#i don’t like it when they’re that important

[merlucide]

BLLK TEAM SPOTTING YOU IN THE CROWD!

notes: hahahahehajajsj I’m SO excited for this guys- the new episode had me TWEAKING.

characters: Isagi, Rin, Bachira, Chigiri, Nagi, Karasu, Otoya, Yukimiya, Niko, Gagamaru, Aryu, Reo, Barou, Hiori, Shidou

warnings: reading the same thing over again but in a different font LMAO, cringe but WHO gaf??, y/n glazing (help😭💀)

You and your friend managed to snag close seats for the Blue Lock vs. U-20 match, and you could BARELY contain your excitement!!—especially because your beloved boyfriend was playing. You both were decked out in all blue, sticking out from the white and red crowd. The odds were stacked against him and his team, but you had complete confidence that they would hold their own. As you settled into your seats, the teams made their way onto the field. The moment you spotted your boyfriend, you and your friend screamed your heads off, cheering as loud as you could. The game was going great so far; at halftime, the score was 2-1, with Blue Lock in the lead! The players were standing around on the field, catching their breath, when he finally spotted you in the crowd, screaming + waving your arms wildly.

ISAGI YOICHI

He’s like ehh?!? You came?!? To watch him?!? For reals?!

Gets all touched lmao 😭

Waves back with a big ol smile :3

Means a lot because you cheered for him when he was nobody �� AND now he’s playing against THE U-20 aaaa

Yells ‘HIIIII’

-Bachira wiggles his eyebrows at him 😏 -which makes him all blushy and pushes him off him lol

Que bachira going ‘ooooooo isagi’s gotta s/ooooooo 🤭😏’

So embarrassed hehe

Blows you a little kiss when nobody’s looking tho :3

RIN ITOSHI

He didn’t think you’d come tbh

Feels proud that you did tho! not that he’d let you know ofc

He gave you a little wave and called it good (he has to remain mysterious- especially in front of Sae!!)

He’s very conflicted if he’s glad you came or if wishes you didn’t lmao 💀

Bc when he heard ‘Woah- They’re cute’ from his teammates he snapped his head over

“They’re taken, back off scum.” He’ll snap

Everyone’s sorta like ?? RIN PULLED SOMEONE?? 

Que immediate questioning

‘HOW DID YOU GET A S/O BEFORE I DID?!’ ‘I feel bad for them..’ ‘DID YOU PAY THEM??’

He just tells them to shut up

smirking inside, heh

BACHIRA MEGURU

He’s like 😦-> 🤩

inside he’s like ‘OHMYGOSHTHEYCAMEEEEEEE! :D’

Screams your name jumping and waving his arms

‘Y/NNNNNNN ARE YOU WATCHING ME?!? Y/NNNNNNNN!!’

‘YEAAAAAAAAAH!! YOU LOOKED SO COOOOOOOOL!!’

You def go with his mom tho 😌

You and Yuu are screaming your heads off together- ‘GOOO !! YOU GOT THIS!!!’ ‘GET THE FREAKIN’ BALL MEGURU!! HES OPEN- GOOOOO!!!’

Shes very glad you’re supportive of her son 🥹<3 (live laugh love yuu)

He points to you and says to his friends ‘THATS MY S/O!!! :D’

and they’re just like ‘..cool buddy’

They’re trying to figure out how he pulled someone lmao

After the match he practically jumps on you lol- No sorry, he literally does and you both crash on the floor

Both of you are just rolling around screaming in excitement lol

CHIGIRI HYOMA

So embarrassed lol

Like ‘My family AND my s/o came?!” Help he appreciates yall coming but it flusters him!!

Especially when his teammates are making comments about YOU and his SISTER

it’s too much for him 🙂‍↕️

He made it real clear that he’s your bf tho, so no one gets ideas!!

Really happy you came though, especially since you were one of the most encouraging people when he tore his ACL <3

NAGI SEISHIRO

Didn’t even think you’d come- like the thought that you would come didn’t even cross his mind (go figure)

‘Oh, y/n’s here, cool’

Lazily waves back

Wants to tell Reo you’re here but remembered that they broke up  🙂‍↕️

Yuki goes up to him and asks ‘Oh who’s that?’ and he’s just like ‘It’s y/n’

‘..I see, who is y/n?’ ‘uh, I don’t remember..🧍‍♀️’

‘Someone important tho,’

Just sorta stares at you until the whistle blows lmao 😭

KARASU TABITO

Super proud n smug :)

Like ‘Heh, MY s/o came’

Super super happy you’re there omg, but ofc he can’t let that show too much 😌

Waves back ofc

He looks at all his teammates to make sure they’re seeing this

It makes him feel really special that you came to watch HIM play :)

Def a confidence booster

Gets a annoyed bc he knows you spent a shit ton of money for this lmao

🐝:’oooo who’s that Karasu-kun?’ 

🐦‍⬛: ‘Heh, that’s my s/o 😏’

🐝: ‘For realsies? :o’

🐦‍⬛: ‘Yup 😌’

🥷:He’s such a simp bro’

🐦‍⬛:’Shut up Otoya.’

OTOYA EITA

He’s low key tweaking on the inside tbh

gives you the frat boy ‘nod’ and the three finger wave 💀

Doesn’t even wait for anyone to ask about you he’s already going

‘Yeah that hot chick/person is my s/o, it’s aight’ to be jealous’

But they’re just like ?? How tf did YOU pull anybody bro??

Poses for you LMAO

Is def waiting for you to make an edit of him or smth 😐

Your friend is looking at you like ‘seriously, him?~_~’ I am that friend.

Will NAWT shut up about how his hella hot s/o came to his game

YUKIMIYA KENYU

He’s like ‘Oh! They’re here?! Really?’ :3

Calls your name and gives a big wave

Super happy and proud that you came :)

Laughs a bit at the your dramatic outfits but appreciates it!

Tells the nearest person who you are and a bit about cha’ :3

When you blow him kisses he catches em’ and cradles them to his heart >:)

got a side eye from Nagi lol

NIKO IKKI

SOOOO flustered lmao

pink cheeks n everything ><

whispers a ‘hi’ and waves a little wave back

Super duper excited n happy you came :3

Wants to impress you so bad now- lol

Really hope no one sees you bc he might just die if he gets teased

-which of course they do and what he feared happens lmao

ARYU JINBEI

a very stylish single tear falls from his eye

‘Oh dearest y/n, you are so glam for this, I cannot even..!’

Dramatically flares his arms as a ‘wave’ and sings your name

‘Y/NNNNNNNNNN!- are you ready for this historic momennnnnnt-‘

Poses elegantly for you, talking to himself about how styl this is

GAGAMARU GIN

Squinting like ‘Is that y/n’ - o -

then eyes wide like ‘It is y/n’ • o •

Jumps up and hits his head on the goal 💀 then proceeds to jump again

Waves both arms and yells really slowly ‘CAAAAAN YOUUUU SEEEEE MEEEEEE?’

Then proceeds to talk to you yelling his lungs out, he stopped when Karasu told him ‘shut up, they can’t hear ya’’

He stopped for a brief moment, then continued

 (after they get on field)

REO MIKAGE

SO happy. Like ‘🥹😁’ happy

Smiling the BIGGEST smile :)

Really, really appreciates you coming

Especially since you were literally the only other person aside from Ba-Ya that supported his dream

And! Speaking of Ba-Ya she was beside you in her usual attire, waving a little blue flag

Waves to you with both hands😌

Also blows you so many kisses ofc 

Afterwards he’s going to give you the biggest hug and the FASTEST smooch ever

BAROU SHOEI

He was hoping you’d come, he wanted you to see just how much more he’s improved 😌

He heard your cheers and screams when he came into field and that also fueled into his desire to crush Isagi >:3 like ‘heh, bet’

You were VERY happy with how he celebrated his goal 😏🤭 you spammed your camera lmao

Waves back at you ofc, he is a gentleman after all

When someone asks who are you he just says ‘My partner, y/n. Don’t get any ideas donkey.’

heh, 😏

Really appreciates you coming :) especially with how expensive tickets are oml

def forced you to let him pay you back lmao

HIORI YO

He knew his parents would be there, but he wasn’t sure if you’d come. Very pleased you did! :)

Chuckles + rolls his eyes at your outfits

He’s got a cute little smile on his face :3

Waves back at you and signs you ‘thanks’

Points you out as ‘y/n, my sweet s/o’ to Isagi

Brags to him too lmao

Like ‘Yeah, they’re like perfect in every way- but you’ll find someone who is pretty decent though, don’t worry ☺️’

SHIDOU RYUSEI (my man will always be included soo)

Lets out the goofiest, happiest laugh

points at you with two hands and yells

So pumped you came omg

‘SAE- SAE LOOK! THATS MY BABY! THE ONE I WAS TELLN’ YOU ABOUT!’ ‘I don’t care.’

