk, and I do have my phone with me at all times just for this kind of situation.  *I have several different weird medical issues that each separately can cause hypotension, and am on medication for it that mostly works.

[ingravinoveritas]

Full three minute-long clip of David on the Reasons to be Cheerful podcast talking about Pride Month and gay/trans rights. Truly heart-wrenching to hear him get so genuinely emotional/choke up as he keeps going. Notable moments:

David: "When I was at school, calling somebody gay was like the worst thing you could be called in the playground, and now we celebrate it...[choking up] and it makes me a little bit emotional. That it just gives people a chance to be seen and celebrated and to be just--combating some of that snide nastiness that is...when Target have to...[trying not to cry] when Target in America have to take down their displays because people are so intolerant, I think we all need to put up our rainbow flags and we need to march and shout and--[crying] I didn't expect this to get me this emotional, I'll be honest with you, but--you just want your children to grow up in a world that is kind, and you want your children to be kind and you want your children to be accepted for whoever they are. Whatever they want to be. They should be allowed to be whoever they want to be." David: "When you look at it--when you take a step back and see how far we've come, it does give you hope. Because sometimes when you're right in the middle of day-to-day you think, 'Where are we going guys, come on?' Ed Miliband: "We were in the era of Section 28 and all that stuff. But it has to be fought for." David: "Yes, we can't take our foot off the gas, that's the thing. And we can't expect that we will always travel in the right direction toward acceptance. We've got to--we've all got to be fighting that fight every day."

[musical-chick-13]

Maybe I’ve just been Thinking Too Much About the Concept of Justice due to...currently watching....something (Idon’twannatalkaboutit)..........but GENUINELY the way most of y’all talk about the death penalty and about ANYONE who decides to go through law school for ANY reason is terrifying.

[bredforloyalty]

we had this um discussion today with the girls i'm doing the next social psych presentation with (i know right TWO presentations?? get off our asses) and well. i am not optimistic