#hope you enjoyed my little rambles

[sapphorrific]

summer book diary 2023

this is just my general big post about books i read this summer plus a bit of my thoughts! a bit like my personal goodreads comment section exept other peoples bad takes only make me angry. if i ever have a take that makes you angry im really sorry:(

june

Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov | my first venture into the genre of magical realism! fun and whimsical but not only that! the writing and story structure was just captivating and as someone who normally does not resonate with religious themes in the context of this book being written by a Soviet author, it felt natural and magical indeed, an act of rebellion against a totalitarian regime.

A little life by Hanya Yanagihara | i feel like this was falsely advertised to me as 'a booktok book about traumatized college friends that makes you cry' and i cannot stress how much this book was not that. i mean there was a group of college friends but the story focused mainly on only one of them. they did have trauma but i never expected the ammount of it. and i did cry a little bit once but i mostly felt angry. and i absoluthely understand why is it so controversial among people since i dont think anything can prepare you for experiencing a little life in its 600 page entirety. my feelings about this book are extremely mixed, on one hand i dont regret picking it up however i never want to read it again. the book felt like how i imagine watching a child torture small animals feels. absolute psychological warfare of a text. if you are sensitive to any sort of triggers i recommend looking them up before you read this. i do not want to label it as 'problematic' or say it was overall bad tho. it really did make me feel strong emotions and i think it really captured the helplessness and complicated emotions of watching someone close to you really struggle and refuse to get help. it does explore the themes of abuse, illness and addiction but also friendship, found family and love. also everyone who read this and went ah yes this is a hurt/comfort gay love story literally what is wrong with you how do you read this book and proceed to go make moodboards

july

Prague Spring by Simon Mawer | i feel like this book would be a better experience if i knew next to nothing about prague spring since it is written by a british author about events taking place in czechoslovakia in the 60's from a point of view of two young british hitchhikers and a british diplomat. so i really felt like im not the target audience here. the decision to tell the story from the point of view of foreigners was an interesting one, however i also had to witness with my own two eyes how the author described czech women. the brithish female characters are described as dainty and traditionally beautiful but the czech women always had a 'square slavic jawline' or an uneven face or something. the characters overall felt flat and the plot itself was not well executed since it essentially ended with the invasion of czechoslovakia and the evacuation of the main characters back to the uk. the book laid a heavy focus on the romantic relationships of the characters which, since the characters were one dimensional, felt one dimensional as well. a very mediocre experience for me, if you want to learn about the prague spring and are a foreigner maybe this would be of value for you but, i would probably not suggest you read this

Another Country | James Baldwin even though i did learn about american classic literature in high school, unfortunately my high school (and the czech curriculum in itself i think) does not put much emphasis on classic literature written by afroamerican writers so i have never really heard of james baldwin until i saw someone recommend this in a youtube video and honestly loved it! it really had all the things i was hoping it would have, the complexity, nuance, incredible characters who feel like living breathing people and last but not least the atmosphere of new york in the 50's and early 60's. definitely the kind of book i would read multiple times and this is not the last time i read something by james baldwin either. really recommend!

The Handmaid's Tale | Margaret Atwood quite uncomfortable to read but that was obviously the point. nevertheless, read it in one day since it was very hard to put down. i liked that it did not shy away from showing women actively participating in keeping other women in a patriarchal society in check. what i found a little limiting about handmaids tale is the lack of incorporating racial dynamics into what was essentially a dystopia based on the control of womens bodies, eugenics and religion which of course affect women of color differently than white women, therefore in that direction the book felt a little one dimensional. still i feel that its an important book to read

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid | oh boy heres when the unpopular opinions come i really thought this book was very mid. a fine beach read you pick up at the airport to read on a holiday but i feel that its a little overrated. the story focused of a journalist interviewing a fictional holywood actress at the end of her eventful life, and it promised me an unpolished view of complicated womans life. i felt like i was already reading the published biography the main objective of which was for me to still like evelyn hugo and fondly remember her legacy as a beloved movie star even though she does not even exist. i feel like the choice to tell a story of a fictional celebrity provides a way to really delve into the rotten world of hollywood and show its ugly uncomfortable side. shows like bojack horseman or hacks take advantage of this. but i dont think this book attempts to do this in any shape or form. sure, she admits to doing one extremely fucked up thing which affects the journalist interviewing her very personally. but this is just the way to tie the plot neatly together and is not really explored in depth or properly dealt with. there is also the question whether we as a reader can trust evelyn hugos account of her own life, as she is the only one alive to tell it. i feel like seven husbands of evelyn hugo had a lot of potential, which it ultimately did not deliver on for me. if mild enrichment is the kind of book you want to go for rn i think it serves a purpose in that way

My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russel | as much as evelyn hugo did not deliver my dark vanessa deliveredd!! a really captivating story of a imperfect victim of child abuse within a teacher student relationship. really shows how this kind of experience can haunt a person their entire life even if they refuse to believe they are not a victim in the first place. even though it covers a difficult subject, it really does go through the whole process of denial and acceptance so it does not leave a reader absoluthely hopeless and it does feel like the author did her research and did not write this as a sort of traumaporn but with care for the victims of this kind of abuse.

august

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov | i was inspired to read lolita (and my dark vanessa for that matter) after listening to the lolita podcast by jamie loftus which really felt like a good introduction before reading lolita itself as it covers not only the book but lolita as a cultural phenomenon by which i mean everything from the movies to the tumblr nymfette/coquette subculture. it gives a great context for the story and i really recommend listening to this podcast first as it helped me to better navigate the book as someone who did not know that much about it prior. it really is a complex multilayered text with a great ammount of references, anagrams and double meanings, there is an unreliable narrator manipulating you with his stunning flowery language and seemingly self aware sarcastic humor and on top of that it is a book about child abuse. so it really is a lot. still an unforgettable experience, had to rush through it as it made me sick to my stomach, truly an icredible read. kudos to the czech publishers for the new cover design of the book its really beautiful and honors the authors wishes.

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

thinking about how mulder loves to get scully a gift, usually terribly heartfelt, even if disguised as something flippant:

the superbowl vhs tape he brings her when she wakes up from her coma in one breath (and her deadpan "i knew there was a reason to live")

tickets for a football game to watch together in irresistible

bringing her flowers to the hospital in memento mori (he lies, saying he stole them from a guy with broken legs to make her laugh)

the birthday keychain in tempus fugit (and when she finds a meaning to it, he claims "i just thought it was a pretty cool keychain")

that is a man who is always thinking about her.

[little-pup-pip]

Hi! I was wondering if I can have a cat moodboard with no paci? I'm not picky on theme, colors, or gender lean, so it's all up to you! If not, please don't worry about it. Just thought I'd ask. :)

Sure!!

[loopyarts]

My whole digital sketch/doddle spread of Holm. Aka me figuring out how to draw him while I am also having fun with it. He’s also my favourite minor character from dungeon Meshi. :3c He is just so adorable to me and I love this goofy 28-30 year old gnome.

[shady-tavern]

Missing Piece

@piperjistic had asked for a forest spirit and while this isn't fully in line with your request, I still hope you'll like it!

Minor warnings ahead for non-graphic violence and a wee bit of body-horror towards the end, though it doesn't happen to the main character. Please be sure to take care of yourself!

*.*.*

For as long as the little girl could remember, it felt like something was missing within her. She could never put a finger on it, but it made her a restless child, picking up and discarding games, struggling with consistently staying interested and some days she just felt very strange. 

Like that one stained glass window she had seen when her parents had taken her to a nearby city. All disjointed fragments that still managed to be a picture, but it would never be one entire piece.

The stained glass window at least had been pretty compared to the ugly feeling within her.

"Have you ever felt like something is missing inside you?" she asked her grandma, who came to pick her up many a day while her parents worked. 

Things were strange between Gran and her parents, she never talked to them and they never talked to her and she never set foot onto their garden, preferring to wait for the little girl at the gate by the little dirt road.

Gran stilled and when the little girl glanced up at her, her face had gone dark and grim and for the first time in the girl's life, her beloved grandma, a joyful soul who loved her with all her heart, looked just a little bit frightening.

But her hand around the girl's remained gentle and the older woman kept walking at a sedate pace so her short little legs didn't struggle with keeping up.

Everyone always said to the girl that she would grow to be bigger and she couldn't wait for that day to arrive. Gran was silent for so long that the girl thought she was never going to answer.

"You best ask your parents about that," Gran said at last, voice quiet and heavy with something unspoken. Strangely, her voice reminded the girl of a draft horse she had seen, who had been forced to pull a too heavy burden, body straining as it slowly and laboriously set one hoof in front of the other.

"Alright," the girl answered and grinned up at her grandmother, hoping to break up the awful mood her innocent little question had created. "Can we make blueberry cake today?"

Gran smiled and it was like the sun returning after a dark, scary storm, her face brightening and looking as kind and loving as ever. "Of course, little chestnut." She leaned in, voice dipping into a conspiratorial stage whisper, "My wife picked an entire basket just this morning."

The little girl giggled and soon the two of them reached the end of the village, all talk about missing pieces and resulting, scary expressions forgotten. The blueberry cake was delicious and maybe a bit messy since the girl had tried to help a bit too enthusiastically and the cute little apron Gran had made for her was stained with purple-blue juice on one corner.

Gran's wife, Tanya, arrived just as they had taken the first bite of a still warm slice of cake.

"You baked without me?" she gasped in a mock scandalized voice. "Oh, the betrayal, how it stings!" She dramatically fell onto the kitchen table and the little girl laughed when the two older women broke out into a full blown performance just to ensure she kept laughing.

Gran brought her back home just as the sun set and a strong, steady wind blew in from the forest, bringing with it the smell of spring moss and damp, cool earth.

"If you ever meet any magical beings, be wary," Gran said as she stopped in front of the gate that creaked noisily as soon as it was two thirds of the way open. 

She looked down at the girl, her face serious. "One day you might and if you do, they will offer you deals and nothing good ever comes from accepting their offers. They will only bring ruin in exchange for empty promises."

As solemnly as the little girl could, she offered her little pinky. "I promise to be careful," she said and a shadow of a smile crossed Gran's face as they hooked their pinkies around each other gently.

Gran leaned down to kiss the top of her head before she left with a glance towards the house and the girl briefly glanced towards the forest. It was an old forest, not quite as ancient as in other places, but surrounded by plenty of stories and mysteries. 

The girl had heard rumors about creatures living in the woods, of magic being alive in ways the mages in the big cities could never hope to replicate. She decided to be very careful whenever she went into the woods to pick berries and mushrooms. She had promised, after all.

She entered her parents' house, neatly putting her boots beside her mother's and when she looked up at her parents, the question tumbled forth without much thought, "Why do I feel like I'm missing something?"

Her mother, who was currently carving leather, stilled so thoroughly she might as well have turned to stone. Her father, in the process of cooking, seemed to freeze in place, the stirring of his ladle abruptly falling silent.

"You're still growing," her mother answered at last, voice quiet and her gaze on her work. "It will pass in given time."

The little girl stared at her, startled silent and with increasing heartbreak as the seconds passed, for she had just learned what her mother sounded like when she lied.

*.*.*

The conversation with her parents stayed with the girl as the months and years passed and she never asked again. Gran said nothing either, but every time she picked the girl up, she now glared at the house. 

Gran knew, the girl realized, but either couldn't say why she felt wrong or she didn't want to tell her.

Though, knowing her Gran, she probably couldn't for some reason. Gran had been born a rebel and she said she would die one, encouraging all of the little girl's bad habits, as her parents called them, with no remorse.

"This world will chew you up and spit you out, if you let it," Gran told her when she picked her up from school, her hand warm and gentle. "So don't be afraid to bare your teeth, little chestnut. Stand up for what you believe is right, that is the only way to slowly but surely kill off all things vile and dark."

The girl wasn't sure she entirely understood, but she nodded seriously anyway. Gran always told her everything no one else wanted to, blunt and direct without scaring her or hurting her feelings.

Gran felt strong, like a rushing river that wore down even the largest, toughest of boulders. The girl hoped she could be like her one day.

It was her Gran's teachings that got her in and out of trouble over the years and her words guided the girl into understanding when something was wrong. And how important it was to do something when she discovered evil.

As the village turned into a cute little town and more and more people moved in, drawing towards a hopeful future by their fertile lands and abundant forest, the girl had grown into a headstrong young woman.

Not once, in all that time, had she shaken off the feeling like she was lacking something. Like something was missing that should be there.

Her parents could no longer deny that something was wrong and their increasingly guilty and troubled looks said it all. It showed in the woman's life, that something within her was gone. As soon as someone looked into the little house she had moved into, they saw that no project was ever finished, every hobby dropped just after she had gained a modicum of skill in it.