Continues to yell out you asking ‘DID I LOOK COOL?’ or ‘DID YOU FREAKN SEE THAT?’

Blows you tons of kisses before he has to start again

everyone on the bllk team is genuinely confused how tf this guy pulled anyone and is concerned for you and your mental health 💀

AHHAJSJEJES IM SO EXCITED BROOOOO

made Nov 9 2024

[majorarc]

okay so I definitely want to add this: but in Catholicism, growing up, girls are basically told that they’re expected to have children in the future. Naturally — no adoption. Even when a couple adopts, they get some shame put on them — especially if the one with the uterus doesn’t want to have a baby naturally. They’re seen as selfish for “denying their spouse the gift of creating life”.

I’m serious.

there’s also an entire fantasy-like painting for those of us with uteruses — that we are DESTINED to become mothers, and how dare we deviate from that path?

Children are just one of the most important prerequisites for marriage, actually. Some churches won’t let you get married if you don’t want to have children — one couple at my old church was told this when they explained to the priest, during their marriage interview, that the bride was barren, and couldn’t carry. Good thing the bride and groom planned to adopt, otherwise they would have been denied getting married at the church!

growing up in the church with a uterus, you grow up believing you will one day have to give birth. And the church downplays the dangers as “rare occurrences”, and repeats over and over something like “women have been doing this for thousands of years”, totally ignoring the number of women who’ve died in childbirth or afterwards, due to complications.

I hate when people say “I’m against abortion except for if the pregnancy threatens the life of the mother” every single pregnancy threatens the life of the pregnant person. We’ve gotten too far removed from that, taken for granted that pregnancy is safe. It is not. Pregnancy and puerperal complications have been a fairly common cause of death throughout history. Even now, maternal mortality is on the rise in the US, the maternal mortality rate varies wildly across the states and it is disproportionately higher for Black women. Being pregnant is getting more dangerous, not less dangerous.

[milktiicup]

H-h-hey.. senpai… I was wondering if you could make more about Mr Crawling! (I LOVEDDD YOUR PREVIOUS FAN FIC ABT HIM) because he’s such a cutie tbh and I love him sm so I was wondering maybe if you could make something about how he would react to the reader spending more time with someone else (coworker preferably!)

Feel free to ignore if you don’t want to do this..!

(Can I be 🦁 anon?)

the jealous type!

His face scrunches. “Not you… smell bad. Someone else.”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ omg my first anon >.< ofc u can be 🦁 anon!!!!

warnings. more fluff/comfort hehe, spoilers for end04

It’s late when you return home. If it was any other day, you’d be scheming around the streets with your crowbar- but life is different now. 

You have a commitment at home. Your new roommate… boyfriend? thing. It’s almost as routine as having a pet; coming home, giving him a pat on the head, giving him his completely normal legally obtained soup and ending the day snuggled up on the sofa with him at your feet. 

Sure, he’s the one who came with you all the way from that other world and didn’t have any friends here, but does that mean you can’t? It’s not like you could bring Mr. Crawling with you to work, or after work drinks with your coworkers. Normal people can still see him, after all. He’s just… a little hard for other people to notice- you picked up on that when your parents dropped by on an impromptu visit one evening.

When you kick your shoes off when you come in through the front door, you feel guilty. You can tell he’s a bit down- of course, Mr. Crawling still tackled greeted you with his overzealous, unnecessarily over the top hug. 

“You return!” he says, every time without fail. 

“I return,” you reply, petting his head, but something feels off. He doesn’t let go immediately, and his usual enthusiasm is muted.

Mr. Crawling pauses, his face stuffed into your neck. You quirk a brow, curiously eyeing him as he takes a big sniff of your skin and clothes. His face scrunches. “Not you… smell bad. Someone else.”

Is he the jealous type? Wow, and since when was his sense of smell so good?

“You can smell my friend?” you blink at him, cringing as you feel a knot in your stomach. You try to explain, “Uhm… someone else… uhhhh… my friend.”

“Other friend?” Mr. Crawling frowns, sitting back on his feet, the space between you growing slightly colder.

You pull yourself up from the floor, careful to meet his uncertain gaze. “Other friend,” you confirm.

“Friend… same me?”

You sigh, wishing this language was more descriptive. It’s hard to explain something so complex when neither of you really understands it fully. You tap your fingers nervously against your leg, thinking. “I don’t understand…” you sigh, the weight of the misunderstanding settling on you. “They’re human.”

Mr. Crawling’s frown only grows deeper. He shakes his head, and scoots himself closer to you. He wraps his arms around your waist, his hair falling over the both of you as if trying to shield you from everything outside of your house. “Friend like this?” 

Resting your head on his shoulder, you let out a content sigh. “Not like this, Crawling.”

“You one. You me two. Not like three.” His grip tightens around you, pulling you as close as he possibly can, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Me like you. Worry… not like me. Gone long time… Smell someone else.”

You pull back slightly, feeling the pressure of his arms around you. He’s not just possessive, he’s scared. You stretch your arms out. “Like you. Big like. See? This much!” You hold your hands closer together, parallel to each other. “Friend ok. Little like. Understand?”

You chuckle lightly, but the soft pang in your chest makes you pause. “You get it now, Crawling?” you mumble. You reach up and scratch his head absently, a familiar gesture that seems to soothe both of you. “Uhm… when I leave, I go to work. You know work, right?” He nuzzles into your palm, and you just assume he does, for the time being. “Work friend! Not important. You important. You, uh… you understand me?”

“Me understand,” he murmurs into your palm, his cool lips tickling the skin. “Smell bad… Me only like you. You smell good."

"I know you like me, Crawling. I like you, too."

He lets out a satisfied hum, his body relaxing again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s truly getting it—or if he just likes the idea of being yours as much as you like the idea of him being yours. He pulls your head closer to his chest, and that’s when you decide you don’t really need to build rapport with your coworkers that much, not when you have a cute ghost waiting for you back at home.

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[tarot-quartz]

PICK A CARD - HOW THEY PERCEIVE YOU

╰┈➤ Paid readings

left to right

★ Pile 1 - They see you as someone that loves their own place, could be your country, your family or your apartment. Someone who likes their solitude. They see you as someone who is balanced and patient. You don’t let minor issues knock you off balance, instead you adapt to the situations with a clear mind. You’re truly in touch with who you are and your values. They see you as someone emotionaly mature, calm and tolerant. However they feel that you can lack ambition and be very passive in some cases. They feel like if you work hard then you usually get what you want. They see you as assertive and a voice of authority, good common sense. They’re drawn to the happy vibes and positive energy you are giving out and you bring light and joy to them and everything you come into contact with. You’re carefree, liberated and self-assured.

song channeled: illicit affairs, taylor swift.

