#i don't have the energy for something simple like this
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Become Your Best Version Before 2025 - Day 22
Developing New Skills
Let's talk about something super exciting, learning new skills! But wait, before you think "ugh, I don't have time for that," I promise we'll keep this fun and totally doable.
Remember when we were kids and tried new things just because they looked fun? No pressure, no expectations, just pure curiosity! Let's bring some of that energy back into our lives.
Want to hear something cool? Our brains literally light up with joy when we learn new things. It's like giving ourselves tiny happiness boosters throughout the day. How awesome is that?
Here's the thing about learning new skills, you don't need fancy equipment or hours of free time. Seriously! Some of the most fulfilling skills I've picked up started with just:
Watching YouTube videos while eating lunch
Using free apps during my morning routine
Practicing for 10 minutes before bed
The trick? Start so small it feels almost silly. Learning a language? Start with just one word a day. Want to draw? Doodle one tiny sketch while your coffee brews. Interested in cooking? Master one simple recipe before moving to the next.
I used to think I needed perfect conditions to learn something new, like you know, lots of free time, the right equipment, maybe even a class to sign up for. But then I realized waiting for perfect conditions meant never starting at all!
Instead, try this: pick something that makes you curious. Something that makes you think "ooh, that looks fun!" Then find ONE tiny way to explore it tomorrow. Just tomorrow. That's it!
Maybe it's:
Downloading a language app and learning how to say "hello"
Looking up one simple yoga pose to try
Learning one new keyboard shortcut
Finding a beginner's tutorial for something you've always wanted to try
The magic happens when we stop thinking about becoming experts and just enjoy being beginners. Every single expert started exactly where you are, just curious and willing to try!
Today's Challenge:
Pick ONE skill you'd love to learn
Find a super simple way to start (like a 5-minute YouTube video or a quick tutorial)
Spend just 10 minutes exploring it
Share what you picked in the comments!
See you tomorrow for Day 23!
♡ ☆:.。 Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.。 With love, Goddess Inner Glow.
#be confident#be your best self#be your true self#becoming that girl#becoming the best version of yourself#confidence#growth mindset#it girl#self confidence#self improvement#self love#self development#personal development#skilldevelopment#developing skills#self care#self concept#self appreciation#self acceptance#it girl energy#lifestyle#better version#become that girl#dream life#glow up tips#girl blog aesthetic#girl blogger#goddessinnerglowmagazine#goddessinnerglowblog
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Caretaking
When she opened her eyes again, it was close to dusk and there was a fire merrily burning in front of her, a pot hanging over it. For a moment, she wondered if she was dreaming, back in some time when her boy was alive and the world still made sense.
But no, the person poking at the contents of the pot wasn't Nicky, but someone equally familiar.
Agatha and Rio, post-breakup. Agatha is sick. Vaguely references Death Gets Sick and Agatha and Illness.
Agatha Harkness was not sick.
Yes, she had a miserably high fever, full body chills and deep muscle aches, but getting sick was for lesser people, people who weren’t powerful witches with important things to do. She didn't have the time to get sick and so she simply refused to be.
Her body, unfortunately, seemed to have other ideas, which was how she found herself tucked up against a tree, her cloak pulled around her, half-conscious and soaked in a thin layer of clammy sweat. She was too tired to even start a fire, only able to toss and turn and eventually fall into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.
When she opened her eyes again, it was close to dusk and there was a fire merrily burning in front of her, a pot hanging over it. For a moment, she wondered if she was dreaming, back in some time when her boy was alive and the world still made sense.
But no, the person poking at the contents of the pot wasn't Nicky, but someone equally familiar.
"Oh," she croaked, her voice coming out dry and scratchy, her tongue tasting like something had died in her mouth. "It's you."
Rio glanced up at her, and as familiar as that face was, there was still something alien in the other woman's regard, a mix of adoration, uncertainty and anger. Agatha had done nothing to spare Death's feelings lately whenever she did dare show her face, had used every cruelty she could think of to try and tear at Rio, with the simple, human goal of hurting someone else as badly as she hurt.
"…I made tea," her former lover said, almost tentative. Her lips quirked slightly. "It's willowbark, but it's not as strong this time. Do you want some?"
No, Agatha wanted to say. I don't want anything you've made, I don't want your kindness or your pity, I don't want you taking care of me when you tore out my heart. "…Fine," she murmured sullenly instead, because she was tired and sore and she didn't have the energy to fight.