She bounced from job to job, working for whoever hired her, before losing that job again, sometimes by leaving, sometimes by more talented, more passionate people coming along.

It was that restlessness that caused her to drift far enough from the town, the feeling of wrongness seemingly guiding her step, to cross paths with what she first thought was a traveling kind of circus.

There was a man leading the entire caravan of wagons, pale and primly dressed, clearly a mage considering his robes and pompous behavior as he hailed her down.

"We are no circus, young lady," he said when she asked about his business, but his eyes were cold and his smile about as pleasant as holding a palm full of slugs. "I am Master Egam and this is my curious collection. I intend to thoroughly impress the local lords."

He made a sweeping gesture at the wagons and she peered past him, at covered cages and grim looking soldiers.

Her gaze almost immediately fell back to the mage, however, and something ugly writhed within her chest. She couldn't put a finger on what it was, but it felt like sharp, uneven edges pressed against her ribs from within, accentuating the feeling of wrongness.

"Now, which way to the nearest town? It's growing rather late," Master Egam said, his smile wide and winning and yet it caused something cold to drip down her spine. There was a sudden taste of wet iron and rotting earth on her tongue.

It took her a moment to realize why, for she had never experienced anything like it. He had put magic into his words and it filled her mouth with a nasty taste. "This way, about a mile or so."

"Why don't you guide us?" he asked, patting the coach beside him. When she hesitated and saw a flash of curious danger in his eyes, she offered a bland smile.

"Thank you," she said, climbing up to join him, careful to keep some distance between them.

He stared at her for a moment and she resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. "You seem strangely...familiar," he mused after a moment. "Have I met you before? Or family of yours?" When she looked genuinely surprised, he shook his head. "Right, that is very unlikely. Then again, you country bumpkins all look the same to me."

She was desperate to distract him from her, which was thankfully easy enough to accomplish. All it took was a question about his exploits and soon he regaled her with all the horrifying details. Of the creatures he captured, the magic he had soaked up from them, the power he carried at his fingertips.

He was bragging, yes, but she could tell that every word was the truth. That he had chained a vampire into enduring sunlight at his leisure, that he had plucked all the feathers of a harpy to parade her around naked and that he had a griffin eating out of his hand for his amusement.

That he had caught one the most dangerous beings of all, a forest spirit.

She was deeply relieved when her hometown came into view and then she got to see the effects of his magic first hand. His voice seemed to be made of gold, for all he had to do was speak and people immediately rushed to obey, star-struck expressions and delighted, downright smitten smiles appearing on their faces.

She inched away from Master Egam and ended up by one of the wagons instead. Unable to resist, she tugged a corner of the covering up and peered inside.

Green eyes that shimmered like all the shades of plant life in the forest met hers and broken antlers rose from red and gold hair that tumbled down in long, thick waves. The forest spirit, she realized as she stared at him, wide eyed, his face sun-kissed and freckled and even chained down as he was she could see his innate power and grace.

The broken antlers disappeared, swiftly replaced by wolf ears as he now bared vicious fangs at her, wicked claws scraping over the iron lining the bottom of his cage as he growled.

"Careful with that one," Master Egam's voice made her jump and drop the tarp. "He's the most dangerous one I ever caught. A nasty piece of work."

"Why do you catch them?" she found herself asking and as she looked up at him, she already knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

"Because I can," he said, his smile as empty as his eyes were cruel. "Because the wild powers in this world need to know that they can and will be tamed. Now run along and don't tell anyone about this."

His magic was iron-rot on her tongue as she nodded, hastily pasting a smile on her face. It felt like fleeing as she turned and hurried away, her heart racing in her chest and the ugly, vile feeling that had scraped around her ribcage finally lessened.

The wrongness within her was as present as ever, a constant companion of subtle misery that dodged her steps, silent only whenever she found joy in things. Joy that was taken from her by its steady, suffocating grip sooner or later.

As soon as she was home, she began to pace, her mind whirring. She had to do something and whatever magic Master Egam possessed, she was somehow immune against it. She might be the only one who could think clearly around him.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm. Master Egam was dangerous and she was just a magic-less young woman who was all wrong inside. If she wasn't careful, she wouldn't have to worry about what was missing for much longer.

It wasn't hard, in the end, to find out that Master Egam was staying in the mayor's house, that he had tossed him and his family out and now treated the most lavish place as his. The mayor and his wife and two children seemed dazed but they didn't question what was being done to them, they just went to stay with their extended family.

The wagons were kept by the mayor's house, blocking most of the street and guarded by the soldiers, which were armed and armored.

She watched them as the last sunlight faded, thinking. Beyond the window she could see the mage and people came to his home, bringing downright decadent food with loving smiles and hazy eyes, leaving again empty handed.

An idea began to take form. A foolish one, most certainly, but it was likely her best chance. While Master Egam was busy feasting and ordering people around, most likely fancying himself a king among peasants, he would be distracted.

On second thought, he was most likely not traveling to impress lords, but to work his way up to becoming the actual king of these lands. Maybe even an emperor, holding court among captured creatures and his magic charming everyone into blind obedience.

So she joined a group of townsfolk who came with carefully made little cakes and desserts and they barely acknowledged her. The soldiers didn't even looked at them, most likely long used to this song and dance.

It was less easy to go unnoticed by Master Egam, but the man was easily distracted by the new offerings, already a good way through half the food he had been given.

No human should have been able to consume so much without bursting, she thought and she wondered if this was the price of his magic. That he not only could eat far too much, but had to.

"Bring this to the beasties," he said, gesturing at a little bucket of bones and food scraps and the young woman took a decisive step towards it, keeping her head down as she grabbed the bucket, stepping outside without being stopped. Her mouth was filled with the taste of iron-rot.

The soldiers didn't pay her any heed now either. They looked bored and hungry as they watched another plate of food being brought in, but they said nothing. She wondered if they could even if they wanted to. If they were similarly charmed as anyone else.

"I need to feed them," she said politely to the nearest soldier, who moved woodenly to stare at her with a slightly hazy gaze. Ah, that answered her question. "I need the key, please. Master Egam's orders."

He handed the key over, because why wouldn't he? When everyone was always so fully under the mage's control, there was no reason to doubt. She went to the forest spirit's cage first, ignoring his low growl as she pushed the tarp up and began to look for the lock.

He fell silent as soon as she slipped the key into it and opened the door.

"I'll get you out," she whispered and his head tipped to the side, his wolf ears flicking as he considered her. And then, ever so slowly without removing those intense eyes from her, he tipped his head back, baring his collared throat.

She crawled into the cage, making sure to pull the door almost-closed behind her, the tarp falling down and leaving her in murky darkness with only her slightly fast breathing and pounding heart. She slowly inched forward, patting the ground, until clawed fingers carefully closed around her hand, guiding it up.

The collar had no lock and she stilled, her heart leaping in her chest. What was she supposed to do now?

"Bleed," the forest spirit said, voice such a horrible rasp that she was half convinced his throat was full of glass shards. "Willing offer."

She wasn't even thinking when she reached out with her free hand, gripping his fingers and pressing her palm against his claws. She felt him jerk in surprise, but the pain was already blooming, blood running down her hand in a hot line. She reached out to press her hand to his collar, smearing as much of her blood on it as possible and the next second the collar clicked open, crashing to the floor with a rattle of chains.

The forest spirit inhaled sharply and then she felt his hands touch her shoulder, careful and helping her shuffle a bit to the side. Freeing the path to the cage door, she realized

"Free the others, please," he whispered, his voice no longer sounding like he was gargling gravel, but instead charming and lovely-sweet. Her mouth was filled with the faint taste of meadow-flowers and cool spring water.

Then he was out of the cage and she scrambled to follow him, catching the door before it could slam shut.

The guards were lying on the ground and she saw the forest spirit springing past the last one he had taking down, vaulting over a confused man with a tart and heading straight into the house, face snarling in rage.

The next cage held the plucked harpy, who hissed a high-pitched shriek at her, but fell similarly silent when the door to the cage was unlocked.

Her collar too opened with blood and then the harpy was out, her feathers re-growing with a burst of magic that was almost painful with its relief. She took flight immediately, though she clearly struggled as she escaped, as did the griffin the young woman freed. 

The vampire slunk out of his cage with a look of wild hunger and gratitude before he was gone between one moment and the next. Just in time for all the windows in the house to shatter outward in a massive wave of pressure, the forest spirit crashing to the ground, wheezing and covered in blood.

The young woman was at his side in no time and as she gripped him and saw him in the light of the street lanterns without the distractions of his eyes, she realized just how thin he was. How his limbs shook as he struggled to his feet.

He stumbled, eyes going wide when she dragged him with her, just in time to round the corner before Master Egam came out of the house with magic whipping around him, a howl of rage filling the night as he found all his cages empty, his guards unconscious – or perhaps dead – on the ground.

"What are you doing," the forest spirit hissed, but he seemed unable to free himself from her grip, which told her everything she needed to know. She wasn't weak by any means, but she got the impression that he should be far stronger than she.

"Saving you," she hissed back. "You're in no condition to fight!"

"Return them to me!" she heard Master Egam's voice boom behind her, so loud and rattling it filled the entire town, making people cower and stumble, their gazes going hazy. "And find me the one who did this!"

Her mouth was filled with the taste of iron-rot to the point where she had to gag, but she managed to push on, reaching the little house she had moved into after she could no longer stand the guilty silence of her parents. The moment they were through the door, the forest spirit collapsed to the floor, breathing hard, sweating and bleeding.

"His magic," he said as he stared up at her with wide, bright green eyes that she knew she could get lost in if she allowed it. "It doesn't work on you. Why?"

"No idea," she murmured back. "Come, we have to hide you."

She had managed to empty out a large storage chest and squeezed him inside despite his protest just in time for her neighbors to come knocking.

"No one is here, I came looking," she said, heart pounding and blood still dripping from her hand as she gestured at the hastily strewn about contents of her chest. "I made sure they weren't hiding."

"Come help search," her neighbors murmured, gazes hazy and she followed them outside, hoping that the spirit stayed where he was, that he wouldn't be found.

She searched with the others until they were all ready to collapse and only then did Master Egam order them to rest with such fury that the cobblestone cracked around him. He had long since roused his guards – most of which were still alive – and had sent them out to the forest to capture those that had run for the woods.

"They can't go far," she heard him mutter to himself as he turned around to head back into the house. "Not with the state I left them all in."

He wasn't wrong.

When the young woman returned home, she found the forest spirit still in the storage chest, asleep and looking utterly exhausted. She dropped into her bed and slept until hunger forced her awake. 

The smell of cooking food woke the spirit as well and she stared in astonished surprise as he ate at an alarmingly fast rate. Half her pantry was gone by the time he curled up in front of the hearth and went straight back to sleep. She dropped a thick blanket on him and arranged pillows to hide him from the outside and sat down, thinking.

Master Egam was powerful and she had no idea if she could hide the spirit until he regained his strength, especially if he needed that much food every day. And even then there was no guarantee that he'd be powerful enough to defeat the mage. But, she reasoned, he might be able to escape, which was just as good in her opinion.

She dozed off and woke feeling warm, blinking blearily to realize the blanket was now draped over her, the pillows carefully arranged to leave her in a little nest. Only the floor beneath her was a little hard. Peering around, alarm searing through her, worrying that something had happened, she relaxed as soon as she saw the spirit.

He stood with his back to her, looking at all the half finished projects she had lying around, not having the heart to put them away, even though she already knew she'd never finish them. That this was it and her love for a new hobby she had found was instead curdling into quiet, miserable grief.

"Thank you," he said before turning towards her. He already looked far better than yesterday, less gaunt and shaky on his feet. His injuries were gone as well, leaving only a somewhat tattered, stained shirt and worn, knee-length pants over hale and whole skin behind.

He tipped his head and the way the light of a lit candle reflected in his eyes reminded her of the way animal eyes would look when a lantern swept past them in the dark. "What do you want in return for your help?"

She paused after sitting up, then shrugged. "I don't want anything." Gran had been very firm about deals with magic creatures, that they brought ruin more often than not, her voice harsh and bitter as she had said it. As if there was more to her words than mere warnings.

Besides, the young woman had grown up on stories about daring knights, wise mages and courageous princesses and princes. She had always wanted to be like them, to do good with her own two hands whenever possible. Had secretly dreamed about one day saving someone as she had grown up.

It had been far more scary and harrowing than in her imagination, but she'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.

"You want nothing," the spirit repeated, sounding like he didn't believe her. "Everyone wants something, help is never freely given. Especially not from my kind and especially not when you saved my life. Do not take that kind of thing lightly."