★ Pile 2 - They see you as someone who’s been through a lot and admire how even after all this, you came back as a victor. They’re amazed of the person you’ve become. They see you as someone calm and patient. You’re diligent and dedicated to the work you put in. They see that you’ve learnt a lot of skills in your life or are learning and they think they will come to be useful later in life. They see you as someone that deserves to be celebrated and has much happiness awaiting them. They see you as someone that might be suppressing their feminine qualities. You may be putting others needs before your own to your detriment. Or you may feel so emotionally overwhelmed that you are neglecting those that are important to you. You might also not feel the most attractive. They see you as someone that needs to shift the focus and ground yourself. They want to hug the child version of you.

song channeled: radio, lana del rey.

★ Pile 3 - They see you as someone that manifests what they want. Like they see yiu as someone that doesn’t put a lot of effort into most things and just think that what you want will happen because you say so and it does. I see this might impress them. You use your intellect, concentration and willpower to make things happen. They see you as being hasty and being very energetic, being very successfull than you think you are. When you have ideas you put them into motion. They see you as fearless, confident and self assured. You’re heroic, rebellious, brave and a revolutionary with an open mind and a free spirit. They think you are sexy, warm and charming but can be quite cold and uncaring to anyone who tries to restrict your freedom in any way. They see you as someone that flirts without thinking things through. You’re resourceful and adaptable.

song channeled: deja vu, olivia rodrigo.

★ Pile 4 - They see you as hardworking and with that you reap the rewards. They see you as someone extremely successfull and who has the world at their feet. Someone lucky who has learnt to break toxic cycles. Someone who can be very seductive and have many people interested in them. This can cause you some dramas but you carry on. They see you as someone with good fashion style. You might be blunt and just a really intense person. But they like that you’re interesting.

song channeled: skinny, billie eilish.

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

[since everything under a Read More cut gets deleted in case a blog deletes/gets deleted and the WayBackMachine isn’t good with pictures, for Archive Purposes Only, I will add the most important bits of the/rest of the full post and have also checked/updated/added the source links to the best of my abilities]

"From [North] America, they traveled to Australia and New Zealand, then back to the U.S. again. They didn’t have extended time in the U.K. until the end of April (when they were likely writing/recording Take Me Home, as well as rehearsing for their continuing Up All Night tour).

In the gifs above, OT5 are pictured at a Much Music interview from May 2012, unavailable to view [I have added the video link. Btw, at 16:06 there is another very interesting moment where they start talking about Larry Stylinson and Liam says "It's true!"] —the one with the two red tables, where the interviewer asks about boys kissing, and Niall’s wearing a lavender t-shirt and backwards snapback.

Interviewer: “How do you balance [making an album] with how busy you are, and all these concert dates?” Harry shrugs, “You tell us!” Louis says, “We ask ourselves the same question!” Interviewer: “You already have nearly a hundred shows confirmed and almost sold out—for 2013. How do you plan your lives that far in advance?” Harry and Liam laugh, “We don’t!” Louis says, “We wish we did!” [I added the video link]

In Florida during the Up All Night tour in [July] 2012, Niall comments that he spent "30 days at home [in 2011]. So, that's a big difference from 365..." [link to whole interview video]

–––––

Q: Many of these groups get huge but burn out after three or so years.  What’s your plan to make sure that doesn’t happen?

Simon Cowell: “Be sensible and treat them as human beings, genuinely.  That’s the most important thing.  Traditionally, record companies would put out the most possible product in a short period of time, thinking you only have two or three years.  I don’t think that’s necessarily the case now.  If you’re sensible and you don’t burn them out, you don’t have to put a time limit on this anymore.  And they’re so young, these guys.”  

Rolling Stone Q&A with Simon Cowell  (by Andy Greene, April 2012, emphasis mine)

–––––

“I’ve never known a band to announce a second summer tour before a first summer tour is over.  It’s insane – they’re working them like dogs and printing money right now.”  — Andy Greene, May 2012

During This Is Us promo in August 2013, Harry says, "If we could choose the perfect scenario, I would be 'the well-rested one.' "

–––––

Simon Cowell, 2015:  “This is five years, literally non-stop. I’m amazed they’ve done it for so long… I hope [they’ll get back together], but like I said, it’s not going to be because of any pressure from me… like we said in the beginning, this is an opportunity, you won it, and I’ve always had that attitude with them…. Look, even though they’re young, that is a gruelling schedule and after a while I could see they were exhausted, so when they said, “How do you feel about it?”  I said, “Do whatever you want.”  Having a year off is going to be a healthy thing.’

Also during This is Us promo, during one of their multiple press conferences, [in August 2013] a reporter asks, "Did you have a choice to say no to this documentary?" Harry half-shakes his head, and leans in to speak. Niall almost imperceptibly shakes his head, and tightens his mouth.

––––––

Niall, October 2012: I've a re-occurring knee injury from playing football. I've dislocated my knee ten times in the last two years. Operation time for me.

So are you gonna have to go and get an operation done? When?

Niall: (shrugs) Whenever I have time. ...[come up with] a couple years. (Late Late Show, October 2012)

14 months later, January 2014: after performing 123 shows during the Take Me Home tour (only a portion of his responsibilities during that time), 20-year-old Niall had major knee surgery that was 'much larger than anticipated'. He began a new tour with One Direction about three months later, after One Direction’s first extended break since forming as a group.

––––––

From January 2011 – December 2015, One Direction:

• wrote for and recorded 5 albums (91 songs included on the albums)

• performed 327 full concerts as headliners during four tours (on the road for about 110 weeks total)

• were interviewed more than 800 times by various media

• performed at least 97 times on television

• visited at least 37 countries, often more than once

• walked some 33 red carpets

• filmed 18 music videos (at least 36 days’ work)

• filmed well over 100 additional miscellaneous videos

• had at least 29 photo shoots

• shot a feature-film ‘documentary,’ with cameras trailing them for months

• shot concert films for the Up All Night and Where We Are tours

Just one week of heavy promo for the feature-film This is Us in August 2013 included:

approximately 95 junket interviews appearance at the VMAs appearance at America’s Got Talent performance and interview at Today Show press conference in NY Premieres in London and New York; red carpet interviews hours of transatlantic flights

1D’s pace was much more relentless than the glancing summary I’ve given here.

–––––––

During the Four Hangout, Liam comments that there are "...a lot of meetings, there's a lot of meetings in Boybandville." [I added the video link]

(a very young and starry-eyed Zayn, Niall, Liam, Louis, and Harry are pictured above listening to the judges after their week 2 X-Factor performance, 2010) Below, Liam continues, "One thing we didn't realize when we [got in] this band is how many meetings you have." [I added the video link]

––––––

“…the business empire fronted by these cherubic faces now stretches well into the hundreds of millions of pounds, with licensing deals that include everything from lunchboxes to their own fragrances.  Their ambition, or at least their management’s ambition, is seemingly infinite…

During press for Midnight Memories in France, interviewer Cauet asks, "After your films, books, perfume—what's coming up next?" Harry: Space Liam: Our own range of door handles... lampshades... curtains! Louis: Let's do radiators. Harry: Radiators. Louis: Warmth. Zayn: Next music video's on the moon! [I added the video link]

––––––

Harry Magee, Modest!Management: ‘The scale of this band is unprecedented.  None of us involved in the band, from the management, to the agents, to the licensees, to retailers, have ever worked on anything this big before.  There might be huge acts that have been going longer than 25 years but they are not nearly as broad as One Direction, especially when it comes to selling tickets and selling merchandise. …in terms of per-head numbers for merchandise we have broken all the numbers.  We need more stands at the gigs.  More people serving.’ …  (GQ magazine, August 2013, emphasis mine)

(C'Cauet clip continues) Louis: One Direction central heating, I think. Liam: People. Our own range of people! Niall: Coffee tables! Liam: Opening a pet shop! Zayn: On the moon. (C’Cauet sur NRJ, 14 December 2013)

––––––

April 2012, below: it was rumored Simon had given them each 2 million pounds because they were so successful — Niall and Harry said ‘not true.’ In the first gif, Harry says, "He's a bit tight, Simon is." "That's why he's so successful, he's able to keep his money to himself,” Niall laughs.