And maybe because Rio had said 'this time' and for a moment, she'd missed the time when things were easier between them.
She let the other woman bring her a cup in a chipped traveler's mug, held it carefully between shaking hands and sipped it. "…Not bad," she admitted after a moment. "I still seem to have taste buds, at least."
"I grew the tree to make it," Rio said. "But I used less. I made soup, too. You always used to want soup when you were sick." The wistful, nostalgic tone in her voice twisted Agatha's stomach worse than the illness, made her nauseous in a way that had nothing to do with her body.
"You made soup?" she said, talking to keep herself from thinking. "On your own? …Rio, you did remember that people can't eat rotten meat, right? Or—" her lips curved in a mocking smile. "Have you finally decided to break the rules and kill me after all?"
Rio ladled her out a bowl of soup. "I remember what you can eat, beloved. Besides, if I wanted you dead, I'd have put poison in the tea."
Agatha looked at the mug in her hand and shrugged, sitting up a little more from the pitiful slump she'd been in. Half a mug of tea had already improved her outlook on life, numbing the throbbing headache behind her temple. She suspected there was magic in it, since it shouldn't have worked so quickly, but the kind of annoyingly latent magic Rio could manage, the desire to see Agatha made better manifesting in the tree she'd grown to make tea with.
"Fine, I'll try the soup," she decided, because—well, because why not?
Rio looked up and smiled at her as though Agatha had offered her the world on a platter, not a chance to feed her some likely terrible soup. She filled a bowl and brought it over, let Agatha put the mug on the ground and watched her with anticipation as she took a sip.
Agatha managed to spit the soup mostly back into the bowl, at least, and not all over herself. "…Rio," she asked, her voice the kind of patient they both knew indicated trouble. "How many onions?"
Rio glanced back at the pot, then at Agatha, offering an uncertain shrug. "…You like onions."
Agatha shoved the bowl back in the other woman's hand. "Dump that slop out and just do what I say, okay?"
She couldn't look directly at Rio, the sheer adoration in the way her former lover gazed at her was both sickening and also slightly, comfortingly familiar. "Yes, beloved," Rio agreed, dumping out the soup and letting Agatha tell her what to put in it, growing the things she didn't have to hand with no thought at all, still the most impossible magic Agatha had ever seen.
Agatha drank two cups of tea, then leaned back with her eyes closed as the soup cooked. She was aware of Rio settling on the ground next to her and ignored it, though the other woman was so close Agatha could feel the heat from her body.
Then she felt fingers slide through her hair and slapped Rio's hand away with vicious force, eyes flying open. "Don't touch me," she snapped, then froze at Rio's expression.
The other woman let out a long, slow sigh, very close to a groan. "There we go, that's my Agatha," she said, almost to herself, before her attention snapped fully back to Agatha. "I don't have to, you know. I don't have to be kind, Ags. I don't have to take care of you."
"No one asked you to," Agatha snarled, trying to pretend she hadn't, however briefly, felt a sharp stab of fear at the way Rio had looked at her. "Your tendency to alternate creepy acts of devotion with violence isn't my fault."
Rio was almost on top of her, her fingers through Agatha's hair, palm against her cheek, too fast for Agatha to do more than blink. "But how would I explain it to Nicky," Rio murmured. "If I left his mother alone like this?" She pressed her lips hard to Agatha's forehead. "He misses you, beloved. Come home soon."
And then she was gone, touch and weight and heat all vanishing, leaving Agatha with tears in her eyes, caught between fury and sorrow and, as always, deliberately choosing fury. "You don't say his name!" she snarled, power crackling across her fingers. "You don't—I hate you! Do you hear me?? I'll always hate you." She scrubbed her hand over her eyes. "…Give him back to me," she whispered to no one, sagging, exhausted, against a tree.
After a little while of misery so deep she couldn't even manage to cry, she did get up and get herself a bowl of soup. It was very good, a soup made out of memories, the same soup her mother had made for her when she was ill and that she had made for her lover once and for her boy many, many times.
