#i was lacking something that he really needed

[avelera]

So apparently, Fortiche shared concept art where Jayce's Hexcorization in the cave would extend all the way to his face:

And this is really interesting to me from a narrative perspective, here's why:

Much of S2 Jayce's arc is incredibly... punitive. Like, he is really being punished step by step for everything he did wrong in S1. From Renni terrorizing and almost killing him for the death of her son, to Viktor leaving him "for another woman" (the Hexcore as represented by Sky) much like Jayce left him for politics as represented by Mel, there's really a sense of the narrative not only tearing Jayce down to his bare essentials (something that's very common for TV writing to do, by the way, it's very common that you want to see characters reduced down to who they are for their "long night of the soul" moment before they learn the lessons of what they really stand for before going into the climax armed with those lessons), but Jayce's time in the cave really goes even further than that and not only does S2 take away his political career, his Hextech ambitions, his state as someone able-bodied, much of his strength, and certain other gifts, it looks like in this draft they considered taking away his beauty too.

I think it would have been interesting either way if they had, but I want to dive into the narrative structure of action and punishment in Arcane, why Hexcorizing Jayce's face might have been a step too far and not really addressed a lesson he needed to learn, and my thoughts on punitive character arcs in general in Arcane (or lack thereof), specifically with regards to Jayce and Caitlyn.

I've mentioned elsewhere that I always found it interesting that much of the hate directed towards Jayce by the fans was for his perceived incompetence in difficult moments, rather than at how naturally gifted he seems to be at everything.

When I first watched S1 on my own, I thought Jayce was a bit unbearable because everything comes so easily to him (after Viktor becomes his partner and Hextech takes off as a result, that is). He is naturally beautiful, he's built like a god but doesn't appear to do any sort of exercise routine to maintain this other than working in the forge, he becomes the Man of Progress and rockstar of Piltover pretty much without trying, girls are literally sighing dreamily as he goes by.

He's also naturally a genius, from what we see, revolutionizing multiple industries with one invention. Even his rescue as a child is a literal miracle and it spurs him to create an invention that makes him a rockstar. When he enters politics, he immediately dominates, to the point where he's able to get a unanimous vote to overthrow the founder of the city within weeks of going there. Even in battle he's naturally gifted and naturally lucky during the raid of the Shimmer factory (up until the death of Renni's son), even though he has no prior skills as far as we know. He also wins the love of arguably the most beautiful woman in the series, again, seemingly without trying.

Then, S2 doesn't just take all of this away from him, it seems to go a step further into actually punishing Jayce for how easy and miraculous his life was in S1.

I'm of two minds about the Hexcorization reaching his face, but I have a hypothesis. I think it would have looked fucking rad but, I kinda get why they didn't do it:

Because Jayce's good looks are not something he can control, unlike the other things the narrative punishes him for.

Insofar as he can control his looks, he gives up on the clean-cut, immaculate "Golden Boy" image. Even in the idealized astral plane, he keeps most of the marks of his time in the pit like his hair and beard. I think it's because Jayce likes who he became down there. The clean-cut version of him was always the mask of him trying to please others, Jayce's appearance after he emerges from the cave is him shedding the opinions of others (contrast this with how Viktor idealizes himself in the astral plane, removing all marks of his illness. This isn't a criticism, just an interesting point of contrast).

So basically, my theory is Fortiche may have pulled back on Hexcorizing Jayce's face on the one hand to soften the visuals a bit, but secondly because it keeps the focus on punishing Jayce for things he chose to do, rather than things he doesn't really have control over.

But make no mistake, the narrative comes down hard on Jayce in S2, for every little thing the fans could and often did hate him for in S1. He pays for all of them, arguably in excess of what he maybe deserved, since as he says he didn't ask for any of this. But he did go along with it, and there's where the hammer of consequence (quite literally) comes down on him, tears away all his privileges, drags him down to literally the level of Viktor when he first left the undercity and says, "You have to do it all again but now focused on what really matters, and it's going to be ten times harder than it ever was."

This, in my opinion, is why Jayce is so popular coming out of S2. It is a hell of an arc, it's a hell of a redemption! You gave the man everything any man could want, then you took it all away, and then as his crowning moment of showing he has truly learned these lessons and made up for his mistakes, he makes possibly the most loving gesture possible, puts his weapons down, and reaches out to the person he loves most and literally sacrifices himself on the altar of his mistakes to make things right and show Viktor he is loved, and to protect Viktor from the horrifically lonely fate of his future self. It doesn't get any more noble, loving, or self-sacrificing than that.