"All I want is for you to be safe," she said. "Don't get hurt again, promise me that."

The forest spirit inhaled sharply, pupils blowing wide until only a small ring of green remained and she felt a warm shiver go through the air. Like something powerful had just exhaled a blessing.

He said nothing for a long moment, before he dipped his head, suddenly looking regal as the wolf ears melted away and antlers appeared that looked far more intact than last night. "Very well." 

He joined her by the hearth, dropping down to one knee and offered his hand. "Let me see your wound."

She held out her hand and felt a tingle of magic, could taste soft, gentle meadow flowers and refreshing water as relief took away the lingering pain. Her palm was unmarred, not even a scar remaining.

"You have no idea what you just gave me, do you?" he asked quietly when she looked at him, his gaze so very captivating it looked like the entirety of the forest had gathered in his eyes.

She offered a small, crooked smile. "I've never been around magic," she said, all too aware that he was still holding her hand, skin warm like sunshine. "You can hide here until you've recovered."

He tipped his head to the side. "You would welcome me even now, knowing who is looking for me?"

"You're safe here," she answered. "He can't charm me and you need time to recover. Just make sure no one sees you."

"What do you desire for your help in return?" he asked. "And don't say nothing again."

She thought of the wrongness within her and wondered if magic could fix it. Then she remembered Gran's warnings about deals and ruin and bit back a sigh.

"I'll think about something," she said, though she didn't intend to. Once the spirit was strong enough, he would either fight or leave, but either way she doubted she would ever see him again.

He didn't look happy about that, but accepted her answer graciously enough. Getting to her feet, the young woman waved him with her to the kitchen corner. If he was eating her out of house and home he could help her cook.

When it became clear he was actually the better cook, since she hadn't been able to learn too much before her wrongness had kicked in, she happily left him to it and grabbed her money, sneaking out.

The entire town was walking around in a strange sort of haze, half of them still searching and the other half catering to the mage. 

She saw people bring more food to the mayor's house, along with other things. Jewels and prized possessions, feathers the harpy had and griffin had lost and one or two held squeaking bats in their gloved hands, as though hoping they might be the escaped vampire.

No one looked twice at her when she bought as much food as she could at the market and she bit back bitter worry when she saw Gran and Granny Tanya bring blueberry cake to the mage with happy smiles.

Only her parents didn't seem to be out and about. Strange.

She brought the food back home and the forest spirit noticeably relaxed once she was back, thanking her quietly before falling quiet again. The young woman, however, could only stand the silence for so long before she began to ask questions.

Before long she knew that the forest spirit had gotten captured in his sleep, that his home was to the north and that he could sense the power of the nearby forest.

They both fell asleep in front of the hearth and by the second day, the young woman dragged her bedding out into the living room and made a proper place to rest for the two of them. 

The forest spirit was in a better mood today and she realized that under all the tense grimness he was rather playful and enjoyed teasing and, most of all, making her laugh. She noticed as the days passed how he regained his strength, the gauntness disappearing faster than it would have for a regular person.

They kept busy in the small house in different ways. She watched him finish some of her craft projects and taught him to dance, he conjured sprigs of flowers for them to 'pretty up the place with' as he said and he let her brush out and braid his hair after long baths, the bath water never cooling until they were well and truly done.

Every night they curled up on the hearth together and it was then, as he looked at her, hair a healthy, shining red and gold and fox ears perked to listen better, that the truth spilled out.

How wrong inside she felt and he frowned at her in what she recognized as worry.

"May I?" he asked, holding out his hand and she put hers into his without a moment's hesitation. His face went soft and gentle in a way that ached somewhere around her tender heart as he held her hand with care.

Then he closed her eyes and she could taste meadow flowers and cold water and his frown deepened.

"I - you must talk to your parents," he said and as soon as the words were out, his head reared back a bit, ears pinning flat to his head as he blinked, looking startled and irritated. "Oh, how nasty."

She stared at him, wide-eyed and for the first time got the feeling that something was very, very wrong in a different way than she had thought.

"I'll go now," she whispered and he nodded, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze before she got to her feet.

Her parents looked worried and tense when they opened the door, relaxing a bit when they saw it was her, only for the tension to snap back into their frames. She realized immediately that they knew why she was here.

That there was a reason why she and they alone weren't slaves to the magic-charm of a mad mage. That they did know why she felt like a piece was missing.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked, sharp and hard in a way she had never spoken with them and they stepped aside to let her in.

They stood around the living room awkwardly until her father broke first, guilty and defensive and shoulders hunched, the silence around them heavy and thick and oppressive like summer heat without a cooling breeze.

"We didn't know," he said, almost pleading as he looked at his daughter. "When we met that...that man on our travels. We didn't know."

Something hot was wrapping around her heart and throat and a bad feeling unfolded in her gut, wriggling to get comfortable like a cat in a beam of sunlight. "Tell me the truth. Now. You owe me that much at least."

"We asked for a good life," her mother whispered, staring down at the ground, arms wrapped around herself and her head bent, shoulders tense. "We asked for nothing unreasonable, because being greedy only curses you. We asked for a good, warm, house, for enough money to buy what we desired until our deaths and to lead healthy, long and safe lives. We wanted the sort of fortune that would ensure we would have everything we desired until the day we died."

The heaviness in the air seemed to press down harder, like a thick blanket over sticky, sweaty skin, trapping heat and impossible to shake, no matter how desperately she wanted to get rid of it.

"What was the price?" the young woman asked, her tongue almost numb in her mouth. Though, she already knew. Could feel it in the marrow of her bones, could feel it in the stained glass shape of her soul, all disjointed and wrong and missing missing missing. Always missing something.

"You were but a babe," her father answered before she could ask again. "We didn't think...when he asked for a piece of you, something that wouldn't hurt you if he took it, we thought, well, if you grew up without it...you wouldn't know what you were missing."

Her heart shouldn't break, she thought, as pain and anger and grief greedily dug into her chest and belly. It shouldn't break when she didn't even feel all that surprised to hear what they were saying.

She thought of her life filled with things she couldn't finish, couldn't dedicate herself to no matter how deeply she loved, like her hands were too restless, desperately trying to find something to fill the void within her. All the friendships she had lost over the years, the disappointed people she had worked with and most of all, how miserable she had been.

She thought about feeling wrong and disjointed and like a stained glass window made by a clumsy apprentice and with the intent to make other people whisper and point and laugh instead of impressing them.

Weird, strange, not-fitting-in. Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, had sung through her veins for as long as she could remember and she had walked through life feeling like a part of her was gone, but unable to voice it. Unable to even name what was missing. 

Thinking that, maybe, this was just her lot in life. That nothing could be done about it and she had tried to do her best with the hand she had been dealt by fate.

And all this time, her parents had just...traded that part of her away. For small comforts. For a future they could have made themselves with their own hands had they cared to try. For a life bartered and paid for by someone else, so they wouldn't have to shoulder the burden. 

And then they had lied to her about it, had left her thinking that nothing could be done to make her feel better. That this was normal.

"Who?" she asked numbly and she blinked, realizing she was halfway to the door. When she looked at her parents, hot, angry hatred crawled up her throat like a wave of lava at seeing their wounded, self-pitying faces. "Who did you allow to hurt me?"

"Master Egam," her father whispered, his voice barely audible in the heavy, suffocating silence. "We can't let him see us or he might remember."

She was out the door before he could finish speaking, heart breaking and racing and she wasn't surprised at all, even though she thought she should be. So that was why his magic wasn't working on her – and her parents, if part of their deal was to remain healthy and unharmed at all times. Just what had Egam taken from her to make a deal that protected them no matter what?

She didn't remember the path home, but the moment the door fell closed behind her, she looked at the forest spirit and all the breath rushed back into her lungs. He was waiting with a plate of cookies he had baked that afternoon and his gaze was so gentle and understanding it made the wounded part of her tremble.

He opened his arms, a silent invitation and for a moment there was so much awful anguish in her, she didn't know what to do. Had no idea how to react if someone touched her, if it would drain the pain and anger or make it spill over, ugly and messy and raw. Like a wound that had had years and years and years to grow until it had spread and festered.

Then she moved and let him catch her and cradle her close as she broke down, crying as bitterly and hard as she had never cried before. He held her tightly as she shook apart, her head tucked under his chin and she cried and cried until she felt empty inside. Empty and wrong.

"They gave a piece of me to Egam," she whispered, voice thick and scratchy and he stilled. She tightened her grip on the shirt she had gotten him during one of her trips to the market, where food had started to grow scarce. "In exchange for a good, comfortable life."

He cupped the back of her head and kept holding her, offering no empty platitudes and no 'I'm sorry's, for which she was grateful. She didn't want sorrys. She was...she was too damn fucking furious for that, she realized, now that the pain had momentarily drained away.

"I want it back," she said, biting the words out like they were bones snapping between her teeth. "I want it back and I want this monster gone."

He hugged her tighter and she felt his smile press against her temple, sharp and dangerous and fanged and not the least bit afraid of her rage. Not the least bit judgmental the way others had reacted to her anger over the years.

"Let's shred him," he whispered against her hair, soft lips brushing forehead. "Let's get back what he stole from us."

*.*.*

It hadn't taken too long to prepare. The forest spirit had recovered fully and there wasn't anything in town that could help them against a mage, but in the end, they didn't need much anyway. 

They didn't need fancy things or mage slayers. Not when the mage in question would give them the weapons they needed, born out of his own greed and hubris.

Born out of a deal he had made with her parents and Gran really was right, deals only ever brought ruin. Because she and the part Egam had taken from her were about to become his.

The forest spirit gave her hand a squeeze and they exchanged one more look as they got ready behind her house, his eyes fierce and so trusting it briefly stole her breath away.

"When this is over, travel with me," he said, out of nowhere. "I want to show you my home. The brooks and meadows and mountains and lake."

She smiled back, a warmth that had nothing to do with the burning rage spreading through her, smoothing down her edges and settling around her heart like a protective blanket.

"Gladly," she answered quietly, then her smile turned a bit crooked. "What, you aren't going to ask for anything in exchange, leaf boy?"

He laughed softly and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. "You're too precious for deals," he said quietly and she could taste his magic, sweet and cool and it almost brought tears to her eyes, though she couldn't quite say why.

"Let's go," she said instead and he reached up to gather his hair, pulling it aside to allow her to put the pilfered chain from the wagon around his neck. They had scratched out all the symbols on the inside of the iron, destroying the enchantment that would block his magic.

With a bit of glue it would stay shut for now and he caught her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles until they stopped shaking. They both took a deep breath and stepped onto the street, a glamor settling over his skin, making him look gaunt and injured once more. He limped, casting her one last wink before people noticed them.

The townsfolk paid attention to her for the first time in nearly a month as she went to the mage's house. Word must have traveled ahead, for Master Egam was already awaiting them and the mayor's house was saturated with iron-rot. She could see a few hints here and there of the chaos that must've reigned before he had gotten things cleaned up to welcome them, sitting on a padded chair like it was a throne.

"Bring him to me, girl," he said, beckoning and his smile benevolent and his eyes glittering like cold glass shards. His hunger was deep enough to cut and she bit back a shiver at the disgust that crept beneath her skin the closer she came to him.

"My prized possession," Egam murmured, already ignoring her and his magic grew thicker in the air, almost making her gag. The forest spirit pretended to fight, snarling as he was dragged forward, looking like he was too weak to resist. "And you put him back in his proper attire too, good girl."

He absentmindedly patted her on the head and she made herself smile at him, empty and dazzled, like the other townsfolk, swallowing down bile. The spirit had told her that Egam had stolen a piece of his magic too, forcefully instead of willingly, but it was in his hands all the same.

It was time to get back what belonged to them.

She handed over the chain, his gaze on the forest spirit like he wanted to devour him whole. Like the monsters and villains in her stories growing up, greedy and cruel and insatiable.

Egam moved past her, already discarding her as unimportant. As under his control. As just another 'country bumpkin'. He was the powerful mage after all and, as he had said, he already had one of the most powerful beings under his control.

A powerless girl might as well be dirt under his boots.

That was the exact reason he didn't see her nick her hand on a small knife hidden in her pocket. Why he didn't see her smile at the forest spirit over his shoulder before reaching out. 

He didn't look at her and therefore couldn't react in time when she stepped to his side and reached up, pressing her bloody hand over his heart at the same time that the forest spirit lunged forward. 

The mage did react, aiming his magic at the bigger, perceived threat, like they had suspected. And just like they had hoped, his magic slid off of the forest spirit harmlessly, for when the young woman had saved his life and he had offered her compensation of the same magnitude, she had asked for him to be safe.