She took one bite, then threw the bowl aside and retched helplessly, the taste of better times coating her tongue.
masterpost or click this link to go to a random post on this blog, which will probably be a fic of some kind
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The boop thing looks fun and I do want to participate in it but.. I am so exhausted. Had a rough week, still recovering from that and then today was genuinely awful. Rip to anyone I would have otherwise booped and rip to me for not receiving any. I am so tired
#molly vents#period absolutely destroyed me last week#sleep has generally been a big big problem since like#late november/early december#so it hits extra hard when my period decides to put me through pain when i'm trying to sleep#i missed so much sleep last week because of it and i have very little memory of last week#and then today my dad yelled at me#for something stupid#something not worth that kind of behavior#i've been crying on and off#like i'm doing better now than i did earlier#but sadly for me i can't recover from something like that quickly#it takes me time#i feel so tired and exhausted in every sense of the word#i saw the boop thing last night before i went to bed and was like oh that looks like fun! i'll do that when i get up tomorrow!#but now its like#i don't have the energy for something simple like this#which sucks because its a simple joy and its an april fools thing so i'm not gonna be able to experience it at all once today is over#i know its not like this super big thing and all#i just feel sad about it 'cause of just how awful and exhausted i feel right now
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Okay, do we hate this? Not the colors, the stitch. Or maybe the way the colors work with the stitch? As you can see from the remaining skein, there are a few colors I haven't gotten to at all yet.
#one minute i look at it and love it#the next i look at it and hate it#honestly i wanted to do something a little fancier with this yarn#but i don't have the energy for counting right now and this is the only yarn i don't have a solid plan for#and i need the outlet so i figured a basic moss stitch because it takes zero focus and usually looks very pretty#but i don't know how i feel about it here and i can't figure out if that's just because i haven't gotten far enough with it yet#or if that's because i just don't like it with this yarn#anyway#crochet#also any suggestions are welcome#i actually think this would look stunning with a simple half double crochet throughout#but honestly i think that would be too much of a yarn eater and it would end up being too small for a wrap
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ᅠᅠ— this is what i want: i want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.
#succession#connor roy#kendall roy#idk what it is to be honest#i don't have the will to live and the will to do my usual complicated big edits#but I like these two so much that i made something as simple and minimalistic as possible#something that i have the energy to do#i love their older brother vs. annoying younger brother dynamic#my little meow meows#they are my favorite characters and I'm so sad that they don't have many scenes together
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We ought to write more Pokemon fic some time. We want to recreate the Pokemon Manners/Human Manners cheat sheet that we made a few years ago we think that this site would like the Sliding Scale Of Politeness When Greeting A New Pokemon You've Never Met Before.
#we speak#writing#we grew up with pmd games and we feel like the way that pmd pokemon's dialogue tends to be excessively... direct?#should be a feature and not a bug when any pokemon that you meet might be totally unfamiliar with your species and biology#it's probably very polite to start up front with some basic facts about yourself so they know how to act going forward#the very upfront feel to dialogue also very much helps with keeping the dialogue feel more... pokemon#people mock the series for weird npc dialogue a lot but we think that taking these things literally makes for more fun society building#it doesn't all have to fit with socially acceptable for our world we think. polite in our world isn't even consistent by household.#sometimes a polite interaction sounds like “hello! i'm poochyena! i like to chase people and bite!”#name and immediately socially useful information. now you know about the chasing people and biting so you don't assume it's rude#of course poochyena bites and chases people. it likes to do that. you can say you don't like that and it might stop doing that to You#but it will not stop biting and chasing people because that's what it likes to do and it will probably only befriend people okay with that#it makes a very specific dialogue feel that's very fun to do. we like how the pokemon world tends to treat any sort of like#disability or “weird” things as something that you just say out the gate and everyones like “oh okay”#and then treat that as Part Of Interactions going forwards. there are a surprising amount of parts of the pokemon manga#that are dedicated to working around a character's disability after one or all of their means of dealing with it get taken out#admittedly we aren't that caught up on newer content but we find the way that it tends to be just Accepted as very refreshing#making the dialogue this direct does also tend to make it read as more “childish” in english and particular because a lot of Maturity's jus#learning how to dance around what you're saying or phrase it in different ways to get your idea across differently#whereas here everything is just as direct as possible. “i don't like charmander”. “i like roasting berries”. “i want to dig things up”.#all pokemon dialogue tends to go towards being exceedingly simple and it makes for some very distinct writing#especially when you have to tackle complex situations with characters who probably dont employ that sort of vocabulary#though we personally enjoy doing this sort of stuff your mileage may vary ofc#we are biased towards this sort of thins because we find it MUCH more fun to build up what we're talking about from blocks#than to like. try and use more indirect wording that may lose things in translation#unfortunately this is not fun in irl conversation. everyone has to be on the same page and you need to use the same playbook to communicate#we REALLY wish people said what they meant though. we're really tired of being asked shit like “is this accessible”#when what they mean is “can you climb these stairs” a question which depends on the day our energy level and how things have been going#there are a lot of things we could say that would make us feel like some sort of anti sjw type guy and a lot of em boil down to just#"for the love of god dont dance around a Sensitive Topic just get to the point and ask us about it this just makes things harder for everyo