Because more than we like to see a character punished we like to see them learn from their mistakes and come back better. Jayce's S2 nobility is earned, perhaps even to excess, no one can question whether he suffered enough to make up for what he did in S1 but even the most uncharitable read of him in S1, his biggest hater, would have to agree his time spent starving to death in agony, alone in that cave for months, has got to be just about the worst punishment a human can face and live.

Which is one reason I must add that I find it a little puzzling that Arcane's creators didn't predict the hate that Caitlyn would get in S2.

Keep in mind, because this is very important, the Arcane creators did not make S2 in response to fan reactions to S1. S2 was already in production and the script was locked in and done before anyone outside their organizations saw S1. So nothing that happens in S2 is as a result of fan response.

But, the creators did understand that Jayce was going to need to suffer narrative punishment for what he did in S1 in order to be redeemed, whether they predicted how hated he would be after S1, they did predict that redemption would be necessary. And boy-howdy, did they give him a hell of a redemption arc!

But Caitlyn's S2 actions are almost in lock-step similar to Jayce's S1 actions, being manipulated (by a Medarda!) into accepting power, but maybe not having a choice in the matter, but still maybe expanding that power on their own because it is useful in its own right. Caitlyn also makes terrible mistakes. A child doesn't die but people in the undercity do get hurt during her rage-fuled raids, even if most of them are mob bosses and their goons. The narrative asks, does that make it right? Caitlyn like Jayce hurts the person closest to her who is from the undercity and uses bigoted language against the people of the undercity to Vi's face in much the same way that Jayce did to Viktor on the bridge, though in Jayce's defense, he apologized immediately after.

So, seeing how hated Jayce was coming out of S1, to the point where there's still barely any merchandise of him, I'm shaking my head rather ruefully that there was so much merch made for Caitlyn this time around. And I get it! Caitlyn and Vi were very popular after S1, they are intentionally THE main romance of the show and it was a very popular romance coming out of the innocence of their meet cute in S1.

But it's a romance that dearly needed a longer third act if you wanted Caitlyn to be as embraced after her mistakes as Jayce was after making up for his all through S2. You need to give her as long or at least as in-depth of a redemption act with as much suffering and acknowledgment of her mistakes if you want Vi and Caitlyn at the end to get celebrated the way Jayce making it up to Viktor is, because as much as I understand the choice to focus on pacing instead of exposition, and I do think Caitlyn's apology and realization of her mistakes are there on the page more than people complain, I do also agree that it is a bit "blink and you'll miss it" even if it's there. Jayce got a whole episode of being thrown into the Torment Nexus for his mistakes, real or imagined, if you didn't like him or his choices, you definitely got the sadistic glee of watching life kick the stuffing out of him for what he did in S1.

But besides her fight with Ambessa, which was a result of a confluence of many events in the story, not just Caitlyn's mistakes, Caitlyn doesn't really suffer much for the mistakes she made to those she loves. Her losing an eye to Ambessa didn't happen because she said bigoted things to Vi or became a short-term puppet dictator of Piltover. It was a result of Ambessa's actions and maneuvering more than it was a result of Caitlyn's personal mistakes to her loved ones.

In contrast, Jayce's time in the pit gave him the chance to reflect on and suffer for the the mistakes he made that led to the Anomaly that led to him being down in this pit, and what he would do to make it up to his loved ones like Viktor when he returned. Caitlyn never got a moment like that and from what I'm seeing of the vitriol directed towards her, so similar to what Jayce got after S1, it seems like she really needed it if we were going to like her to the same extent again, in a way uncomplicated by lingering questions about whether she ever truly learned the lessons her character needed to learn to grow as a person.

And it's just funny to me that a narrative that was so aware that this whole huge punishment arc was needed to rehabilitate Jayce wasn't aware that we'd need one for Caitlyn too, at least if they're going to move all that merch they made for her (please give us Jayce merch, Riot, I'm begging).

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 

Fucking Max Verstappen. 

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 

“Of course, baby.” 

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 

 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[ibreathebooks-42]

This reminds me how everyone is always bemused by the fact I take notes during HOA meetings

(when we manage to wrangle the cats they are enough to have one, but that is a different matter)

"But Steve is the secretary, he's taking the minutes, why would you need your own notes?!"