––––––

1D partial gross revenue 2011-2014 (3 tours, 3 films): more than $500 million   xx  xx  xx  xx

(Here’s an enlightening post re: 1D finances) [updated the link]

––––––

Niall: You know when the Backstreet Boys and New Kids On The Block came back a few months ago?  And all they did were arena tours.  That’s how I’d like to be remembered.

Liam: Yeah, just pop in and do an arena tour every ten years…

Niall: Sell out Wembley.  Smash it hard. Home in time for tea.

Liam: Fingers crossed, eh? (Aug 2013)

In the gif above, OT5 hug in a tight bundle on the day of their X-Factor Judges' House audition, when Louis had an injured foot.

–––––––

One Direction were/are ambitious… but one must consider their ages when they signed their contracts, who truly managed their schedule (’This is what you have to do if you want to succeed’) and the pressure to continue making money. 

Beginning with X-Factor in October 2010, One Direction didn’t get any extended break until 21 Dec 2013 – Feb 2014, about nine weeks.

As students in the UK, they would've received anywhere from 10-22 weeks of vacation a year—not to mention being at home with the love and support of their families and friends.

master list of March 2012 filmed promo [by @youcancallmeathief]

March 2012 timeline [ @bulletprooflarry]

Four Hangout, Nov 2014 

(all gifs by OP, @quietasides)"

One Direction won at the Brit Awards on 21 February 2012.  Harry had just turned 18, Liam and Niall were 18, Zayn was 19, and Louis was 20.

Adding gif captions in italics! Above, the four gifs show some moments from Four Hangout, November 2014. Liam, Louis, and Zayn are pictured sitting on the red couch. Louis says, “I remember that first American promo trip was relentless.” Liam: “Crazy.” Niall: “Nuts.” Louis: “I think it was like three weeks on the trot that we were away [from home].” Liam asks him, “Do you remember when we were doing, like, ten  things at once, as well? Doing interviews and signing and something else…” Louis: “That’s what it was all like. It was all just so, so manic.” Liam: “Crazy.”

Three days after the Brits, they were in Chicago for a radio interview/meet and greet.  They also opened for Big Time Rush that night, and proceeded to play 12 shows over the next two weeks, each in a different city.  During March they also did at least six signings, some smaller performances (such as three songs on the Today Show), and over 60 interviews.

14 March 2012, above: Louis, Harry, and Liam are pictured during one of the nine+ interviews they filmed that day. The interviewer asks, “What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re not working?” Liam replies with a rueful laugh, “Have days off!”

Keep reading

[candyswirls]

Space Marine Cuddle Pile PT3

Went for some more fluffy ones. I had a lot of ideas but didn’t want the second part to be overwhelming.

@wolf-feathers12

Imagine:

Guards being confused as space marines come pick them up and bring them to a pile of other space marines. Simply because they are squishy and fragile and the marines are so relieved that they survived. They care about them and want them safe with them in the cuddle pile.

A lone marine refusing to let go of the Cadians because he cares for them and they almost died and he wants to cuddle them and have them be safe and he won’t see his brothers for a bit.

New inquisitors wondering why after a mission the Greyknights are snuggling each other. Don’t get too close. If they grow fond of you, you will never miss out on a cuddle pile.

Cuddle piles are near sacred with Salamanders. Nestling into each other. Being warm and being held. Holding someone else. It’s necessary bonding time. You do the same with your family when you visit them. If you’re ever with another legion they will find themselves surrounded by warm salamanders.

Space Wolves are naturally cuddly. Especially when drunk. Many adepts are warned when it’s drinking time. You’ll find a space wolf nuzzling you. There’s such thing as cuddle dens. When you’ve drank your fill and it’s time to turn in for the night you go to the cuddle den and flop onto the pile. You’ll be pulled in and snuggled by other drunk space wolves before you fall asleep or pass out like the others

Wolf priests introduce new neophytes to cuddle piles, curling around them protectively like a mother wolf and her pups. Do not interrupt this. Wolf priests will get deep into the role and will bite if you get near the pups.

Leman Russ lays down in the middle of the hall. His marines eye him, waiting for the signal. Sometimes he’ll raise out his arms. An invitation for them all to pile on top of him. But not today. Sometimes he wants comfort. He will take his mother wolf pelt and lay it over him. Then motions for his warriors to pile on. They do so and he pretends he’s back in the den with his brothers. Pressed up against his mother. He holds his warriors. He’ll be there all night. Soon you’ll hear snoring.

After a battle, Sanguinius will cuddle his sons. Telling them how proud he is of them. That they were noble and brought honor to the legion. He’ll position himself so they’re surround him and he can cover them with his wings.

Titus joining his first cuddle pile since rejoining the ultramarines. A huge weight off his shoulders as he’s back with his brothers. One with an arm around him, another brother wrapped in his own arms. All is well. All is well.

Tons of marines piled on top of a dreadnought. Determined to show him they can cuddle him. There’s so many of them that the warmth actually reaches through the sarcophagus. Plus their entombed brother is big enough he can hold lots of them.

Firstborns refusing to acknowledge they prefer to cuddle with Primaris marines because they’re bigger and it reminds them of when they were a neophyte and the apothecaries would hold them.

Speaking of apothecaries, they have it best. They get to hold and comfort the neophytes as they go through the process of becoming a marine. Cuddle wounded marines till they’re better. It’s mutually agreed that apothecaries give the best hugs.

Just after the siege of 63-19 and the loss of Sejanus, Horus Lupercal is on the ground, nestled with the three remaining mournival members. It’s just them and it’s silent as the Warmaster grieves. They hold their father this time. A new member will soon be called but for now, Horus needs this.

Iron hands cuddle piles include many soft blankets for utmost comfort. They often fall asleep whilst in each other’s embrace. It’s very important for the well being of a space marine and to bond within the ranks.

(Honestly it’s really fun writing these because I fully believe that there needs to be more normalization with platonic affection. Plus space marines are baby and baby needs to be held)

[eupheme]

I wanted to stary of by saying I love your graphic blog as well, and also your writing. Top tier. I was wanting to know if you had any tips for writing smut? You do it so well, please teach me!

hi anon, you are too kind and I am so honored that you asked me! I actually have a list of resources that have helped me linked below, and then I added a couple more personal tips under the cut (and if any writer moots see this & want to add on, please do! I am always looking for tips and ideas!) 💖

— Smut Thesaurus by @/prurientpuddlejumper

A collection of words to describe body parts, sexual acts, and types of dialogue

— Writing Tips & Pointers by @/prurientpuddlejumper

Tips for choosing words and describing actions and emotions

— The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut by QuinnAndersen

I have this bookmarked - includes an expansive list of body descriptions, actions, feelings and is so helpful!

— 6 Tips for Erotica by S.A. Crawford

Covers the basics - has some good tips about setting up scenes and descriptive writing 

— Writing a Smut Scene by @/youneedsomeprompts

Great quick reference of prompts, descriptions, and words you can use to set the scene 

— 10 Tips for Writing Good Smut by @/saltyshiro

Love the tip about reading other fic and writing empathetically! 

— Smut Words by @/hollandsmushroom

a collection of nsfw-related words

and then some of my own thoughts are below:

For smut, I love the build-up and setting the scene - establishing where they are and how they got there, the longing, and all the emotions that come with it.

And then using that to get into the characters heads. Even when it’s pure or short pwp, knowing what kind of scene it is, how they got there (are they finally giving in after weeks of flirting? or is it a lazy, early-morning indulgence?) helps establish the mood and what sort of feelings and pacing I should be thinking about.

I feel like the “show don’t tell” advice works really well here (or, a version of it). Blend their inner thoughts and how they’re feeling with what’s physically going on - lean into the five senses.

I like adding desperation, too - gruff characters letting go when they finally can lean into their desires, that “can’t get enough” is so fun to write (while keeping in mind characterization).