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i've finally reached the part in the semester where we're covering the second law of thermodynamics. matt bellamy we're in it together now
#i post#no but in all seriousness it's super cool and i shouldn't make it out to be super hard because i should have confidence in myself#i'm also finally getting to use energy equations in a fun way (that E = KE + PE shit you probably saw in the last few years of grade school#you don't really get much use out of them in the first two sections covering simple kinematics and then EM#beyond them being slightly more convenient ways of solving problems#but they're obviously essential to thermodynamics and now it's fun#i still don't test well however but the prof is the gay tumblr user to my luke skywalker. he sees my chanel boots. he sees me throw down--#on the practice problems we do in class#so i have a chance at an A in the class with a really really cool extra credit assignment#right after spring break i have to give a 5-10 minute presentation on thermodynamics WRT my major#the most obvious low-hanging fruit is the color of stars (and if i can't find anything else i will do that)#but i'm almost tempted to try and find a hw problem in the book and do a whole thing on that#that way i get to show off the fact that i do know how to do math i just have a really poor memory lol#or maybe i'll do something on the future of the universe at the largest timescales-- like how all star cores will eventually turn to iron#or how black holes gradually dissolve#idk#but yeah super cool shit
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I cannot describe how much I fucking ENVY people who can write a story/dialogue w already existing characters and it won't seem even slightly off the character. LIKE GUYS UR INSANE HOW ARE Y'ALL ABLE TO DO THAT, IT'S SO COOL
#I'm prolly never writing a story of my own tho I can draw but I can't develop an interesting story without clichés#I'm sure I could develop the skill for storytelling but idk man it has to be in you already I guess#every story I've ever written became too boring to me because it was too huge and required too much energy#but if I can't create smth great I don't think I want to create smth at all#and ik great doesn't necessarily mean something huge and flawless#for example Sarah kane's plays weren't long but the stories were always incredible and insane in a good way#in simple words her plays are impressive shocking even. but they don't leave you emotionless#but I don't have a vision like hers that's why her plays were so unique like she fr had her own perception of everything#so I just end up creating a messive huge idea and become overwhelmed by the amount of thinking I have to do#and then I abandon this story#won't hurt to give writing short stories a try tho#ig I will try sometime idk
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feel like doodling a silly beastos as tonight's cooldown, what sort of situation should i put him in? lmao
#paige chatter#i finished the flats on the other major piece; but i don't have the energy to start on the next set of lines#maybe tomorrow after work or something; i just feel like doodling something simple and silly lol
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genuinely truly wholeheartedly cannot fathom people who go running before work. what do you mean you don’t get out of bed 10-15 minutes before you need to be fully dressed, breakfasted, equipped, and out the door? why would you voluntarily wake up SEVERAL hours early and go get sweaty in the dark and cold and then have a shower in the MORNING only to go to work all day?? incomprehensible.
#context: my housemate and I went for a run/walk this evening and we remarked on how nice it was and how we should do it more often#but realistically the only way we'd be able to do it during the weekdays is before work#which like. lmao.#I'm sorry but your insomnia and my insomnia do not line up enough for this#the only person who comes to mind that I actually know does this is my high school ap chem teacher#but she also got her phd at 25 so she doesn't count#I do like running in the mornings the few times I've done it!#but the only way we'd be able to get it done before work here is well before sunrise#which I am intrinsically opposed to#and also if I have work right after I can't just come back home and go back to sleep or slouch on the couch for 3 hours straight#I was going to say something but there was this HUGE gust of wind and rain and other noises lashing my window and I forgot what it was#anyways in summary I still don't want to go to work tomorrow#and I'm rrrreeeaaaaallllyyyy hoping that the ‘don't want to be here’ energy of Friday carries over to today#phenomenal job on Friday 6 out of 8 of my co-worker's people didn't show up#I yearn for that sort of attendance#please. please give me nothing to do. let me catch up on my other stuff. you do not need to come in for this. this can be an email.#(to be fair I would also hate it if it were an email sdkjfhskfjh)#(...yeah actually maybe don't make it an email)#(but please please PLEASE no more backstories tragic or otherwise)#(please let it just be simple and straightforward enough to finish all my notes as they come)#(I still have to do Friday's because I slept like all of Saturday and half of today)#ah shoot and I still need to study...#you know what. I'm gonna have to say it: I miss December#Cheese's personal molasses#Cheese evaporates about...job??#okay I should go to sleep now and stop fantasizing about a tree missing everything but landing exactly across our driveway#rendering it impossible for us to go to work#OKAY STOP WHINING#IF WE MAKE IT THROUGH TOMORROW I'LL LET YOU DO SOMETHING ART RELATED A N D EAT SOME COOKIE DOUGH HOW'S THAT
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.