Well Bob, first of all I happen to think it is a good idea to have a reference of what I (or more importantly you Bob) said I'd do so I can look back at it later when writing up my todo list

Second of all, I love Steve, really I do, but his minutes tend to a) be lacking in the details and b) sometimes never actually get sent out to anyone before they get lost. So my copy of the meeting ends up being what people refer to when they are bewildered by the fact that something hasn't been fixed yet and are trying to figure out who was supposed to be responsible. (It was you Bob, you said you'd do it, I have the notes from the meeting plus the emails from me months later checking in on you to see if you'd done anything...)

And of course since apparently no-one else really understands record keeping, if I didn't take notes there would be no notes.

Someone at an old job asked why I wanted to write up the meeting minutes for our team and I said 'i wanna control the narrative' and they were like 'what' and I pointed out that no one was gonna remember what we said in six months and so my interpretation of the meeting would dictate the assumed reality of what happened

"none of you ever send corrections when I offer the draft so y'all have consented to my version"

"we don't read that shit"

"you must trust me implicitly to create our shared reality that's so sweet"

That's how several coworkers decided I was a supervillain and how I learned several coworkers didn't understand record keeping as like a CONCEPT

[vintagegeekculture]

Thom Christopher as Buck Rogers' brooding, loner, intense best friend and sidekick, Hawk of the Bird People (1979).

The character was created for the show's retooled second season, which was more Star Trek-like, about Buck leading a voyage to discover forgotten human colonies. Since Spock was a breakout character of Star Trek, it was felt something similar was needed for the series, with Buck Rogers having an alien best friend.

The Bird People were the race who built the Easter Island heads, which showed creator Glen Larson's fascination with von Daniken and Ancient Aliens, a concept he developed better with his other show, Battlestar Galactica.

I think he isn't better remembered because the slashfic writers of the era, who were growing obsessed with Blake's 7, along with the Luke/Leia and Han/Leia shipping wars, did not embrace him. This was possibly due to the lack of chemistry, friendship or otherwise, between Gil Gerard and Thom Christopher. It sounds like I'm trying to be funny, but I'm not....that's really the reason.

[leighsartworks216]

Darlin' I'm Right Here

Sylus x gn!Reader

I wrote this at like 3am last night and because I wrote this at 3am last night and then went down a rabbit hole of rereading fanfics, I did not get enough sleep to do any work

Anyway I just think it would be neat if Sylus could carry me around please and thank you

Title from "Butterfly's Repose" by Zabawa

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic fluff, caretaking, kissing, cuddling, undressing (and redressing), casual intimacy, established relationship, crying

Word Count: 1,659

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third Love and Deepspace Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus looks over as the door opens and quietly shuts again. He watches you, a silent observer, as you drop your stuff to the floor and push it aside with your foot. Your movements are sluggish as you pull off your winter coat and the sweatshirt underneath. A low sigh passes your lips as you work at undoing the knots in your boot laces - and that's when he comes over.

You see his shadow, feel his presence, and stand up straight once more. He tilts his head, brow furrowed slightly; you look so tired, so worn out, and moisture is collecting on your lower eyelids. Your pitiful sniff only confirms his suspicions.

He doesn't say anything as he kneels down by your feet. He unties the knots you struggled with moments ago, undoes the laces enough for your feet to slip out easily. You use his shoulder as support when he lifts one foot and slips your boot off, then the other. Both are set aside in a tray where they can continue drying off without dripping melted snow on the wood floors.

You watch him as though in a daze. He stands and your eyes follow, lacking their usual vibrancy and life. They only shine now because of the tears you hold back.

He bends down, gently guiding your arms around his neck. "Hold on, kitten," he orders softly. Your hands lock together behind his head. Your face finds its place tucked in his shoulder, tightly so as to block out the rest of the world around you. His hands hold the back of your thighs as he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He feels your breaths just as you feel his. Hears each shuddering inhale and shaky exhale beside his ear. He tilts his head to the side to rest upon yours, rubbing his cheek against your head affectionately. He hopes it really was just a bad day that is upsetting you so much. If he hears even a hint of a whisper that someone said or did something to his darling lover, he won't hesitate to deal with it, permanently.

Each step is a gentle sway, a soothing rocking. You feel like a child clinging to their parent, pretending to be asleep as they carry you to bed. You feel small, but not in a bad way. Small, yet protected. Secure. You cling a little tighter to him and he adjusts your hips higher against him to keep you there.