Writing smut can get repetitive - to switch it up I make notes of different positions I think would be fun to try (something that’s been so fun in my poly wade/reader/logan series). You also don’t have to write out every single beat of what’s happening.

Don’t be afraid to add dirty talk - mix it in, use it as a reaction to what’s going on. And don’t be afraid to get filthy if that’s what you want to write!

If you happen to feel a little embarrassed while writing, that’s totally okay and don’t let it get to you! It’s tough to put yourself out there, but just keep putting words down! We’re all out here peddling smut and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

Most important is to write what you enjoy!! And what you are comfortable with - never feel like you have to include a certain kink, etc, for your writing to be enjoyable. As long as you’re having a good time writing it, then that’s really all that matters.

And when I was starting (and even now) I return to fave fics and books and see how scenes are paced and how certain acts are worded, or what made me like that moment so much (and then how I can incorporate similar vibes using my own words and writing style) 💖

I hope this helped a little bit! If there’s something specific you’d like to know or if you have more questions, my inbox is always open!

[vashti-lives]

And I think it’s important to remember that some of this can and will happen in the next four years! It’s easy to forget when everyone is talking about the federal government but the US is governed by a lot of small individual pieces and trump has very little control over most of them. I’m not saying this election isn’t a terrifying disaster but it’s not the whole story.

I live in a blue city in a red state and one of the consequences of this is that for bullshit republican control reasons my city’s road infrastructure is governed by the county highway department instead of a city run department.

This means historically the road infrastructure here has been controlled by people significantly more conservative than the people controlling the rest of the city infrastructure which has resulted in a lot of frustrating choices. HOWEVER two years ago the balance of power shifted and the majority of people on the board were in favor of shifting to a multi transportation mode of thinking. IE more focus on public transit and pedestrian safety and less focus on cars. In 2022 the woman whose election was responsible for this shift in power, who controls my district, won by four votes. FOUR. VOTES. I was really worried when she was up for re-election this year, but this year my representative won by four thousand votes.

I don’t own a car, I bike a lot, and within a year of this power shift on the highway board there was a noticeable difference in bike friendly infrastructure on the road. This little local piece of politics makes a very strong impact on my day to day life. I am sure in another two years they can do even more, and given how decided the victory was this year I’m feeling good about long term change in my city. They’re pushing hard to get a train running in the valley and they’re pushing for more buses too.

America is politically at a very strange place right now— there’s a lot of very dangerous fascist nonsense happening, but not consistently. Missouri voted for trump but they also voted to enshrine abortion rights and raise the minimum wage.

It might feel like things are going one step forward two steps back but the secret is all those steps are being taken by different people and those steps forward still matter and will still make a difference.

I am trying to choose to hope. 

I am choosing to imagine public transportation. 

Grocery stores with attached soup kitchens to decrease food waste. 

Neighborhood meal- and garden-sharing programs.

Green spaces connecting to other green spaces.

The rainforest ADVANCING, churning up dry soil and turning it dark and healthy. 

The sky filled with birds and the sea with fish, their populations increasing. 

The air and water clean. 

Emissions-free vehicles on roadways, with speeds governed, and safe streets for tricycles, bicycles, dogs, deer, and stray soccer balls.

Solar panels on every public building, over every parking lot. 

Beehives and wildflowers on the open berms between roadways. 

The total lack of gunshots around the world, and instead the sound of shovels, digging holes to plant fruit trees by public sidewalks. 

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

HIIII do you have anymore tid bits for you au.... (share all of them. go ham. I LOVE IT SO MUCH)

So many. SO MANY!!

— After Ford gets his body back, Bill makes excuses to himself to watch over Dipper and Mabel when they’re dreaming, and interjects if they have any nightmares. This is definitely important to his evil plans, okay.

— McGucket definitely knows something is wrong with Stanfraud, and makes a scene whenever he sees him, claiming him to be the ‘devil in disguise’, or ‘the beast with one eye’. When Dipper and Mabel ask about it, Bill brushes it off as McGucket’s memory loss making him recall their fallout as worse than it was.

— Bill was roped into helping Stan teach Soos boxing when he was younger. He thought it was stupid at the time, but Stan wasn’t taking no for an answer. Soos still appreciates both of them for it, and Bill doesn’t mind the kid as much anymore. He’s smarter than he looks. He just has to put his mind to it.

— Bill actually likes stargazing. Stan’s surprised when he first catches Bill on the roof doing it, and Bill gets defensive when Stan pushes him on the matter, but he doesn’t exactly hate the company. When he’s left alone with his thoughts and the stars, his mind goes to a place that’s too dark, even for him. So, sometimes he and Stan will grab a drink — usually beer for Stan and some barely drinkable cocktails for Bill — and they’ll watch the stars. When Mabel finds out about it, she joins him. It’s one of the few places that he seems a lot… calmer. Not by a lot, mind you, but it’s noticeable enough for Bill.

— During Headhunters, there’s a lot of conflict between Stan and Bill. Bill thinks it’s weird how Stan is treating the wax figure, that just because he can’t pretend Bill is Ford, doesn’t mean he has to go speaking to a lump of wax. He has a lot of uncomfortable feelings surrounding Ford as is, ones he prefers to bury deep in the back of his mind, and this whole funeral deal, Stan’s genuine grief, it’s really putting a damper on his mood. Plus, he may be a little bit jealous. And maybe, just maybe, a bit concerned. I don’t have the details figured out yet, but I know for a fact they get into an argument over it, and the subject of Ford comes up again — no more avoiding it.

— Stan and Bill are banned from one of the town’s main bars for life. Why? That’s between them and the raccoon.

— I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but Bill actually dyed his, or, well, Ford’s hair brown, though he’s pretty bad at keeping on top of that so the grey roots tend to be showing.

— Dipper Vs Manliness actually has a small bonding moment between Bill and Dipper, where Bill essentially deconstructs gender and also tries to boost Dipper’s confidence, in his own Bill way.

He’s a strangely good influence in general when it comes to masculinity and gender and what not, being as he doesn’t conform to any human expectation. And he would absolutely sing Disco Girl with Dipper too. He loves that song, bitter memories be damned. Why would he let Sixer kill his groove.

And I shall leave it at that for now! If you’d like anymore tidbits I’m always keeping a thousand up my sleeves! And if you’d like any about specific characters, let me know!

[aventurineswife]

Hey !!! How are you?? I love what you write so much so ure so talentedd !!

Also could u do an aventurine x reader where like they started dating not long ago and like aventurine notices self harm marks on reader’s arms ?? (If ure comfortable w/ that ofc)

“You Drew Stars Over My Scars”

Summary: In the early stages of your relationship, Aventurine notices scars on your arm. With quiet compassion and understanding, he addresses it gently, offering his support without judgment. As you share a vulnerable moment, he reassures you that he’s there for you, bringing lightheartedness and warmth to ease the conversation.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Emotional Support, Fluff and Angst, Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, References to past emotional struggles

A/N: HELLO!!! I'm doing alright and I hope you are doing alright as well!! Thank you for appreciating my work! I put my best effort into writing each character as accurately as possible, even while balancing my personal life, so your support means a lot to me! 🤭💖🫶 Don’t worry about your request—I’m comfortable with it. But for anyone struggling with something similar, please reach out to someone you trust completely. It may not seem like much, but sharing is better than keeping everything to yourself. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here! Don’t hesitate, and remember to love yourself more! ❤️

It was one of those rare, quiet evenings. Aventurine had cleared his typically packed schedule, something he was only too willing to do since the two of you had started dating. After a whirlwind start, tonight felt like a pause – a chance for him to simply be with you, away from the risks and wagers that often defined his world.

You sat beside him on the couch, your arm resting casually against his. Aventurine noticed a faint change in your body language – a hint of self-consciousness, a slight turn of your wrist. The faint movement caught his eye, and he saw them – the small, faded scars along your arm.