#Been taking my meds as prescribed and have been on the edge of a panic attack for nearly 2 weeks now#My body is in a tremendous amount of pain#but I gotta pretend I am okay just to have people quit asking if I am okay. I am not but there is nothing to be done about it#the pain docs dgaf the bone docs dgaf the specialists dgaf#I can't even take mj to feel better because I am so allergic#and speaking of allergies I have been having what look like HIVES starting to appear randomly over my face and chest for these 2 weeks#istg if this is another fucking reaction to allergens I am just going to go meet the hatman and claim squatter's rights in his house#woke up from another passing out episode to be ravenous and had to make myself some eggs and rice#I added kimchi because there needs to be more daily veggies in this diet#Most days the meals have been a tsp of peanut butter; an applesauce or string cheese; whatever noodle; and eggs or tuna...sometimes chicken#But still they want to tell me I am eating too much daily somehow#I do also drink a fuckton of water daily#I am just so tired of these 8year experts seeing a short fat thing and immediately equating all my problems to fucking weight#something is wrong and nobody wants to look further into it#In the meantime I am going to be mentally unwell because my body feels like shattering glass under electrified water every waking moment#But sure! let me take on the responsibility of teaching 44 other households how to open an rtf file in a damn word processor#HOW TF do you get over 50 and have all problem solving skills drop out of your ass. God forbid I write simple instructions#and some asshole put out fliers on ageism near my apartment#Telling someone that they need to actually have the correct information before moving forward to do something is apparently disrespectful#I literally don't have to do anything for any of these people but they feel entitled to my time and energy because I am 30+ years younger#And they've been having kvetch sessions about who knows what in a room literally on the other side of my bedroom wall#I got shit to do in the morning so I hope to wake up somebody else tomorrow#wish me luck
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wonder if i should make ship tags again
#probably low effort tags tbh#i don't have the brain power to come up with anything nice#i used to just use quotes song lyrics lines from poems etc#i don't really have the energy these days to find stuff to use#so maybe something simple? like the names and a heart between them#ooc.
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pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k
read on ao3
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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?"
Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes.
The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat.
Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions.
It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest.
When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face.
He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers.
You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register.
You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug.
Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks.
His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone.
"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-"
As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy.
He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus.
"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this."
"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?"
"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins.
"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop."
"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?"
He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath.
Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice.
The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh.
"I do," You murmur, sympathetic.
Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this.
"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose.
"That's when you find it."
Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right.
Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside.
You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze.
His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles.
Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest.
"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days."
"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration."
"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again."
Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you.
"And what is it I'm doing?"
"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to."
"I am not-"
Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down.
"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count."
Your mouth forms a hard line.
"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-"
"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that."
You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach.
"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-"
"It is a necessary risk."
Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.
"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…"
He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going.
The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his.
Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him.
Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was.
All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn.
Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together.
You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background.
"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear."
And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal.
His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron.
For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula.
"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away."
"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on."
His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity.
It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again.
Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy.
Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles.
Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning.
It's far too late to still rely on daydreams.
You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love.
"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-"
Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet —
A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back.
Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving."
Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately.
Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale.
"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-"
"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me."
Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones.
Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion?
Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench.
Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —
"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please."
"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?"
Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears.
And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die."
The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears.
Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness.
It's a reminder that you're right.
The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time.
Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions.
So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him.
You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.
And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands.
He knows this body is… wilting.
Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him.
More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last?
How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted.
Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped.
You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology.
If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do.
None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus.
His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying.
It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to.
Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once.
Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.
His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful.
No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change.
You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline.
It's something Viktor picks up on.
You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him.
You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you.
He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can.
His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral.
It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice.
But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned.
Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring.
So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him.
It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop.
Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt.
Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it.
The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before.
Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth.
Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it.
Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull.
Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve.
You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead.
"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back.
You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special?
His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck.
The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone.
You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks.
Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand.
The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you.
When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens.
Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his.
Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration.
With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead.
Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like.
Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone.
The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together.
Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat.
Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair.
You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold.
Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight.
But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation.
The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun.
He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his.
"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things."
Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids.
Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway.
Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different.
He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough.
"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to."
Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?"
His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired.
"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…"
You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting?
You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw.
"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?"
The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap.
"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession."
You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his.
You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression.
"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate."
"Oh? Enlighten me."
A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears.
"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late."
"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?"
Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance."
This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate.
A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious."
The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day.
He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly.
The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you.
"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe."
Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress.
Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you.
For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd.
"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'"
I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums.
He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time.
Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional.
"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene."
Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you.
Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget.
You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm —
"Vik-"
"I need to have your trust."
Your eyes widen.
"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-"
"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you."
A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open.
Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking —
"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please."
It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it.
You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you."
Viktor softens.
There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you.
"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark."
The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close.
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nearly oc-tober time again - time for some prompts for 2024
F.A.Q
do i have to draw?
not at all! you are free to participate with any medium that suits you... writing, artwork, free bases and templates, simple text posts, in-character-as-your-oc roleplay, whatever! (just no stealing or AI)
do i have to make new content?
nope! re-uploading old stuff that fits the prompts is allowed (and encouraged) ... old art that didn't get the appreciation it needed always deserves a chance to be shared again, it's a fun throwback!
do i have to post every day?
nope! only 10 days are mandatory (the ones in red with a star symbol) and everything else (yellow) is 100% optional! if you're busy or tired, please skip as many as you want
can i start early?
you can prep your posts in advance if you need to ... but please wait until the right day in october to share them!
can i re-upload your prompt list to another site?
i would prefer if you dont - i have accounts on most sites, so just reblog/retweet/share from me!
event tag?
#bweirdOCtober
have fun!
image desc/text version ↓under the cut↓ or on bweird.art/october
prompts:
WEEK 1: OC INTRODUCTIONS
⭐ 1: FAV OC
what makes them your fav?
2: NEW OC
how recently did you make them?
3: OLD OC
how long ago did you make them?
⭐ 4: UNDER-APPRECIATED OC
an oc you feel like you don't talk about enough, or you haven't fleshed out as much as you would like
5: RE-DESIGNED OC
an oc who has changed a lot (what changed about them?) or, if you haven't redesigned an oc: is there anything you might want to change about an existing oc?
WEEK 2: BUILDING BACKSTORY
⭐ 6: PAST
where is your oc from? what did they look like as a child?
7: LIKES
what do they like (and why?)
8: DISLIKES
what don't they like (and why?)
⭐ 9: RELATIONSHIPS
doesn't have to be romantic! can any kind of relationship (frienship, family, rivalry etc)
10: PERSONALITY
what are your oc's main personality traits
11: SYMBOLISM/THEMES
what represents your oc? is there a specific colour you associate them with, or a specific animal?
12: FUTURE
what will your oc look like in the future? do they have any plans or goals?
WEEK 3: FUN + GAMES
⭐13: MEMES
do any memes remind you of your oc? are there memes your oc would find funny? maybe you want to redraw your oc as one?
14: WHO/WHAT INSPIRED YOUR OC
are there existing characters that your oc looks like? was your oc based on yourself? is your oc originally from a specific fandom?
15: MUSIC
share a character playlist, write a songfic, post lyrics that remind you of them, etc
⭐16: EYES CLOSED or NON DOMINANT HAND
draw a picture of your oc with your eyes closed or with your non domminant hand, write or type a paragraph about them without your eyes closed, etc ... have fun, and don't worry about it looking "bad" -it's meant to!!
17: DnD ALIGNMENT CHART
put all your ocs into a DnD alignment chart, or any other similar chart if you prefer
i've compiled a few templates on my site, but you can find more easily if you google "oc alignment chart"
⭐18: SWAP
swap something between your ocs - their role in the story, hairstyles, personalities, fashion taste, species ... whatever you want! how would this difference change them?