The forest spirit was unhindered, pressing bloody palms to the mage's chest, right over his heart, sharp, sharp teeth bared and he snarled, "I undo the deal."

"I undo the deal," she spoke simultaneously with him, the words the forest spirit had taught her, steady and patient as each one was nothing but pain in her throat. Because she wasn't supposed to say those words, but then again, parents weren't supposed to give away what didn't belong to them either, so she had a right to this.

A right to undo what had been done to her, as long as she could get through the pain that tried to keep her from speaking. Pain that was worse than any wrongness had ever been, any loneliness and pain and grief and self-loathing for not being like all the other people. 

For never getting to keep doing the things she loved, forever searching for something she hadn't known she'd have to buy back with blood and pain.

It was the worst pain she had ever endured, but it wasn't stronger than the rage in her veins, the taste of iron-rot on her tongue and the sun-warm hand that took her free, unharmed one, grounding and strong. The look of startled anger on the mage's face swiftly morphing into fear was everything in this moment.

"I undo the deal made made without my voice, without my consent, without my agreement. I undo it as it was made, in pain and blood and betrayal," they spoke in perfect unison, their only chance to both get back what had been taken from them.

Their only chance to catch him so by surprise that he did feel betrayed, that he was as helpless as they had been, asleep and a babe respectively.

The moment the last word left her mouth, a sudden relief gripped her throat, releasing the burning agony that had torn through it and at the same time, she felt something warm and big spread through her chest.

The wrongness disappeared in an instant, the feeling of missing turning into wholeness so filling and great she almost stumbled back, her skin tingling and euphoria singing through her so brightly she had to sob. Because that wasn't just a missing piece, a sliver of soul that he had taken and that was now returned to her.

Magic, he had taken magic from her. It glittered like stars in the dark in her veins, spilled through her mind like bright sunlight on shimmering waves and wrapped around her with a desperation like it had longed to return to her as relentlessly as she had wanted it to return to her.

Egam was screaming as he stumbled back and they let him, watched him trip and spill to the ground as he writhed, clawing at his chest where blood smeared, hot and red and the forest spirit gripped her hand tighter.

His magic was heavy in the air, making her taste rivers and entire fields full of flowers and even from the corner of her eye she could see how much more vibrant he was now, the glamor dropped. Captivating and downright otherworldly, beautiful and mesmerizing.

"What have you done!" Egam shrieked but his words no longer tasted of iron-rot in the air and she blinked, realizing the power of his voice had been stolen from someone else. As she watched him seemingly shrink down, magic leaving him, her breath caught.

Oh. Her magic had been the first he had stolen. Her magic was what had bolstered all of his and now that it was gone, everything he was unraveled until it left behind a pitiful little man, with eyes so mean and cruel he should belong in a story, not in real life.

"I promised you I would be your end," the forest spirit said and his voice was filled with magic. The sort of magic that had previously been used by Egam to charm everyone. "I think your hunger and greed are better suited in a different shape and form. In something that grows, don't you?"

And Egam tried to scramble to his feet and run, but the magic of the forest spirit was so thick in the air it her own magic sing in return, bright and sparking and the fury was still a living, roiling wave of heat within her. She reached out without much thought, letting her magic wrap around the forest spirit's, who threw his head back and laughed.

He laughed as Egam screamed in a pitch no human throat should be capable of. He laughed as the screams cut off and branches broke out of his back, his skin turning to bark and the mage grew and grew and stretched and the young woman found herself pulled out the house as floorboards and walls, doors and furniture and remains of windows were devoured.

She watched as a tree grew and grew and grew until the trunk was as wide as the house had been and it reached high into the sky, the canopy so thick and wide it sheltered the entire town under its boughs. 

And her magic was singing and singing and singing and she felt so hale and whole she felt like she was floating. The forest spirit turned towards her, grinning and took her injured hand, pressing a kiss to the cut, smearing blood over his lips as he healed it.

"We're free now," he whispered, eyes so very green and then she was laughing and crying and pulling him forward and he followed her, pressing kisses that tasted like fading copper and brightly like flowers and cold water to her lips.

They were free. Free and whole at last and she felt like she was truly breathing for the first time since she could remember. Deep breaths that seemed to fill her entire body, her magic twining with his as it surrounded them, forest and sky and her tears were wiped away with gentle, gentle hands.

"We are," she whispered, sinking her hands into his hair until she had threaded starlight through it. "Let me introduce you to Gran and Granny Tanya and then I want to see your home."

He laughed and picked her up and twirled her in a circle and she found herself laughing as well, flowers blooming to form a crown on her head.

Where previously a quiet sort of misery had loomed in her future, saturating all coming days, she now couldn't wait to see what the rest of her life looked like.

Bright, she thought as she held his face in her hands, their foreheads gently pressing together. Her future was bight and free and full of love and she was still laughing and crying, happy beyond words. And her magic, finally, finally returned to her, sang and shone and at long last, she felt nothing but right inside.

*.*.*

You want to support my stuff? Want more of my nonsense? Want to lord this over your mortal enemies as you laugh down at them from the top of your castle? Please consider heading to my patreon! A new short story gets posted every month =)

[emin-folly]

Imagine that there's this person whose whole thing is being without fear and the fandom decides he's afraid of a dude in a fursuit.

Fandom Logic (tm)

I think it comes down to primarily two reasons, one being because people think it's funny

They think it's funny that this character without fear can suddenly be afraid of this human Bat guy. If it was just a few people in the fandom doing this, it wouldn't be nearly as bad; people are after all allowed to do whatever they want, even if we don't like it. The problem lies in where the actual comic writers start adapting this as canon as it's a huge disservice to Hal's character

The second reason is just basically these people legitimately think Hal should be afraid of Bruce because he's ~The Batman~ (which, again, you're allowed to think that, just know that's not really in character for Hal....like at all)

The whole deal with Bruce is that, both in universe and in real life, he's designed to terrify low level criminals: thugs, crooks, any unsavory person who wanders the Gotham alleyways. That's the environment Bruce works the best in. Where he can easily slip into the shadows, where he can become the night and make himself out to be a monster he wants to be. The only people who should be afraid of Batman are the ordinary hoods and criminals that infest cities

But when you suddenly stick him in a brightly lit room like the Hall of Justice next to all these colorful superheroes, that's where his effectiveness pretty much stops. All his tactics and methods to scare people don't really work here. Suddenly, he's just some guy in a bat getup with a scowly mask on. And these are seasoned superheroes, they don't scare easily, especially the ones with powers like speedsters or Kryptonians. Bruce is out of his element. Everything he does to try to act scary should look comical and silly at best

And as for Hal, I think we can all agree that Hal has definitely seen some shit. He goes off into deep space, for months up to a year or so. Who knows what kind of unimaginable horrors he's had to deal with?? Going a bit into headcanon area, but I think that if Hal wasn't desensitized before, he definitely is now. He's not afraid of space Cthulhu and he is not gonna be afraid of a bat furry who furrows his eyebrows really hard. Hal isn't scared of anything--physical, that is. And I feel like Hal is definitely the kind of person who sees straight through Bruce's BS posturing, Bruce's whole act just doesn't work on Hal.

Unfortunately, just like a tornado, any character who comes close to a Bat gets dealt major damage and we're still picking up the pieces and trying to set things straight again OTL

[pocket-watcher]

Gonna be kinda vulnerable for a sec here.

The reason I made this account in the first place was to try and help me get over my anxiety about sex. I’ve been with my partner for nearly 7 years now and we’ve never had sex. Crazy, right?!

But I was just so scared of it. It was like this mystical thing that I didn’t feel mature enough for. That I thought would be awkward or painful. That I put all this pressure into the moment it did happen being perfect.

And this account did its job - I’m not longer a virgin! Just don’t date me because I don’t put out on the first 542 dates.

And if anyone else is on here and has that same level of anxiety, about how you’ll perform and how you’ll live up to porn levels of sex - just know I cracked about 50 jokes during the whole thing.

So, my advice is to: make a kinky tumblr, find out what you like and are comfortable with, engage with porn that isn’t insanely over produced, and learn that for most people you don’t need to look like a Greek God for you to turn that person on.

So yeah, ramble over. I was a virgin for the entire time I’ve been running this account and since last week I’m not. 😅🎉

[arkaniske]

Say it like you Mean It

AO3 Link \\\ Chapter Six: Language of Flowers.

4700 words \ SFW \ Jayvik Beta read by @kitcatkim

Summary: Five times Jayce brought flowers for Viktor and one time Viktor brought flowers for Jayce.

The language of flowers was an unnecessary invention. That had been Viktor’s belief for most of his life, a sentiment born out of practicality. Flowers were ephemeral, delicate things, wilting long before their meanings could take root. Why rely on something so transient to convey emotions when words carefully chosen and expertly delivered, could convey so much more?

Chapter One: Daffodils \\\ Chapter Two: SunflowersChapter Three: Bluebells \\\ Chapter Four: GardeniasChapter Five: Camellia \\\ Chapter Six: Red CamelliasChapter Seven: Language of Flowers

The language of flowers was an unnecessary invention. That had been Viktor’s belief for most of his life, a sentiment born out of practicality. Flowers were ephemeral, delicate things, wilting long before their meanings could take root. Why rely on something so transient to convey emotions when words carefully chosen and expertly delivered, could convey so much more? Of course, Viktor understood the sentimental value of a rose, but it was not one he had felt tug at his own heart.

That was, of course, until Jayce Talis made his grand appearance. The language of flowers had become unavoidable, inescapable, even. It had wound its way into Viktor’s life with every bloom his partner had left in his wake, like roots taking hold of his heart. Each offering had been a puzzle wrapped in fragrance and colour.

Viktor really loves puzzles.

It was no surprise, then, that when Jayce handed him the first flower Viktor had found himself drawn to the mystery of it all. At first, it had been nothing more than a simple curiosity. The flower had come out of nowhere but as Jayce had rambled on about finished projects and breakthroughs, Viktor had picked up on a carefully slipped-in word. Symbolism. Jayce, the Golden Boy of Piltover, Man of Progress, caring about the symbolism of a flower. Not just that, he cared about what it would mean should it be gifted to Viktor.

This piqued Viktor’s interest.

As more flowers followed, each one layered with intentions, Viktor had realised this was more than just a fleeting whim. It was more than just his partner’s latest obsession bleeding into their everyday life. There was care to it, depth even. Jayce was desperately trying to speak to him and all Viktor had to do was solve the riddle presented to him.

And that is what led him here, to the book now resting in his hands.

It was an old thing, the spine cracked and the pages worn thin, a rare relic of a life he hadn’t brought himself to think of in many years. Among the few possessions he had kept from his mother’s passing, this book had lingered in his collection. She had been sentimental to her core, always finding beauty in small things—pressed flowers between book pages, trinkets collected from the markets, a well-worn book on flora she swore by. He still found comfort in creating space for her memory in his life, to know that she could still guide him even in her absence.

The book stayed. No matter how tall the walls he built around his heart, the softness he had inherited from her still found its way through. The memories of her delicate fingers thumbing through the pages, a faint smile on her lips as she recited the name of the flower, its uses and, at last, its meaning. He remembered her spending hours writing in the margins of the book as she learned the meaning of a new bloom. Back then, he had dismissed it as one of her whims, a charming distraction to occupy her. He realised now it had been one of her ways of connecting with the world—quiet, deliberate, and deeply meaningful.

Now, the book, heavy in his hands and filled with meanings that seemed to whisper gently back at him, was forcing him to reconsider what he thought he knew of flora. Each flower Jayce had given him had nudged open a door he hadn’t realised was locked, and the book had become a guide through the uncharted territory Jayce had created.

His mother would have laughed softly at him, perhaps given him a loving tease about his sudden interest in something he once had no time for. She would have called it fate, or something equally sentimental, always eager to romanticise the quiet threads of connection that wove through life. Viktor didn’t believe much in fate, but as his thumb brushed the entry of a red camellia, he couldn’t deny that perhaps… His mother had seen truths he once had overlooked.

The words were staring back at him. Unyielding love. His mother’s handwriting, looping and intricate, filled in the meaning of the flower in the margins.

A daring flower for a daring heart. The kind of love that can change everything, if you’re brave enough for it.

Perhaps he could find it in his sentimental heart to believe in fate like his mother would have done. His gaze drifted over to the bouquet beside him. Vivid and unapologetic, their message impossible to ignore. Like an invitation to feel more. Even now, Viktor couldn’t help the faint pull at his emotions over Jayce’s boldness. Leaving no room for doubt anymore.

There was only space for Viktor to respond.

\\\

The sound of the lab door creaking announced Jayce’s arrival, his steps hesitant but unmistakable. Viktor didn’t glance up immediately, though the sound tugged faintly at the corner of his thoughts. He was sitting by their shared desk, eyes focused on the book in his hands as if the scribbled words could bring him a last moment of comfort.