He glanced up, meeting your eyes with a gentle look, saying nothing at first, allowing you the space to choose whether to share or to stay silent. But his hand reached out, fingers brushing along your forearm. The gesture was soft, free of judgment or expectation, just a comforting presence.

"Can I ask about these?" Aventurine asked softly, his tone inviting but unintrusive.

You hesitated, not used to this level of openness, especially when it came to scars from a part of your past you were still trying to make peace with. You shifted slightly, averting your gaze, but Aventurine’s hand gently anchored you there, his thumb brushing softly over your wrist. His eyes, usually so full of confidence, held only a quiet, calming sincerity.

“It was… it’s something I went through,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “It’s… something I still struggle with, sometimes.”

Aventurine listened, his hand never leaving yours, his gentle touch reminding you that he was there, that he was listening and would wait as long as you needed to feel safe in sharing. After a beat, he spoke, his voice thoughtful and warm.

“You know,” he began softly, “I can’t pretend to know exactly what you’ve felt, what led you here. But… I do know about hiding things that hurt. I’ve got my own scars – maybe not the kind you can see,” he added, his smile faint but real, “but they’re there.”

The weight of his words settled around you, and you felt something shift – a wall you’d kept up out of habit, slowly lowering. You exhaled, feeling a bit of the tension release, as though you were finally in a space where you didn’t have to hide this part of yourself.

He leaned closer, his hand now holding yours firmly but gently, grounding you in the moment. "I'm here with you, okay? Whatever you’re going through, I want you to know it doesn’t make me see you any differently. You’re… important to me." The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and it softened something deep within you.

“Thank you.” you said quietly, squeezing his hand back.

Aventurine tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How about this – every time you feel like you’re slipping, like things get too much, you let me know? We can talk, or… not talk,” he said, a hint of his usual humor breaking through, “or we can find some ridiculous way to distract ourselves. I’ve got these mooncake cats I haven’t introduced you to yet.”

That earned a soft laugh from you, breaking the lingering tension in the room. He caught the sound, grinning as he pulled his phone out and showed you a photo of his silly, mooncake-shaped cats. He held it up with a playful smirk.

“These little guys reminds me every day not to take life too seriously. So, any time you need them, They're just a text away.” he added with a wink.

The lightheartedness lifted the weight from your heart, and you looked at Aventurine, grateful for his presence, his understanding, and his unspoken promise to be there, both in laughter and in the moments that were hard.

And as he pulled you into a gentle embrace, you felt it – the quiet assurance that, whatever scars you both carried, you didn’t have to bear them alone anymore.

[vianbarnes]

my buddie going canon ideal scenario and why it could happen before eddie fully realises he’s gay

i’ve been cooking up this scenario for a while now but before going into it i wanna clarify that i don’t think eddie’s homosexuality is tied to buck and just that. i could write a full essay about eddie’s queerness without even mentioning buck. HOWEVER i do think buck could be the key to eddie’s discovery, the last puzzle piece that makes it all make sense.

narratively speaking, i think it could be interesting to see buck and eddie get to the same conclusion (that they’re in love with each other) but in the complete opposite way. while for buck it’s oh shit i’m bi > oh shit i’m in love with eddie, for eddie it would be oh shit i’m in love with buck > oh shit i’m gay. and obviously eddie is starting his own journey just now, so he might realise he’s gay and then it could click for him that all he’s been looking for was there all along, but i do think that - since this is a tv show - it would be interesting to offer a different side of the story to the audience. and yes i know that buck’s queerness and eddie’s queerness are very different already, but i’m specifically referring to their storylines leading up to buddie. (also this is just a personal side note but i think i would be lowkey crazy to have both of them realise they’re queer and still not understand their feelings for each other, like i know they’re dumb and dumber but c’mon!!!)

ok so now let’s put on the tinfoil hat

we literally know nothing about what’s gonna happen in the next episodes so i don’t have any solid theory on how we could get to this scenario. some of the interviews were teasing some potential tension (or angst even) between buck and eddie so my brain took this information and ran with it. a lot of us were also theorising a nde for buck, for eddie or for both of them at the same time and that could also be the setup for what i’m thinking.

but first let’s analyse where buck and eddie are right now (and in the upcoming episodes)

buck was just broken up with so now he’s trying to explore his sexuality and understand it more. it feels like the search for “his last” has just started and he’s excited to look at relationships and love through a new lens, but he also might feel a little discouraged that he has to do it all over again. he might be thinking “now that i have all these new possibilities, why is it still so hard to find my person?” (average bisexual experience i will tell you that much).

eddie on the other hand is slowly trying to forgive himself and love himself, accepting joy and not pushing away his desires and needs. allowing himself to feel certain feelings and just let go. he’s taking small steps to show up for himself just like he does for his loved ones every day (we still don’t know how far they’re gonna go with his story so the next episodes are definitely gonna be interesting)

so, with all that being said, here’s how buddie could go canon:

it’s late and buck shows up at eddie’s house. they’re in the kitchen drinking a beer, both leaning on the counter and not looking at each other at first. something has happened between them that they need to clear up (could be an argument, a fight or some very important words exchanged when they thought they were about to lose the other).

as much as i love a “because i love you!!” screamed during an argument, i don’t see that happening in this scenario. i imagine them having the softest, most honest and open conversation where they lay it all out - without even realising what they’re doing. at some point, buck is gonna say something that will make it finally click for eddie. if it’s an argument he could say something like “i need you in my life”/“i want you in my life forever”, or if this happens after a nde he could say “i can’t imagine my life without you”/“i don’t know how i could live without you” (i’m not a writer but you get the gist lol)

and that’s when eddie finally allows himself to feel what deep down he’s been feeling for years, and so he leans over and kisses buck. the kiss is pretty short: eddie pulls away almost immediately, as if his body was possessed by something and he just snapped out of it. buck can’t believe what just happened, but it takes him just a few seconds to realise and to grab eddie’s face and kiss him back. they start making out, they go out of frame, the screen turns black, the episode is over.

now let’s talk about the aftermath of the kiss. because if we know 911 we know that this goddamn show can’t let people just be happy so of course there’s gonna be some angst and miscommunication.

after the kiss, they don’t really talk about it. they might even get interrupted by something else (maybe eddie has to go to texas to get chris back?) so they have to postpone the what the fuck just happened conversation. and that’s when both of them start to spiral, but for different reasons. buck of course thinks that eddie’s distance means that he regretted the kiss, that they got caught up in the moment but that he doesn’t feel that way about him and he basically ruined their friendship. eddie is also freaking the fuck out: he’s panicking about how they could make their relationship work, how they could tell christopher, he’s questioning literally his whole life and past relationships like oh my god have i been gay this whole fucking time??, he’s worried about their jobs, how they’re gonna tell bobby and the others. basically questioning everything but buck.

being the idiots that they are, they’re gonna convince themselves that the other regretted everything and they’re gonna avoid each other and never have that much needed conversation. the 118 obviously notices that something is off, but no one knows what it is. until hen and eddie finally talk and he tells her everything: what happened, what made him panic and doubt everything and what’s stopping him from talking to buck. hen is shocked but not necessarily surprised. her and karen look at eachother (yes karen is there too because of eddiekaren bestfriendism that is very real to me) and then hen says something like “i don’t have the answers to all of these questions, but i’m sure of one thing: you love him and he loves you. you can figure out the rest together. go talk to him” (i think it would be nice for eddie to have this conversation with henren as a couple, since his biggest fears and concerns are about how they could make the relationship work)

eddie feels like he just woke up from a 20+ year long sleep. he runs out of hen’s place, hurrying to his car, and from now i’m picturing a full romcom montage with him just fighting for his life to get to buck’s apartment: traffic, construction work so he has to take a detour, his shirt is drenched in sweat so he has to go back home to change because surely he can’t show up at buck’s looking like that. once he gets home, he sprints to his room to find a new shirt (maybe he puts on too much cologne - the one buck likes - and he has to change again. just because it would be fun to see him in distress). he fixes his hair for the 100th time, grabs his keys, finally opens the front door and stops in disbelief. buck is on his doorstep, hand mid-air about to knock. they look at each other and in that moment they just know. they both lean in and go for the kiss aaand BUDDIE CANON !!!! (+ the buck at eddie’s door parallel finally having the romcom resolution it always meant to have)

of course i have no clue how we could get there, but i do feel like it would be true to the show if they didn’t immediately get together and if there was some angst between them. i hope that once they get together they won’t try to break them up (even just temporarily) so they might have to go through some shit at the very beginning of their relationship for that to happen.