19: PALETTE CHALLENGES
draw your ocs with as many of these colour palettes as you want (or just skip if you don't draw/don't like doing these!)
hex codes for the colours:
palette 1 - #3C1E81 #6D1EA2 #B059E8 #FE0876 #FE5284 #FE7C96 #E0CFE3 #FFD5C3
palette 2 - #352823 #673F28 #AB541C #BA8233 #897128 #A68B2F #F7BF6A #DAC3A4
palette 3 - #A42E25 #D7412B #E47C29 #F7A233 #FCC02D #FCE4A6 #486548 #FEFDE8
palette 4 - #2F4769 #39597E #53779C #94D1E7 #AADDE7 #D48DB7 #D498B5 #D2BABA
WEEK 4: COMMUNITY
20-26: A WHOLE WEEK OF SOCIAL STUFF
if you don't have the time/energy to do every day this week, ⭐ day 23 is the only one marked as mandatory! you can skip the rest!
some ideas for what you could do: talk about a friend's oc you like, make gift art/writing of them, collabs, trades, reblog/appreciate ocs in the event tag, make interactions between your ocs and other people's
WEEK 5: HALLOWEEN
⭐27: FEARS
is your oc scared of anything? do they have any phobias? are they startled easily? would any of your ocs try to scare ppl on purpose?
28: MONSTER
what would your oc be if they were a monster (eg: werewolf, vampire, eldritch beast.. whatever) or, do you have an oc who is already a monster?
29: PUMPKIN CARVING
your ocs carving pumpkins, a drawing of a pumpkin carved to look like your oc ... or even carve it in real life!
30: GHOST
this can be literally a ghost, or a concept that haunts your oc! up to you!
⭐ 31: COSTUMES
what are your ocs wearing for halloween?
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"Where else was I supposed to sit?" - [OT8 SKZ]
quick summary ; lap sitting w/ ot8 skz
warnings ; thigh touching, casual groping (light suggestive content, MDNI), handsy skz
chris ;
sitting in chris' lap is like asking for a death wish. he welcomes it, when he's not busy of course, but he's got a bad habit for needing to always have his hands moving. he has to constantly be touching something, squeezing something - even when he's standing still during interviews or shows his hands are at his sides, fingertips rubbing restlessly on his palms. so when you're in his lap, he finds ways to make his hands useful; whether it be carefully twisting the hem of your top around his fingertips, sliding his fingers in and out of your belt loops and tugging on them here and there, or gently kneading at the plush of your thighs. that's what most commonly happens - he just really loves the warmth and soft squish between his fingers. he can't help it.
minho ;
you're more than welcome to sit in minho's lap - but you have to be facing him, and i'm sure you know why. if you're around friends or the other boys he'll let you sit facing away and just loosely lace his arms around your waist while chitchatting or pestering hyunjin. but if you're together, he wants you facing him so he can somehow wiggle his hands into your bottoms and casually, non-sexually, rest his hands on your ass. he'll either slip his hands up the bottom of your shorts - or tuck them into the back pockets on your jeans, letting you rest your face in his shoulder as he watches some drama jisung told him about. (no, not the dating ones. he refuses to indulge in those.)
changbin ;
sitting in binnie's lap is like heaven on earth. his thighs are the perfect mixture of muscle and fat - soft enough to be perfectly plush and comfortable but strong enough to nearly push you off when he tenses in frustration at some silly jab seungmin made thirty seconds ago. he's always got his arms around you when you're this close to him, so you're basically just enveloped by big thighs - big arms - his big ol boobies- all in all sitting in binnie's lap is just the perfect stress reliever. but don't think he doesn't notice the way you slide a hand down to grope at the skin when he's wearing shorts - he sees everything.
hyunjin ;
hyunjin likes to sit cross legged and then have you sit in his lap that way - so you're not on top of his thighs, but in between them. the man sits like he's sporting ten inches so i'm bound to believe he is - simple as that - he just prefers it that way, freedom for his thighs so he doesn't feel too pinned down wherever he's sitting. he finds solace in playing with your hair when you're in front of him, occasionally bouncing his legs so you're bopping around enough to make him laugh from behind you. if you're really compliant, he'll probably hold onto your wrists and pretend to puppet you around - which seems to make the other boys laugh quite a bit as well.
jisung ;
he's got a leg bouncing problem, but not in the way that hyunjin does it where it's for fun. he's said before that he's just done it since he was younger but was always told to quit, so now he only does it when he's alone. so if you're on his lap and no one else is around, he's probably carefully bouncing one leg beneath you. it's not too bothersome and if you do huff about it, he'll stop - he just finds it a habit and sort of relaxing. but if you give him something else to do? he'll go with that instead. like playing with the necklace you're wearing, or twisting the hem of your shirt around his fingers. he just needs some way to let out the energy that builds in his tiny ass waist while he's sitting still.