“You are late.” Viktor broke the silence without looking up, his tone carrying a deliberate neutrality. His fingers slid down to the edge of the page as if the texture might anchor his scattered thoughts. The shuffling footsteps faltered, a momentary hitch that Viktor caught before he turned the page.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that…” Jayce answered, his voice softer than usual. “Didn’t sleep great.”

Viktor rose from the chair to face Jayce. He finally allowed himself to glance over to his partner standing on opposite side of the room. It was easy to spot the nervous tension in Jayce’s shoulders, the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty around the room. Viktor followed that flicker, noting the way it returned over and over to the bouquet of camellias resting on the desk. His heart gave a quiet, inexplicable tug at the sight of him. Ah, there it is, Viktor thought, the weight of things unsaid.

“Did the flowers keep you awake?” Viktor asked lightly, a subtle fracture in their charade. It was the first direct acknowledgement of the flowers’ meaning, a quiet revelation that he understood their weight, and now Jayce knew that he knew.

Jayce’s reaction didn’t disappoint. His ears turned a telltale red and he quickly shook his head. “No! No, I—uh, I just…” Viktor watched as Jayce stuttered through his words, trying his very best to come up with an excuse. In the end, he gave up, mouth shutting closed. “Maybe…” Jayce’s voice was so quiet Viktor barely caught it. His partner’s nervous energy filled the space between them like static energy of an overcharged power regulator.

“Hm…” Viktor hummed, a low sound that carried more weight than it should. He held his steady gaze on Jayce, watching the man all but squirm under it. For a moment he expected amusement to grow in his chest but no—instead he found himself overwhelmed with endearment. It was disarming, how someone so bold and unyielding like Jayce could falter so entirely in matters of the heart.

The soft thud of Viktor closing the book was enough to snap Jayce’s attention back to him. His eyes narrowing at the worn cover as if it might explain itself. Viktor studied him silently, watching the realization slowly take hold. Last time he had been subtle like this it had taken a moment. But he could wait.

Viktor waited.

Jayce stared.

Viktor waited some more, allowing himself the faintest of smirks. Jayce all but gasped loudly, breaking the fragile quiet. For a moment, it looked like he had entirely shut down, his thoughts scrambling for purchase as though Viktor had short-circuited him. He watched the realisation dawn on Jayce like the slow bloom of a flower. His partner’s lips parted as if to speak, then closed again and Viktor could see the gears turning, piecing together what was in front of him.

“Is that—?” Jayce trailed off, his words catching in his throat as his mind seemed to race ahead of his mouth. “Is flowers? Book on flowers?” The phrase sounded ridiculous as he said it and Viktor allowed a smile to crack his neutral expression. “It is.” His voice remained calm. “Ah, more specifically symbolic meanings.” His calm delivery only making Jayce’s reaction so much more delightful.

Jayce blinked rapidly, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “And you’ve been reading it?” His voice climbed a pitch, “Like—actually reading it?”

“I have.” Viktor acknowledged with a subtle nod. “It belonged to my mother. She always had her way of finding meanings in the smallest things, an appreciation for connections others might overlook. It has been… Useful in navigating, well, you.” Viktor’s eyes flickered to the flowers once more. Vivid against the muted tones of the lab. He had to remind himself to slow his breath.

Jayce’s gaze darted to the flowers, then to the book and finally to Viktor’s eyes. His throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Does that mean…?” The question died halfway, as if finishing it might make the situation heavier. Viktor’s sharp eyes caught the slight tremble to his partner’s fingers.

“It means,” Viktor began, his voice softening to soothe Jayce’s worry, “that I have been paying attention, Jayce. Perhaps more than you realised.”

Jayce’s nervous laugh was almost a relief in the tense air between them. “A-ah… That’s… That’s good, right?” He asked with as much confidence he could muster, voice still holding a light tremble to it as if testing the weight of Viktor’s words.

There was something so profoundly endearing in Jayce’s nervous energy, how someone so bold and confident in the public eye could falter so completely here, in the quiet space between them. How out there he could be everyone’s charming Jayce but in here? In the soft silence of their lab, between petals and golden thread? This was a side of Jayce only meant for Viktor’s eyes.

“Good?” Viktor echoed; he felt the amusement linger in his tone. Even now, Jayce was standing with no flowers to hide behind and he wanted to know if he did good. “I would think so, considering the effort you have put in it.”

Jayce blinked, head tilting. Viktor could only imagine the thoughts going through his head, searching for the effort it had taken him to deliver flowers. Gods he’s precious when confused, Viktor tried not to smile at his own thoughts. Jayce shook his head before speaking; “I wouldn’t say it was that much effort-“

With a simple raise of his eyebrow Viktor cut off whatever dismissing statement Jayce was about to say. “Daffodils, sunflowers, bluebells, gardenias…” Viktor continued by subtly gesturing to the red blooms next to him. “You have gifted me quite the collection. Each one with a meaning, each one deliberate. It has not gone unnoticed.”

“Oh…uh- I didn’t think you would…” Jayce answered, shifting in his place as his thumb started rubbing comforting little circles into his own palm. “I-I mean. I wasn’t sure… I thought you might find it dumb or- I don’t know? Too much? Not enough, maybe…”

“Not enough?” Viktor stared at him in disbelief. Did they go to the same event? Did Jayce not see the pride which Viktor carried his patterns? He quite literally walked the halls of the gala like a trademarked Talis just for Jayce. Viktor couldn’t bring himself to say any of that, however. “Jayce, you gave me a Gardenia. That is not subtle. That is, in fact, quite a message.”

Jayce’s lips parted, as though he meant to speak, but nothing came out. Viktor allowed himself a small smirk. He had spent countless hours parsing the meanings Jayce had gifted him, the hidden confessions wrapped in petals and scent. It had been a puzzle, yes, but one layered with tenderness and vulnerability. He preferred to be composed, methodical even, but Jayce always had a way of disarming him. Of making every moment feeling alive.

Viktor allowed the moment of silence between them to stretch, watching the ever-blushing Jayce stare back at him. It pulled at his heart, striking something tender within him. How many times had Jayce worn his heart on his sleeve, unguarded and vulnerable, even when he didn’t realise it? And how often had Viktor sidestepped the invitation to meet him halfway in fear of hoping too much? In desperation to protect his own sentimental heart?

Jayce was already standing halfway waiting. All Viktor had to do was to follow the bond that tethered them together.

“You,” Viktor began, his voice quieter now as he found himself nervously tracing fingers across the spine of his book, “make even the smallest thing feel important. Brighter, warmer—like they matter more because you touched it. It is… eh, infuriating, in a way.”

Jayce opened his mouth, Viktor assumed to apologise. “Infuriating,” he quickly continued before the other man had a chance to speak, “because… It leaves no space to hide. No corner to retreat to. Everything you do, every flower or every look or every touch, it demands attention. Demands feeling.” Viktor paused as he could feel himself getting flustered with the vulnerability of the moment. Exposed. Nervous. Was this how Jayce felt every time he’d brought a flower? Every time he’d let his heart show? He looked at Jayce carefully. His heart stuttered. Jayce was looking at him like he was hanging the moon and stars with every word. More feelings to be demanded. He felt unsteady.

“Even as I told myself I preferred my solitude, you… made it impossible. You, Jayce. Are impossible not to feel. Everything you do. Everything you are. I-“ It was Viktor’s turn to have his sentence trail off. He felt his own breath grow heavy in his chest, and for just a moment, he considered retreating, drawing back to the safety of quiet gestures and unsaid truth. But he knew, no matter where he went, no matter how tall the walls around his heart might grow—He would always seek Jayce out in the end.

“You are extraordinary.”

The words left Viktors lips before he could even think, aching with affection for his partner. Jayce’s breath hitched loudly with the gentle confession, his eyes searching Viktor’s face with an intensity that felt like gravity, pulling Viktor closer even as he fought to keep his composure. He could so easily give in, cross the room and find himself by Jayce’s side but—no. Viktor had a plan, and he was determined not to let Jayce derail him from delivering the confession he intended to give his partner.

Viktor took a deep breath before he turned slightly to the side to comfortably place the book on their desk. The motion revealing something hiding behind his frame. A small bouquet resting on the edge of the table.

Jayce’s attention was immediately locked on the flowers, eyes wide with surprise and something Viktor couldn’t quite read. The arrangement was modest but purposeful. Delicate Lily of the Valley, soft blues of Forget-Me-Not and the bold red of a Chrysanthemum. Viktor looked from Jayce and over to the blooms, his heart beating like a hummingbird in his chest.

“Viktor—I…” Jayce said his name like a plea, voice so thick with emotion Viktor wasn’t sure if the man was about to laugh or cry. His partner’s expression almost twisted into pain from yearning, he couldn’t ignore the light tremble to his frame either. Jayce was just about to crumble.

No more hiding behind walls, petals, or cautious words. No more.

“I have spent some time thinking of how to give back to you.” Viktor said, his voice soft, steadier than he felt. “How…To speak a language you have already mastered.” He carefully picked up the bouquet, holding it as if it was something precious. Viktor’s gaze met Jayce’s as the words hung in the air between them. The warmth in his partner’s eyes made his chest ache with the distance between them.

 “I believe it is my turn, now.” Viktor stepped closer.

“Lily of the Valley,” Viktor began. His gaze fell to the white blooms nestled in the bouquet, white bells arching gracefully along slender green stems. “They are for sweetness, for returning to happiness. For the joy you have brought into my life, Jayce.” Although he had never heard his mother speak the words aloud, he could almost hear her voice now, gently reciting the lily’s entry as if she was beside him. A quiet kind of joy, the kind that fills the spaces you didn’t know were empty. A reminder that true happiness often whispers instead of shouts.

He took another step, cane tapping softly against the ground. Drawn to the warmth and presence of the man before him, Viktor continued. “Forget-Me-Not,” His voice felt raw with emotions, “they hold the meaning of always remembering you. Of how even in your absence, your presence lingers with me.”

The tiny blue blossoms seemed impossibly delicate as he turned the bouquet slightly, letting the light catch the soft hues. This one he had heard his mother speak once, her voice soft in his mind as he reminded himself. A flower for the memories that cling to us, for when we are apart but still hold each other. To hold this flower and say, ‘Not for a moment will I forget you, ever.’

He swallowed, his golden eyes meeting Jayce’s fully now. The man stood still; his eyes fixed on Viktor with awe. “Even when you are not here… you are.”

His eyes lowered to the deepest hue of the bouquet, his thumb lightly tracing the bold red petals as if they might lend him the courage to continue. Viktor took his final step, coming to a halt before Jayce, close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from him like the sun itself. He had closed the distance. Now he just needed the words. “And these…” His breath caught, and for the first time, he felt himself break just a little under the weight of the flowers. For a love that demands courage. It does not come subtly, but boldly, asking you to risk everything—but it is worth everything. “Red Chrysanthemums.” The words left him as a little more than a whisper, the name heavy on his tongue. “They mean—” He paused, heat rising unbidden to his face as his chest tightened. He had prepared for this, every word carefully chosen, every thought rehearsed. It should have been simple. The meaning of the red bloom stuck somewhere between his chest and throat, and he couldn’t understand why. He couldn’t have come this far just to go still, could he? He felt the flower bloom in his heart. The meaning burned warmer than any ember could.

I love you.

“I love you.”

Viktor’s eyes widened at the rough tone of Jayce’s voice as he spoke. His attention snapped back to the man in front of him only to have his heart stutter. Jayce was looking at him with a smile so pure, so brilliant, it was almost too much to bear. It was the kind of joy that seemed to overflow, unrestrained, pooling in the corners of his eyes as if a single blink would release the tears clinging on to his lashes. “I love you,” Jayce said again, the words tumbling from his lips like they had been locked away for too long, finally free. His voice cracked, but he didn’t seem to care. “I love you—Viktor— I-” Viktor’s breath caught in his chest, his mind spinning as his body moved before he could think better of it. The flowers in his hands slipped from his grasp, forgotten as they fell to the floor. His cane meeting the same fate as he let it go, his hand suddenly too preoccupied with something far more important. He closed the space between them in a single purposeful step and reached for Jayce. His hand found purchase at the collar of Jayce’s shirt and there was no resistance as he pulled the other man close with desperation. Viktor’s lips crashed against Jayce’s in a kiss unrestrained and unapologetically raw. It was though all the emotions Viktor had kept locked at bay, all the feelings he had neglected to voice, spilled forth in one singular act. Jayce let out a surprised, breathless sound that quickly melted into something deeper. One hand instinctively gripping Viktor’s waist while the other found the back of his head, fingers threading into the soft curls at the base of his neck. Viktor melted. The kiss was everything and nothing like he had imagined—messy, uncoordinated and yet so profoundly grounding it made his head spin. Jayce’s lips were soft and warm, moving against his own with a tenderness that contrasted the intensity of what they both felt. Viktor tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He poured into it everything he had no words for, a silent confession of his heart. The fingers curling in Jayce’s collar became a plea to never leave, his other hand coming to rest at the man’s jaw as a promise to cherish him, the kiss becoming a promise to nurture whatever might grow between them.