alright tinfoil hat OFF folks. i always try to stay consistent to the show and only come up with theories that i could truly see being developed and i don’t think any of this is unrealistic. buuut i’m still a clown so who knows. quite frankly i’m fine with buddie canon either way (as long as their first kiss is initiated by eddie and it happens in his kitchen <3)

[jamesthedigidestined]

Here’s some for men too! Unfortunately some are more unisex than male-focused, but its still useful:

Hats

Shirts

Pants

Shoes

Additionally, know what you need in clothes. While men are less likely to fall for “fast fashion” trends, we are still likely to feel the effects (and we have a habit of buying cheap meme shirts that wear out too fast). I can mostly talk about this from a work perspective, but it goes for everyone buying clothes. Specifically though:

Spend a little extra and buy clothes that will last. Thrift stores, as mentioned, are a great way to get good clothes for cheap, but beware Goodwill price gouging, it isn’t always cheaper. Ideally look for local thrift stores.

Importance of price in clothes, I would say is like this:

Shoes

Pants

Jackets/Coats

Shirts

My reasoning being that shoes, and to a lesser degree pants, are constantly exposed to the elements to protect *you* from said elements, so having a good pair of tennis shoes and jeans will help a lot. Jackets and coats are similar, but are seasonal and potentially regional. Shirts (outside of a work environment) are the least protective element of clothes, and thinner shirts will last most people fine enough.

However while inside of a work environment buy natural fabrics (ideally 100% cotton) if you’re doing ANYTHING with flames. Cotton is very heat resistant, and when it does burn it actually burns, while synthetics melt *to* your skin. Ever hear of clothes fusing with people during fires? That’s why.

However, synthetics break down less than cotton, so typically blends/synthetics are better for longevity (assuming they feel nice to you, personally I’m not a fan of full synthetic).

When you spend a good bit of money on shoes, go find your local cobbler. Finding the right fitting shoes, ones that support your feet well, is worth its weight in gold, and a cobbler will help make that purchase worth it. When the soles wear down call up a cobbler to fix them, doubly so for expensive work boots. Consider insoles if you feel feet pain with your current shoes, even cheapo insoles help a lot.

And while this is an entire topic in itself, common knowledge dictates that for shirts, pants, etc it’s best to wash & dry in cooler temperatures and slower speeds, particularly for the dryer. The tumbling motion puts a lot of stress on fabric and hang-drying/low tumbling speed can help reduce both electricity bill and wear on your clothes. Always heat sterilize your underwear and socks though, they’re cheaper sacrificial layers after all. And as a man, I’m sure I don’t need to tell women how to wash their underwear. However, for fellow men out there, please talk with the women of the house and read some sources like this or this before doing anything with their delicates, otherwise you will die a (justifiably) slow and horrible death.

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: apologies

authors note: inspired by roman being roman on tonight's smackdown. it was a bit tricky to come up with a scenario to justify these people talking to roman like he's just anybody, so i had to keep some things vague.

words: 1.5k

warnings: none

The last thing Solana expected to walk into post grocery store trip was a shit show, but that’s exactly what she’s got.

The sound of arguing voices is impossible to ignore, all of them emanating from her husband’s office. Directing security to bring in the rest of the groceries and to leave them on the counter, she doesn’t hesitate to walk into Roman’s office, bypassing the knocking.

Sure enough, she’s met with her husband, his cousins and Sami Uso arguing down with each other. And not a single one of them seems to be listening to each other. They’re all just yelling and talking over each other, Roman, in a surprising twist, not being as loud as the other three.

But, he looks just as pissed. 

If not more.

Despite having no idea what the source of the argument is, it feels immaterial as she intrudes into the almost circle they’ve formed.

“Hey,” she says it too low the first time around, forcing her to raise her volume for the second round. “Hey!” As Jimmy and Sami move towards each other, as if they’re about to progress to something physical, Solana is prompted her to move even closer, her hands raised, separating them. “Stop it right now!” She switches to Spanish, a natural thing that seems to occur when she's upset.

The minute, however, that Roman becomes aware of her presence, he’s gently pulling her toward him, away from the other three. She ignores that, instead asking in English, “what is going on?”

It’s probably a silly question, as she’s almost certain that it’s business related, and Roman has always been tight-lipped regarding a lot of things concerning his work. But, it’s hard for her to ignore this when the tension is literally palpable. 

In another twist that she wasn’t expecting, Jey smacks his teeth, completely ignoring her question and directing his statement toward Roman. “Man, you trippin, Uce! You not trying to hear—”

“Keep fucking talking to me like that, Jey.” Roman sneers, Solana having to place her hand on his chest. More comfort to her than him, she’s sure. “I beat your ass once, I’ll do it fucking again."

“Listen, Roman, man—”

Jimmy scoffs,, moving closer to Sami, shoving him back. “Aye, wasn’t nobody even talking to you!”

Solana hasn’t the slightest clue when the roles reversed where Jey seems more buddy buddy with Sami than her husband and Jimmy. Regardless, that’s not important right now.

“You guys aren’t accomplishing anything,” she cuts in, shaking her head. Where is Paul? This is definitely one of those moments where he needs to be the voice of reason. “Just stop—”

“I’m not listening to this shit,” Roman snaps, Solana looking back at him as he moves away, turning his back. “We’re doing it my way, and that’s fucking final.”

“What’s the point of having us around if you just always do shit your way and don’t even listen to us?” Jey calls after him. 

At that, Roman turns around, speaking from a place of visceral emotions. “Then fucking leave. I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you!”

Her eyes shut as she takes a deep breath. He doesn’t mean that. She knows him well enough to know that he doesn’t mean that. He’s just talking out of emotions. Not logic.

“Roman—” She calls after him, but he turns on his heel once again, slamming the door behind him.

Hand to her face, she refocuses on the men, directing, “just….just stay here. Let me talk to him.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Jey counters, looking just as done as the rest of the men. “Roman refuses to listen to anybody but his damn self, so let him deal with it by himself.”

Nothing about what her husband does should include him handling anything alone. “I’ll talk to him,” she repeats. “You guys stay here. D--don’t leave. Please.”

She’s not sure if they’ll listen to her, but she can’t focus on that right now. She’s instead walking out the office, trying to find her husband who she eventually locates in their backyard. Closing the door behind her, she watches how he paces back and forth, hands on his hips, facial expression hiding not an ounce of his anger. 

She’s careful in how she approaches him, waiting a minute to give him some space. But, she can only wait for so long. “Roman….”

“Since when the fuck do I answer to them?” It’s a rhetorical question. She knows this, but it’s hard for her to not respond.

“I don’t think that’s what they meant, baby…..”

“I’m the Tribal Chief!” He gestures to himself, again, anger toward the situation. Not her. “I make the plays. I call the shots.”

“Yes, Roman, but that—that doesn’t mean you can’t at least hear them out.” 

That interjection is what makes him stop pacing, makes him stop and look at her, really look at her. She sees the way his shoulders drop and watches how he diverts his gaze, apologizing, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t…..you shouldn’t be involved in this.”

Probably not, but it’s too late to not be. “I–I don’t like seeing you guys argue. You’re….you’re better than that, Ro.” Because he is. Because this petulant, petty-like behavior isn’t like Roman. He’s a hothead, but he’s not childish. “I don’t know what this is specifically about, and it’s none of my business, but I do think you should–should talk this out. That everyone should apologize to each other….including you.” 