felix ;
i'm bound to believe that felix is like hyunjin and prefers when you sit between his legs - but he likes to spread his legs as wide apart as possible and have you sit in front of him so he can do your hair. he likes braiding it or combing his fingers through it, apologizing if a ring catches on you. he'll fix your shirt from behind and pull you back to lean into him, wanting to support you while you relax - and his hands always find a way beneath your shirt. his fingertips will brush over your skin, thumbs smoothing over any beauty marks or potential scars - always tracing every dip and bump to commit it to memory. (and hoping he'll see it later.)
seungmin ;
he's the type to refuse to let you in his lap at first, pushing you away with laughter and putting his arms up so you can't sit down. but he'll give in eventually, letting you sit on his thighs and sighing. if you're not comfortable that's on you - because he's going to manspread and he's not putting his thighs together just for your ass to rest on. he'll cuddle up soon enough though, so expect him to rest his head on top of yours and wind his arms around you, squeezing you every few moments or swaying with you in his arms. he won't admit it, but he does enjoy the comforting warm of you so close to him.
jeongin ;
sitting in jeongin's lap is like a luxury if he allows it. or - well, if he likes it. sometimes he'll let it happen but he won't touch you, he'll keep scrolling on his phone or talking to felix nearby - but it's not because he doesn't want it to happen; he's just not one for skinship. he'll bounce his leg to give you a small bit of affection so you know he doesn't mind. but if it's a good day, and he really is digging the touchy-feely vibe, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and squeeze you to him until you're barely breathing. if you're around the others, it's common he'll lean forward so you're flush together and rest both of his hands on your knees - which makes you stare and wonder just how his hands are engulfing your body so easily...
#stray kids imagine#stray kids scenarios#skz imagine#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#bangchan x reader#leeknow x reader#changbin x reader#hyunjin x reader#han x reader#felix x reader#seungmin x reader#jeongin x reader#IN x reader
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💫 Why Protection Magic Is Useful (even if you have no enemies)
A lot of witches will tell new witches (baby witches) that they should start by learning and using protection magic. However, I've started to see a lot of witches say that protection magic is not as important as other witches claim it to be. Saying that they don't have anyone coming after them or an enemy in real life to warrant a spell of protection.
I think this may also be due to how I've not personally come across anyone really explaining why a witch may want to use protection magic all the time.
Now, it is true that there's no need to be paranoid all the time and have protection up 24/7. But here's a list where you may use it, find it useful, or haven't thought protection magic could be included.
An actual person -- This one is obvious, you have an enemy in real life or on the internet and you need protection magic to protect you from their curses.
A malevolant spirit -- They can come from your windows, mirrors (including tv screens, computer screens, and other reflective surfaces maybe), they seep through floor cracks, hanging onto your coats from outside, etc. Just like how you'd use garden gloves to avoid dirt up your nails being trapped there. Protection magic is just like putting on those gloves.
An energy -- Say you have a neighbour who's arguing with someone. They're yelling and screaming and it can be heard through the apartment walls. That negative energy is seeping into your home and your energy. So it may be worth protecting your home and energy from that sour neighbour's energy. (ever been scolded by your mother and your mood is sour? it's kind of like the same here.)
Your own spell -- Now a self-love spell is probably not something you should protect yourself from. But let's say you're doing a curse. It would be a smart idea to make sure you're protected before beginning such a spell. Much like how you'd wear an apron to protect your clothes from stains when cooking food. You may not always spill your food when cooking, but damn it is it annoying when you do and the stain won't wash off. It's the same with a spell.
Unintentionally -- Sometimes things can happen that's out of our control and it's a good idea to be a little prepared. A black cat suddenly running across the street? Bad luck. Someone got jealous when you told them something good? Evil Eye. Think of it as going to the store with an extra bag for your groceries. You may not need it, but isn't it handy when you at one point do need it?
Protection magic doesn't have to be elaborate or grand or be convoluted. Protection magic is powerful but also extremely simple. All you need is a horseshoe above the door, a little talisman in your pocket, a sigil for your car, etc.
So don't dismiss the importance of protection magic. It may help to improve your spellwork and your energy.
#witchcraft#witch#spells#magick#my spells#grimoire#magic#protection spell#protection magic#witchblr#witches of tumblr#baby witch#protection magick#witch tips#beginner witch#spellwork#witchcraft 101
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