Jayce pressed closer, his broad hand splaying over Viktor’s back, pulling him in like they couldn’t possibly be close enough. The heat between their bodies burning bright with the shared affection. Viktor felt ablaze with every touch, every press of lips—It wasn’t just the wall of petals Jayce had burned down but the very walls around Viktor’s sentimental heart. Jayce was keeping him so warm. So at home. Viktor couldn’t imagine a world where he felt cold or alone again.

Viktor had half a mind to chase after Jayce as the man pulled away, instead he was soothed with small butterfly light kisses to his cheekbone and right above his upper lip. Warmth lingering long after his partner’s lips left, and he couldn’t help the soft chuckle of joy.

“Please say it back.”

Jayce’s voice, thick with emotion, broke the quiet. His breath ghosting against Viktor’s lips as he spoke.

Viktor opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly to meet Jayce’s pleading gaze. A flicker of amusement danced in his own as he let a smile curl over his lips. “Eh, flowers not enough for you now?” he teased gently, his voice softer than what usually weaved through his playfulness.

“Please.” Jayce repeated, his trembling, his eyes shining with something vulnerable that Viktor felt his heart twist.

The teasing fell away quickly as Viktor let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing against Jayce’s cheek, wiping away a tear neither of them acknowledged.

“I love you.” He said simply, but his voice carried all the weight of the moment, all the meaning the flowers and kisses couldn’t convey.

Jayce’s eyes fluttered shut, a laugh slipping through his parted lips, half a sob and half relief. “Viktor—I…” He began, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His large frame trembling ever so slightly with relief. Viktor surged forward, cutting him off with another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, an affirmation wrapped in tenderness. His hand slipping from Jayce’s collar and coming to rest over his heart, feeling the steady and strong beat beneath his palm. He could feel his partner soften in his hands, melting into the moment like he’d found the place he belonged. It almost made him weep with how soft it all was. How deeply comforting it was to find the soul that mirrored your own.

The kiss stayed soft and light, every moment deliberate and unhurried. Viktor tilted his head slightly, his nose brushing against Jayce’s cheek as he savoured the closeness. It was as though time had slowed, the world reduced to just them and the quiet, electric hum of their connection.

Between the press of lips, Viktor caught faint murmurs—soft, barely audible whispers that sent a rush of warmth over him.

“I love you—I love y—love,” Jayce muttered, the words slipping free like a mantra, unbidden but true.

Viktor exhaled against Jayce’s mouth, a sound that carried equal parts affection and quiet disbelief. He allowed himself to pause, just briefly, to take in the sight of the man before him. His partner’s eyes were shut, lashes brushing against his cheeks and a flush painted his skin, vibrant and full of life. It was staggering, raw and beautiful in a way Viktor couldn’t put into words.

Jayce’s lips found his again, and Viktor couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that spilled between them. “You are relentless.” Viktor murmured as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. Jayce pulled back just enough to meet Viktor’s gaze. The amber of his eyes eaten up by the blacks of his pupils. “I mean it,” his voice was low now, hand brushing against Viktor’s as it rested over his chest, interlocking their fingers. “Every time. I mean it.” It was so honest. “I believe you.” Viktor answered, he had no other choice but to believe Jayce. How could he not? Every action, every glance, every flower had led them here, to this moment. Viktor didn’t just believe Jayce, he felt the love. It was rolling off his partner like waves of water to drown in, to submerge in and never return to the surface. Their foreheads came to a rest, soft breaths sharing the air between them as they simply basked in each other’s orbit. Neither spoke, silence filled with something vibrant, something alive. When their eyes met, the sheer joy reflected in Jayce’s gaze made Viktor’s lips twitch into a smile. Jayce broke into a grin first, wide and unrestrained, and Viktor couldn’t help but mirror it, a quiet laugh escaping him as the weight of the moment gave away to something lighter. Jayce’s shoulder shook with a soft, bubbling laughter, and Viktor let himself lean into the joy. His own chuckles joining the sound. “You are amazing.” Jayce said between breaths, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face. “I mean it, Viktor. The flowers—I—” Viktor’s smile softened, a warm glow settling over his features. “Mm, well, I cannot take full credit. Julianna helped.”

Jayce blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, his expression shifting into surprise. “Wait—you know Julianna?” Viktor’s smirk returned, playful and sharp. “Of course. You think I would entrust something as delicate as your feelings just to anyone?” Jayce sputtered, torn between laughing and looking scandalised. “I—she never said anything! Did you… Did you plan this with her?” Viktor chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Plan? No, not exactly. She was eh… Enthusiastic in the supply of flowers.” He admitted, his voice carrying a faint note of pride as he continued, “but I chose them. Their meanings, their purpose—those were mine.”

He watched as his partner’s eyes shifted from surprise to something softer, almost awestruck in nature. Jayce’s cheeks flushed deeper as his gaze darted between Viktor’s eyes and the playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Gods,” Jayce whispered, “I’m so in love with you.” Before Viktor could respond Jayce leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with laughter and warmth. Their smiles growing so wide it broke through the kiss, leaving them both simply basking in the joy of each other. “You are unyielding,” Viktor murmured again, amusement and affection weaving through his words like golden thread on a tailored lapel.

“You’re breathtaking.” Jayce replied with a grin, words light enough to be carried on petals and stems. The language of flowers had once been nothing more than a charming indulgence, fragile, fleeting and impractical. But now, Viktor understood. It wasn’t about the flowers themselves, or the meanings written beside their names in the margins of old books. It was about the hands that chose them, the care that carried them, the courage it took to offer them. The flowers would wilt, their petals falling away, but what they had carried—the weight of emotions, of affection, of love—that would remain. It would take root in the space they had created, growing into something more enduring that either of them could imagine. Viktor smiled as Jayce’s soft chuckle filled the room. Yes, he thought, sometimes even a practical heart could bloom.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

snap's uber cringe vampire cherik rambling !!!!!! read at your own risk of charles/erik origins But If They Were Vampires and more !!!!

very simple makeshift vampire age map for the sake of understanding this vague timeline i have (hint: just multiply by ten) this is all subject to change because time is mean and im indecisive

infancy - 0 - 40

childhood - 50 - 120 years

adolescence - 130 - 170 years

emerging adulthood - 180 - 240 years

older adulthood - +250 years

elderly - +700 years

about dhampirs: they're not immortal like vampires, they just have a (much) longer life expectancy than humans (they really are just like 'weaker' vampires in this, only possessing half of their strengths and weaknesses)

'what's our time period' EXCELLENT question brother.

jk i think the main events will be set victorian-edwardian period (1850's-1910's) but charles and erik are at least a couple centuries old- probably born amidst the late 1500's (1580's-90's more specifically), maybe meet during the 1800's

charles' profile

charles heralds from a wealthy vampire family whos had their influence in england for centuries (maybe established roots during the 5th century), the general public none the wiser to their vampirism. at most there's rumors, but the family's charismatic enough to keep the murmurs at bay

brian is like. a little less evil to charles in this timeline. most of their time together being brian teaching charles how to run the family's business and whatever else vampires do to balance the life of a vampire and a human. at most, brian emotionally neglects charles as he stays vigilant in ensuring the xavier family can prosper for centuries. sharon xavier would be the one to instill all that is good and human in charles despite her own vampirism (most likely turned by brian before they had charles)

brian xavier is murdered by human kurt marko once the latter figures out his vampirism right before europe's widespread vampire hysteria (so maybe late 1600's)- not for any heroic purposes but so he can steal the xavier family's wealth of course.

he holds the xavier's vampiric origins over them until his eventual death (maybe early 1700's).

considering the idea charles' accidentally summons a pack of wolves to the house during a heated moment and they tear him apart- maybe kurt tries to protect cain and charles idk. charles wouldn't realize he caused this until much later while learning about his vampirism, BUT im still chewing on this so don't take this as 100% canon to this au.....

kurt never discloses the true nature of the xaviers to cain while he's alive, but as the boys grow older cain figures it out for himself and decides to dedicate his life to hunting down charles- how much of it is to rid the world of one less vampire or to vent the unhappiness he experienced growing up in the xavier household onto his brother is unclear

while kurt was alive, he experiments on charles in an attempt to understand his vampirism in an attempt to achieve eternal life without the drawbacks of vampirism. but i mean how good can your science be: evidently he fails vjELKJALKJ

as an adult, charles is curious about his own vampirism as he attempts to live amongst humans and perhaps help them (maybe not give them eternal life but at least how to extend life). he doesn't seek to 'cure' himself, only figure out how his biology works to live comfortably and safely: after all, there must be a reason as to why he was born this way, he reasons

he pursues a life of medicine to do this and along the way meets moira mctaggart (around late 1700's/early-1800's), a scientist working closely with the occult and isolated from general society. after some time, he reveals he's a vampire to her and they effectively become partners to further understand vampirism (but not romantic partners)

most of their work concerns why vampires 'need blood' and how to find a suitable substitute ('surely it's not blood itself that satiates vampires but a property within it?'), but they also look to find out why vampires can be weak in the sunlight and why they appear immortal (aka: they're purely scientific in their approach to the vampire phenomena instead of thinking it's magical, charles reasoning that vampires are just humans with a type of evolved biology. time will tell if he's right or wrong in this approach, and brother he has plenty of time)

erik's/max's profile

compared to the house of xavier, the house of eisenhardt- while not as wealthy- still maintained some sort of reputation in east prussia. however, the news of their vampirism easier leaks amidst the mid-1700's heightened paranoia of vampires (probably a domino affect of the rumor of Renowned Xaiver Family being one of vampires expanding after kurt's death), and he finds himself to be the only survivor amidst the violence against his family

fleeing further east and with the benefit of his youthful visage despite his real years, max has no problem using his intelligence and experience to find work to support himself and manages life alone until he eventually meets magda (maybe around the same time charles meets moira, 1790's). with her being human, it isn't long until she and max introduce little dhampir anya into the world

he tells magda of his vampiric origins (after all, if they were going to have a baby it'd prob be best to let her know the baby's gonna be part vampire right..), but whether it's disbelief or not fully grasping the implications of such, magda accepts and loves him. max vows never to feed off his wife, mostly feeding off hunted animals to satisfy himself

for a while, max was content to live in relative solitude with his family: he wouldn't bother the humans, and in turn they shouldn't bother him. but soon enough (talking Ten Years Later soon enough), the true nature of max and his family is uncovered in the quaint town they lived in, and history threatens to repeat itself as a growing mob attempts to torch their home. they can't succeed before max makes a bloody example of the mob- a display that frightens magda and has her flee with anya in her arms. that would be the last time max sees his wife and child. he effectively repurposes the site of where he lost his family as a quaint memorial to them and the grounds remain relatively untouched bar his annual visits (the common people more often rumoring it to be cursed as a result)

max would change his name to 'erik lehnsherr' as a way to bury his past and move on with his new, less-human-sympathetic life. uttering his real name weakens his power if not strips them away for some time entirely, so he's greatly secretive to who he tells it to (spoilers: he never tells anyone). he spends most of his time alone in his castle, going out at night to feed off late-night wanderers in nearby cities

as for wanda and pietro, debating on exactly what to do with them and if they're blood related to erik or not. considering having pietro be a dhampir that maintained his superspeed while wanda's still just a witch. not sure what to do about lorna either. at the very least, if they do live with erik, he's greatly protective and overbearing about them (a possible blend of keeping them close to use their might against humans, and not wanting to lose any more of his family)

The Part People Are Here For charles and erik interacting

How Do They Meet wow great questions today !!!

around 1810's, probably during one of erik's Feeding Nights he bumps into charles and attempts to make dinner of him, charles at this point passing far too easily as a regular human. the ensuing encounter/fight eventually leads to charles having to reveal himself also to be a vampire (probably as a result of having to resort to using telepathy to keep erik at bay and thereafter explaining himself)

despite the rocky start, neither can hide the fact they're ecstatic about meeting another vampire and become fast friends. Yknow. After overlooking the Sorry I Tried To Eat You part

so now charles spends his mornings with moira and his humanly duties and at night he sometimes spends time at erik's abode and with his children (if i decide they live with him of course).

moira can't ignore the way charles lights up when talking about erik (and how could she: even if he was candid with her about his experiences, it was an entirely different feeling talking to another vampire who already understood- and perhaps understood better). as such, she doesn't let charles forget erik could potentially be a danger- something charles can't forget if he wanted to (see again: them meeting the first time. still, he chooses to believe in the better parts of erik)

of course charles tries to dissuade erik from seeing humans as purely food or menaces and encourages him to work alongside himself to find more 'ethical' ways to be a vampire, but of course erik is resistant to the idea and at times admonishes charles for his thinking.