At that, his eyes go wide. “Apologize?” He points to himself. “I should apologize to him?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Solana—”

“Roman,” she says it again, voice softening, lips pressed together for a second. “Please?”

It’s a tricky, manipulative thing. She’s learned that he can’t say no to her, and she uses that to sway him over. 

And once again, it’s worked. 

“Fine,” he relents, and she leans up to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” He only nods, still looking slightly irritated but walking back into the house. 

Solana finds herself overtly relieved to be able to play at least a small role in the path to reconciliation. It fills her with pride that she carries with her as she goes into the kitchen to start putting the groceries away as well as get started on dinner.

With the twins and Sami over, she’s certain that they’ll be staying ov—

“I’m sorry that I ever let you waste my time with this!”

Solana closes her eyes. Her husband has to be the most stubborn person to ever walk this earth. 

She closes the cabinet she was loading the canned goods in and moves towards the office, only for a flustered, irritated Roman to come stomping in said kitchen, rounding the island to stand in front of her. 

“I tried, Sol. I fucking tried, but this is fucking stupid—”

“Roman.” She reaches up to cup his cheeks, holding his face so he’s forced to meet her gentle gaze. “I love you, but you are the single most hard-headed person I’ve ever met.” He cuts his eyes, but it’s an innocent thing. No maliciousness. Or disagreement. Verbally, at least. “I need—I want you to actually try.”

“I did—”

“Roman.” A small smile falls on her face, knowing. She knows him well enough to know they have very different definitions of trying. “If you’re not going to do it for yourself, or maybe not even me….” Solana drops one hand from his face to grab his hand, easily guiding and placing it on the swell of her belly. “Do it for them.”

Solana sees it so clearly. The immediate shift in his mood, his disposition, even his stance. Feels the way he subtly rubs her bump, an almost soothing thing for him. Like he’s being reminded of the lives they created, the two tiny humans who they will raise together, bring up the right way. 

The exact opposite of what they received.

But part of it starts now, leading with the messages they want to send and lessons they want to instill. 

Roman gets that. It’s evident in the way he nods subtly. Eyes closing as he leans over and kisses her forehead. “Thank you.”

Her smile is small but warm as she gestures to the direction of his office. “Go make things right.”

He just gives her one nod before walking off, and something tells her, he'll come back this time with the relief of having found a solution.

Solana finds herself rubbing her stomach, speaking to her daughters who continue to grow and develop day by day. “Your daddy’s a good man.” She sighs, adding on an almost quietly. “We’re just going to have to help him from time to time.”

She’s answered with a swift kick, prompting a hearty laugh and deepened smile.

[bonesashesglass]

Okay the election tags are trending right now and I just have to say, stop doomscrolling. Looking at posts of people being bitter and hopeless and placing blame on each other without offering solutions or ways to help is not going help in any way.

Everyone’s acting like we’re gonna start digging our graves. I even saw one person say not to say anything negative about the incoming party to protect yourself. Which is just, the absolute worst possible way to react in this situation.

I saw people blaming gen z, I saw people blaming third party voters - for the love of God stop doing that. People who see that Harris and Biden are actively supporting and funding a genocide are not to blame for not voting for her. Gen Z should not be called conservatives and Nazis (as a whole, I’m fully aware that a lot gen z people are like that, but they’re a minority) when in reality they’re the ones that were doing the most for Palestine (student protests ring a bell?).

If you want someone to blame, blame the democrats. People have been saying for a year that they will not vote for them if they continue to support a genocide, and they chose to ignore it. They decided that their imperialist and genocidal agendas were more important than appealing to their base, and this is the result.

So let them know! Call! Write! Tweet! Get in their face and tell them that if they don’t start listening to their base and actually implementing progressive policies this will happen again! Now is our chance to force democrats into a corner, don’t waste it on pointing fingers at each other!

It’s okay to mourn, it’s okay be depressed for a little, but when it turns into this - into defeatism and bitterness and toxicity and turning against each other, when we need to stand undivided more than ever - that’s a problem. That’s when you need to stop doomscrolling, and take action.

We’re looking at four years of a Trump presidency and we’re not gonna survive if we act like this. TAKE ACTION! FIGHT! Spit in the eye of anyone that tries to take away your rights. Every single conservative law or legislature that’s proposed in the coming months needs to be met with loud opposition.

For the love of God - resist! It’s like Americans forgot the meaning of the word! If scrolling through these tags fills you with a sense of dread, then get out of them! They’re not good for anything and they’re not going to help!

We can fight this, and we will fight this. Organize and take action. Defeatism is not an option

[pomefioredove]

um um. the nbc boys with a reader thats smart and learns easily but has trouble keeping up with the school system(? for lack of better words). they get distracted and bored easily, forget about homework, doodle on their papers and stare out the window, etc. they get great test scores and do exceptionally well when they are interested in what they’re learning, but otherwise get burned out really quick. i don’t know much about your nbc but it seems like the system is pretty fast paced and doesn’t really leave room for mistakes! 🫶🫶 i love your designs for nbc so far. can already tell the readers gonna have a blast (and a migraine)

my first ever noble bell oc request... rubs my hands together evilly

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ no room for mistakes (noble bell college)

inspired by my AU

type of post: headcanons characters: rollo, original characters; pierrot, bou, phoenix, clodio additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Rollo Flamme will arrange a precise time to study with you every day, whether you ask him or not. it's within his best interest that you succeed at Noble Bell (heavens forbid you're shipped off to a lesser, simpler arcane academy like that terrible Night Raven College), and so there will be no room for mistakes. this isn't something you should take for granted, either; Rollo is a very busy man, and to have an hour of his time for him to tutor you is a privilege. at least, that's what everyone else will tell you

to Rollo, this is nothing. he would make his whole weekend for you, if you asked. perhaps his whole life

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Pierrot Gregoire is probably the last person you should be going to for help. yes, he's exceptionally intelligent in the ways of history and literature, and yes, he could lecture you for hours longer than your actual professor does, but I doubt you would actually get anything but a headache out of it. he's a poet, not a tutor, and he has a tendency to talk himself in circles, go on tangents, anecdote about his personal life... yeah. it would take a special sort of mind to keep up with him, otherwise, you're probably better off trying to make sense of his unorganized class notes... which are just as full of doodles and daydreams as yours

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Bou de Neige is known for making harsh judgments about his peers... which are often accurate. and so he can tell, by the way you talk and articulate and express, that you're not a blithering idiot. you only lack the discipline that the typical Noble Bell College student has. and if it weren't for Rollo's faith in you, and his own damned pity, Bou would have been happy to let you fail...

...but he doesn't. he sits next to you in classes and pinches your arm when you're dozing off, or not paying attention to something important. he leers over you and corrects the mistakes on your homework before you turn it in. he begins carrying clean paper for you to doodle on, and insists it's nothing (it's so over for him)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Phoenix Bussiere is not what I would call a trustworthy tutor. he's not even a trustworthy student. oh, but don't think he wouldn't love to waste a few hours every week "helping you study" while he vandalizes 500 year old wood desks and falls asleep in the library. he's way too eager to volunteer. and how can you say no? his attention is highly valuable; the jealous glares of other students make that obvious. and perhaps you wouldn't have minded working alone, without anyone breathing down your neck... except he doesn't let you. he couldn't care less about the homework, but he'll ask you a thousand questions about yourself

...you can never quite tell if he actually cares, or if he's just passing the time

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

if you think Clodio LeFou would be the worst of the group, you'd be very wrong. is it chaotic? yes. but he'll teach you Latin while hanging upside down (and he's really quite good at it). he's managed to get by at Noble Bell without raising any eyebrows, after all, and his grades certainly reflect that. he'll act out your history lessons and critique your writing assignments like a professional. he'll make a puppet just to teach you math. it's unconventional, especially for Noble Bell, but it's much better than the dry lectures from your professors. you'll take what you can get