Everyone's Favorite Part: The Divorce

for a while- maybe five years- erik isn't aware of moira's existence. but on a night charles neglects to visit him he spots the pair walking to moira's home. following them, he's quick to discover moira's lab and realizes charles has been cooperating with a human this whole time (how much had he told her about erik? how much of their weaknesses did he expose to her? why wouldn't he tell erik about moira sooner if she wouldn't be an issue?)

enraged, erik doesn't wait for an explanation as he barges into the small shack and barks accusations of betrayal at charles. it only gets worse when moira is puzzled that charles didn't tell erik about her when he was more than happy to tell her about erik, only reaffirming erik's suspicions charles was attempting to doom vampires as a whole

what happens next im still up in the air about, but it'll be how charles loses the use of his legs in this universe

scenario a is while erik and charles brawl in moira's shack, she hurls holy water onto erik and disfigures his face. while he's down, she attempts to throw more holy water on him to at least give her and charles more time to escape only for charles to shield him at the final moment. while he's mostly unharmed, his legs get burnt as he pushes erik out of the way and finds he isn't able to regenerate the damaged limbs

scenario b is moira still gets erik with the holy water, however charles drags them out of the shack and tries to break for the nearest town. unfortunately, during their escape erik finds one of moira's silver-tipped crossbows (or something to that affect: still deciding if he should have control over magnetism in this but Details Details) and shoots charles in the spine ultimate style. going off the myth silver is Not Good for all 'unholy' and dead creatures of course, charles' nervous system isn't properly able to regenerate for Above Mentioned Reasons (his body's so 'dead' the antibacterial properties of silver eat away at him). the cruel irony of it all really (or silvery... heh.. metal...)

as a result of being burned by the holy water, erik would wear his helmet more often- at least until he feeds off enough humans to regenerate the damaged tissue (note: only human blood can restore holy-artifact-induced wounds, which means charles won't regain the use of his legs because of his refusal to consume human blood)

either way, once she and charles escape erik and relocate, moira stays with him for some time- at least long enough for charles to get used to his new way of life without his legs and figure out what they should do next, maybe two-three years. eventually, charles and moira agree it might be safer to work apart from each other and effectively split. probably leads to charles moving to america to keep an eye on vampires on the other side of the globe while moira keeps an eye on europe

after the encounter with moira and charles, erik becomes more active and now seeks out other vampires (or humans to turn into vampires), fully intending on converting the world to become a vampire's (and hell why not monsters in general) paradise

Things to iron out

the difference between animal and human blood

Whats the benefit to drinking human blood: is it tastier? More nutritious? Evidently its restorative properties are more potent for vampires than animal blood

Maybe more animal blood is needed to supplement human blood (i.e. one human may need the blood of- say- five pigs or something yk what i mean)

Maybe its possible for a vampire to live off animals only, it’d just be more difficult and they might not be as physically strong as vampires who feed off humans

Would they eventually cave into craving human blood? Is it a conscious effort to Not feed off humans? Curious….

Perhaps moira tests the effects of human vs animal blood on charles, offering blood from her arm both directly from her and extracted first to then drink. He cant argue its wrong if she’s offering for science no…. Its For Science Charles its ok…

Another thing i want to solidify is time period: on one hand i wanna do this modern-ish period but im also thinkin bout the 14th century…. Shrug i still have a lot of finer details In General ill work out with myself. For now it’ll prob remain around 1700’s-1900’s

A final minor thing i wanna work on is erik’s ‘real’ name and his name situation in general, mostly how magda knew him. Maybe changes his name to ‘erik lehnsherr’ after the eisenhardt incident, and goes by ‘magnus’ after magda, her knowing him as ‘erik’ while charles mostly knows him as ‘magnus’. ‘Count magnus’…. Hm…. Dunno if i wanna reintroduce ‘magneto’ into this or not …… ill figure it out at some point …

Perhaps other vampires and dhampirs saying his real name doesn’t negatively affect him and it’s strictly only if humans/non-vampires say it

[good-beanswrites]

john x fuuta ?👉👈 or 090309

I love the dynamic between them all, thank you for the request! I went with an earlier meeting for them (well, one of the first times Fuuta's aware of speaking with John, at least). As much as I joke about Fuuta being starstruck by his strength in the attack, I tried to take a more serious route for the "something to rely on" vibe.

John’s eyes flicked over Fuuta, sprawled out on his bedding and looking up expectantly.

“Man, you look like shit.”

Fuuta scowled deeper. “I asked for the reason you’re here in the middle of the fucking night, not your opinion.”

“That is the reason I came.”

Somehow, amid all the other things he had to worry about given the horror of the past few days and exile that followed, Mikoto had still found the time to lose sleep over Fuuta’s condition. John had always liked the guy, but he wasn’t in the business of watching over people he didn’t truly care about. He didn’t know what Mikoto saw in him to cause such an overreaction.

Though, with the futon dragged to the bars of the cell, and bathing him in the dim light of the guard’s tower, it was becoming clear that Mikoto’s concern was indeed warranted. Fuuta appeared deathly. The fresh injuries had been bandaged, but there were stains where blood was beginning to seep through. His eye – the one that had survived the ordeal – was bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags. His hair was as tangled as the rumpled hoodie it poked out of.

Fuuta was still staring in anticipation. It took John a moment to understand why. 

“You recognize me.”

“No shit. Mikoto came in here like a fumbling idiot earlier today. He wanted to make sure I was okay or whatever. Like I’d be okay after what happened!” He paused, a clanging from someone else’s cell briefly distracting him. “But you… the way you carry yourself… it’s different.”

“Not that different. I’m here for the same reason.”

The plan was simple. Once Fuuta slept, Mikoto would relax, and everyone would be happy. If it turned out to be his injuries keeping him awake, John didn’t mind crushing Fuuta’s pride and explaining his weakness to the doctor to get more painkillers. If it was noisy neighbors, he’d teach one of those girls a lesson the following day. If the problem was just plain insomnia, well, John’s swinging arm was still completely functional...

“I just want to make sure you’re sleeping.”

“Don’t tell me you’re as disgustingly sentimental as him.”

John’s expression twitched. He didn’t appreciate the condescension. That was Mikoto’s most admirable trait, after all – offering help to others even when he was falling apart himself. He was so selfless, so self-sacrificial. It was no wonder John felt compelled to do the same for him. But Fuuta…

“Ugh, he’s always trying to be buddy-buddy with everyone around here, it makes me sick. Nice words don’t do shit. Look where his friendship with Kotoko got him, eh? That’s what these fools still don’t understand – you need to face these things head-on.”

“Oi, don’t be hard on me just for caring.” He didn’t say it as any sort of gentle encouragement; it was a command, and Fuuta understood. He snapped his attention away from where he’d been peering around the bars. “The world needs more people with that kindness. That optimistic view of life, of others, no matter what – it’s why I’ll do everything I can to save me.”

Silence stretched after the intense comment. Fuuta was looking away again, and John couldn’t read him. When he did speak, his voice came out more defeated than expected.

“Tch. Well. Not all of us have that luxury.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

His eyebrows raised.

Cheeks reddening, Fuuta hurried to add, “I mean someone to have your back like that. I wish I could be half as relaxed as that, but I can’t afford to let my guard down. I need to be strong myself, I don’t have anyone else to take care of my problems for me.”

It hit him suddenly, that everything came down to that. Relief washed over him, now that a clear, easy, (and nonviolent) solution had presented itself.

“What if you did? I could take over your little sentry duty for the night.”

“W-what do you –?”

He gestured to where Fuuta was laying. “No need to play dumb. You’ve been keeping an eye on everything, even the other side of the guard’s tower. The sounds from around cell eight have caught your attention. You’re positioned so you can see cell six, but haven’t moved all the way over, because cell ten has easiest access from the right.”

“The others would say it’s pointless, or that they’re handling it. I’m not buying it, though. I don’t care if they say it’s crazy of me to do.”

“I think…” John’s posture softened. “I think it’s very selfless of you.”

He was constantly amazed at Fuuta’s tendency to react to everything as if it were some world-shattering statement just told to him.

“So?” He prodded before Fuuta’s expression could grow any more wide-eyed. “How about it?”

 “I mean… they told me about the attacks… what you did…”

John set his jaw. No matter how many times it had happened in the past few days, it still stung to see how quickly people turned against him because of the fight. He thought they all had come to terms with each other’s capabilities for violence, but as usual, the moment he showed his true face, the world turned against him.

Of course Fuuta could never relax knowing such a violent and unpredictable person was sitting right beside him through the night. It was a miracle he hadn’t panicked immediately at the sight of yet another cold, towering figure appearing at his door in the middle of the night.

John stretched his right arm across his chest. It looked like his original solution still stood. Fuuta said problems should be faced head-on. Surely he’d understand this was for his own good.

“…Yeah, okay.” Fuuta gave a decisive nod. He beckoned with a jerk of his head. “I trust you.”

“I –” John blinked. “What?”

“You understand me. You understand what it takes to be in a place like this.” His gaze flit away momentarily. “You’re incredibly strong. You’re prepared, and have good instincts, and your confidence is –" Noticing how intently John was listening, he interrupted himself to bark, “but don’t think I couldn’t handle this on my own! It’s only because you offered, and it’s a smart move. I’ll just sleep for a bit, we can take shifts. Wake me in three hours, okay?”

“Fine by me.” A little lying was definitely better than what else he’d had in mind.

Fuuta moved his futon over a few feet so John could settle into his carefully chosen spot on the ground. Everything was all set to begin keeping watch, until a new sound rose up to drown out the other noises in the panopticon – soft snoring from beside him.

He glanced over in disbelief at the instantaneous security Fuuta had sunk into. All the tension had melted away from his face and shoulders. He lay completely at peace.

John had achieved his goal. He should be celebrating. Instead, he couldn’t help heaving a heavy sigh.

How did he end up with two self-destructive idiots to watch over?

[eating-figs-here]

Oh my stars I need to gnaw on bones and perish in the woods because. Because some people believe Wanderer/Scaramouche has gone through an entire redemption arc. No!! He is at the beginning. He is taking his first steps forward!!! He is STICKING with the Good Guys (TM) because it's the most optimal thing to do!! It's not out of character, he knows how to play the cards he's been dealt! And y'know, overtime, he should begin to grow to care for the people of Sumeru and the region itself!!! Like that's the point!!!! He isn't there yet!!!!!! He isn't supposed to be a good guy yet!!! The reason this "redemption arc" feels "unsatisfying" is because he isn't a fully converted good guy yet!!!! Aaaaaaaa!! :(

I have my thoughts below- and uh, it's a bit long

And to those saying Hoyo should've killed him off? Please, I do want to hear why you believe that killing off Scaramouche would've been more impactful than keeping him alive. I, personally, believe that killing him off would be a disservice to what the story has been trying to get across as Sumeru's version of wisdom.

And to explain what I believe the story has been trying to get across about wisdom: Wisdom is, to Sumeru, the celebration of individuality interwoven with the celebration of community. Greater Lord Rukkhadevata says that dreams are the fruit of human wisdom, and dreams are reflections of a person's raw joys, anxieties, sorrows, and examples of the bottomless creativity the mind produces. Those combined dreams power the Akasha, which helped Rukkhadevata repel forbidden knowledge and is considered an incredible piece of technology in Teyvat. (That's a lot of weight and power they're putting into dreams!!)

Wanna see another example of how starkly different individuals come together to beat an imposing foe? LITERALLY THE SUMERU CAST. Wonder why when you played throughout the Sumeru quest line it felt a tad bit like found family?? Because that's the point!! The narrative spends time fleshing out the bonds between characters, whether old or new! We see characters like Cyno, Dehya, and Alhaitham grow to trust one another despite their tense start! We see previously established relationships like Dehya and Dunyarzad or Tighnari and Cyno! They all get closer to the Traveler as well! It is INTENTIONAL!!

Okay, now back to this puppet, Scaramouche is someone who has consistently had his own personhood denied, with his right to exist as an individual played with. His own perceived abandonment from Ei and the Fatui orchestrating the destruction of his only support group (the people of Tatarasuna) in order to be used for their own gain hammers that point home. He rejects himself by ignoring his own humanity in favor of becoming something he THINKS he's supposed to be! The Harbingers do not trust one another, and they are ready to stab their colleagues in the back from their own gain. (Which he does!! What sense of community here?? None!!)

Do you see? Scaramouche, in this state, is the antithesis of Sumeru's wisdom. Which is precisely why he fails. He fails and he falls due to the wisdom of the people of Sumeru and the joint efforts of the Sumeru cast. He, a shattered puppet once more, is forced to reckon with the fact that who he believes he should be is not who he is. And to make that realization have meaning, he must live.

There is a reason why the nation of wisdom is also the nation of dendro. To grow, adapt, and change are its core principles. So why wouldn't the Dendro Archon extend her hand to someone denied what she had been recently given- support, companionship, community. Wouldn't it be much more impactful to see a sickly sapling turn into a tree rather than letting it die? With Wanderer, we will (eventually) see the harvest of Sumeru's ideals. From rocky start to the nebulous finish, Wanderer will embody the adaptation and growth that marks Sumeru's wisdom as he steadily grows into his own individual- with many characters we know accompanying him on that journey.

I dunno how else to put this, I literally just think that having a character actively being shaped by what makes Sumeru.. Sumeru after a total rejection of it is neat. Because.. Y'know. Plants? Nurturing and growing?? I am being SO real I do not think narratively cutting off a character's ability to grow would be Sumeru's jam. Sorry for this mess of a rant, I hope my thoughts got through.. and this isn't even talking about the nuances of other characters (especially Nahida!!) but I am. Tired. So tired :')

[romance-rambles]

eden ayn | the best of distractions

A moment in time, where Ayn attempts to write a letter and then promptly gets distracted.

1.7k, takes place during ayn's eden reborn ssr [traveler's letter], domestic fluff + light angst, reader is mc, series: none

— and happy birthday ayn!

[EXCERPT FROM AYN'S LETTER]

...

That day, I told you that you were my first—the first time I missed someone as deeply as I miss you. Thinking about it now, you've always been a series of first. The first one to tell me I'm worth it. The first person I ever kissed. The first person

[The rest of the line has yet to be written.]

As I'm writing this, I think of you, sitting on the couch with me. I'm sure your ears are as red as mine, but you'll still reach out and pinch my cheek. And I'll kiss the palm of your hand and you'll say, "You like me." As if you won't kick your feet and squeal, when you're alone—the way you do when you're reading a good book.

Since I'm a good lover, I'll pretend I didn't hear anything. Or that I don't know why you're suddenly in a clingier mood than normal. And I'm sure the next words out of your mouth when you read this will be, "That's only because you like being mean to me."

Whenever I write my letters, I think of everything about you. Your eyes, your smile, your cold feet—and the way you use me like a personal heater. About how I'm grateful you stayed, no matter how selfish I feel afterwards. About what it would be like if we were sitting together, instead of kilometers apart.

And now you'll say, "That wouldn't be a problem if you'd just take me with you."

...

[End of excerpt]

AYN STARES AT HIS HALF-FINISHED letter, keenly aware of the warmth traveling up his cheeks—a scene that, much to his chagrin, can't be chalked up to the rising sun outside his window. His only saving grace is that you remain entranced with the Ayn of your dreams, muttering blissfully about how cute he is, all the while oblivious to how cute you are.

It remains to be seen whether he'll include that part in the final letter. Or the part about how you clung so stubbornly to his sleeve as he was leaving that he feared you would wake up the moment he shook himself free.

Because, as it turns out, baring his soul on paper is no less embarrassing than it would be in person.

In fact, he'd wager it's more embarrassing.

Words spoken will eventually disappear. Only their memory will remain, and only in the hearts of the parties involved. Words written, however, can live on forever. So long as the letter remains, anyone can read it.

…provided they can wrestle it out of your zealous grip.

And, truthfully, not many can.

As he sets down his weapon of choice, his promise to you rings out clearly in his mind, reminding him that there's no escaping his commitment. After all, it was the only way he could think of to ease your disappointment—his deepest thoughts exchanged for another stay in Eden, where you would await his safe return.

Where you'd be safe.

Then a spark of inspiration paves the way for his next paragraph. The truth is, Ayn is aware that his desire to keep you safe is, in many ways, selfish. You were not the one who nearly lost control of your powers. You were not the one bedridden for weeks, vaguely aware of the hand holding yours, yet unable to open your eyes.

That was him.

And if something happened to him out in the harsh world that resides beyond Eden, you would be forced to twiddle your thumbs as the manifestation of your bond left you in agony. But you would be safe. He's allowed to hope for that much, isn't he?

Until he finds an end to the sands outside of Eden, at least.

After all, there were times when the roles nearly reversed, and it was him who had to stay by your bedside, even if only for a night or two.

"Alright, what else?" he mutters to himself, his gaze flickering towards the sizable gap left between his paragraphs. Somehow, it's enough to help him swallow down his guilt. Temporarily, at least. "What to add…what to add…"

Home is where the heart is, and where his heart sits is in the palm of your hands. And with that distinction comes his clumsy dreams for the future—a ring on your finger, and a matching one on his, followed by a kiss that comes too early.

But you laugh against his mouth, painted lips slanting into a smirk as you pull away first. The friends that have followed them both this far have many things to say, and on the topic of his affection, in particular. It boils down to this:

Ayn is whipped for his wife—and proud of it.

In that way, you are also a first.

He just has no idea how to tell you that.

Closing his eyes, Ayn lets out a sigh. It happens to coincide with the creaking of the door. This room was once a bedroom, but you had it converted into an office for the nights when you'd bring your work home with you.

When he asked—jokingly, wanting to have a turn at seeing you stutter and blush—why you couldn't have made this into his bedroom, you merely raised an eyebrow at him. Ayn had read enough of O'Connor's trashy romance novels by then to know that the correct answer was to back out of the discussion entirely.

As he leans back against his chair, twirling the pencil in his hand aimlessly, the feather light footsteps he's grown accustomed to come to a halt. Neither of you dare to breathe. A stalemate—and you're the one to break it.

You draw closer; the anticipation leaves him antsy. His heart is stuck on taking a peek. His mind is intent on biding his time. The hand left empty hovers by the edge of the desk, its owner knowing well how much you love your spoilers.

If he can discretely grab the letter before you notice—

A pair of hands—frosty, despite the lovely weather indoors, not helped by the ring on your finger—cover up his already closed his eyes. The empty hand changes its prerogative. It comes to rest on your wrist, squeezing gently before its other half joins it on your other hand.

Ayn opens his eyes and sees darkness.

"Morning," you say, and even without seeing your face, he knows of your silly grin. "So this is where you've been. Couldn't sleep?"

The weight against his back assures him you have no intention of swiping his draft. Your gentle tone asks, nightmare?

A faint smile slips onto his face. There is a kind of affection he's come to realize exists only for you. And if his heart is a cup, carefully built glued back together with a technique he's read of in the history books (kintsugi, he remembers, the art of mending broken pottery), then the surge of affection he feels is threatening to overflow.

For once, what kept him up was not a nightmare.

It was this letter—and you.

"You tend to snore, remember?" he tells you, mischief dripping from his words.

You do. Just not enough to disturb his sleep. But it's always fun to pretend, especially when it leaves you huffing and pouting indignantly. Like now.

"I do not."

"Ask anyone else." Before you can pull away and cross your arms, Ayn tugs your hands down. They sit encircling his neck, leaving his own hands to properly grasp yours. "They'll say I'm right."

Your hands have always been on the softer side. It's a consequence of your upbringing, in a world that knows mostly peace. Sometimes, he'll catch a paper cut on one of your fingers—and Ayn does not believe kissing it better works, but he makes sure to give it a try anyway.

As his scarlet eyes soften, he leaves a light kiss on the palm of your hand, then on the cool metal band on your ring finger. A simple promise ring, one he'd clumsily welded together with his powers.

"Morning," he greets, for no particular reason.

Something soft presses against his cheek, a flash of muted purple appearing in the corner of his eye. It's succeeded by a soft laugh, one that—like others of its kind—lodges itself in some distant corner of his brain, for the days when he misses you the most.

"You're okay?" you ask softly, seemingly having forgotten your earlier exasperation.

Ayn hums. "I'm okay."

Despite his words, he can feel your skepticism seeping out into the air around you. Letting go of your left hand, he taps the half-finished letter on the table. You lean over his shoulder, your slightly unkempt hair obscuring your side profile.

"It turns out I had a lot to say," he says, mirroring your tone, and watches your hair gleam in the sunlight. "Enough that I couldn't sleep."

Silence, as comfortable as it can be, engulfs them both. You pull back, burying your head in the nape of his neck. Your breath is warm—and if you ever ask why his ears are too, he'll chalk it up to a transfer of heat.

When you pull away, your tone is chipper and he's given up wondering about the words bouncing around in your head. But he thinks I'll miss you and Let me come too might comprise some of them.

"Come on." You exhale, as quietly as you can, and pat his shoulders cheerfully. "Let's get breakfast."

Ayn leaves I'm sorry for the letter, hidden amongst his fear of losing you. Instead, he swivels the chair around and catches you standing under the door frame, one hand holding onto the edge of the door.

And calling your name, he says, "I love you."

You whip your head around, startled. He thinks it has less to do with the frequency with which he says those words—a fact he knows only because you're no longer wide-eyed about it—and more to do with the thoughts in your hand.

Once you recover from your surprise, a grin spreads across your face. "I know."

Laughter accompanies you as you slip out into the corridor. Then, warmth spreads across the palm of his hand, dissolving his annoyed expression into a fonder one. I love you too spell the letters, with a little heart at the end.

Ayn glances at the unfinished letter with a wry smile, before following you to kitchen—where last night's leftovers wait to be devoured.

It isn't until night falls upon Eden once more that he remembers to pick up where he left off.

[pierrotpig]

Probably one of my favorite & most interesting conversation starters would have to be my history with Sans Undertale.

Every time I talk about it, without fail, it leaves people just shocked and aghast… Being made fun of and referred to jokingly as “Sans” for a few days afterwards is always worth it though.

When i was in elementary school, I didn’t just love Sans the skeleton from ‘Undertale’, no. I genuinely believed within my heart and soul that I was Sans Undertale. I’m not joking or exaggerating either, i’m deadly serious. I was self deluded into believing I was the very skeleton from the game.

I would wear the same hoodie every single day for probably a year or two, and I didn’t take it off for any occasion. I slept in it. I didn’t even roll the sleeves up in 90 degree weather during the summer time, as I believed that it wouldn’t be true to my identity.

I went home and I would put time into memorizing jokes & puns so that I could later retell them at school.

I distinctly remember that I would eat those warm, half separated school ketchup packets during lunch… I hated them. They were so gross and a sensory nightmare but I ate them because I had to prove to everyone around me as well as myself that I am Sans. My friends were so amazed and convinced I loved ketchup so much that they would grab fistfuls of the ketchup packets to then give to me during lunch and I would thank them and put them in my pocket, promising to save them for later.

You know that like.. one instance of the game where Sans plays the trombone for comedic effect? My school started offering band lessons. I started taking them and learned how to play the trombone, just like Sans.

I think the most memorable overall effect of all of this was that I started napping all the time, and stopped engaging in activities I normally would. I was obsessed with getting on my computer every day and pretending to be Sans online. This was no big deal, it made me feel euphoric to be thought of as “lazy”, just like Sans… Eventually, my mother started getting concerned emails written home about me being “lethargic”.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but what had started as me obsessively taking on traits and characteristics of my beloved skeleton, I had developed the very thing that I would still carry with me to this day and struggle with; depression.

I believed I was Sans so badly that I developed actual depression. Just like Sans had!

Now I don’t know if the consumption of salty ketchup and halt of personal hygiene care partially went towards it, but during that time at the end of 5th grade / between my transition into middle school, I was abruptly hospitalized and later diagnosed with chronic kidney disease. I feel like my rapid decline in health was partially due to my unhealthy fixation, but then again, nobody really knows what happened there. Even excluding that, I think that it is safe to say that Sans Undertale ruined me! Thank you

[doodleodds]

Happy Valentines, Akira. Happy Valentines, Asshole.

If you can’t read what Akechi’s secondary inner-dialogue says cause I obscured it too much behind his regular dialogue, here’s a transcription in panel order: Hello, you fucking- Ah- Hello, Akira! Fuck off, why should I tell you- Just a soda- there’s a new flavor.

I don’t want your shitty gift. Oh- haha! You’re so sweet.

I hope I choke. They’re lovely, thank you.

Like hell. Likewise. There’s no way it’s just a coincidence. Still though, it’s a funny coincidence.

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)