The villa you've practically claimed as a home is smaller than his usual estates, though still quite large considering only two people live here at any one time. It's much larger than your old apartment. At least here he can actually move around the kitchen comfortably and shower without needing to duck under the spray of the shower head.

He carries you through the familiar floor plan to your bedroom, and then further into the ensuite bathroom. He's immensely careful when he sets you down at last on the countertop beside the sink. Though, he doesn't pull away. Doesn't force you to, either. Instead, he holds your hip and massages at your lower back, giving you the time you need. There's no rush. There's never a rush with him.

With a small inhale to give you strength, you finally pull away. Tears make tracks down your cheeks. A wet spot stains his shirt. He brushes away the tears on one cheek, and kisses them away on the other.

"Do you want to take a shower, sweetie?" he asks. You shake your head. He kisses your cheek again warmly.

Instead of a shower, he reaches into a cabinet and pulls down a washcloth. One handed, he turns on the warm water and holds his fingers under the tap as he waits for it to get to the perfect temperature. The cloth's fabric turns dark once he holds it under the water, soaked through. He squeezes out the excess and turns off the tap, before brushing it gently over your cheeks.

You close your eyes and give in to his tender care. With no sound aside from a sniffle here and there, Sylus wipes away the sticky tear tracks. He soothes the cloth under your eyes, easing out the tension and tiredness with its warmth. You shiver involuntarily when the cloth touches your neck, lightly wetting your throat with enough pressure to avoid tickling you.

Once he's satisfied with his work, he sets the cloth on the side of the sink. His hands, warm and lightly damp, find your hips, then your thighs, wordlessly warning you just before he lifts you up once more.

He doesn't carry you far, just into the bedroom. He rests you at the end of the bed, your legs hanging off to the floor while the rest of your body is laid back against the plush bedding. He kisses your forehead as he gently coaxes your arms from around his neck. "Wait here."

You crack your eyes open to watch as he goes to your dresser. With familiarity, he pulls out a few things, chief among them two types of pants and two types of shirts. He carries them over and sets them on either side of you on the bed. He holds up the pants first.

"Which one?" In one hand is a pair of long pajama pants. In the other, a pair of shorts. You point lazily at one, and he sets them down.

Kneeling down by your feet once more, he removes your socks and your pants. Normally, on any other day, there would be a heat in his gaze. A dripping, dark lust in his eyes as they roam your legs up to your underwear. Now, there's not even a hint of such a thing. He looks at your legs in the same way he looks at his guns as he maintains them, with an undeniable presence of care and dedication, and the warmth of wanting to take care of you in the best ways he knows how. He always claims to be bad at comforting people, yet he finds the perfect ways to tend to you every time.

He slips the pants you chose on you, pulling them up along your legs. You don't even have to lift your hips up - he does so for you with a large hand under your lower back.

"Do you want your fuzzy socks?" He smiles when you nod. You're always so endearing to him. You've perfectly curled within his heart, laying claim to it as your own. Its beats change with your emotions and actions. Right now, it beats softly, but steadily, as your eyes follow him back to the dresser to retrieve a pair of your fuzzy socks and then watch as he slips them onto your feet. It will beat louder tomorrow, he’ll make sure of it.

He stands and lifts up the shirts. One is a baggy t-shirt you "stole" from him a while ago. ("Stole" because Sylus is not a man who often wears t-shirts. This particular shirt is one you bought for him and commanded him to wear for a couple of days leading up to your visit, whereupon you claimed it for yourself.) The other is a tank top. You choose which one you'd rather wear tonight and he sets them aside.

He playfully pulls you into a sit, tangling his fingers with yours and tugging you up to him. He leans down to kiss your head. Warm fingers brush your skin as he removes your shirt from today. It winds up in a pile with your pants and socks.

The shirt you chose is soon pulled over your head. Your arms are guided through just the same. He leans down to make sure it settles comfortably around your body, and you use the opportunity to draw your fingers lightly under his chin. All his focus is on you immediately.

He is completely pliant under your touch. You could do anything - have him do anything. He is at your whim.

With the barest pressure, you draw him in, meeting his lips in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips are always so soft and plush. They don't seek for more than you give, only taking what you decide to offer, without a hint of a complaint. When your fingers fall from his skin, he lightly pulls away, heavy-lidded eyes peeking open to search your face for answers, to know what you want. One more kiss, and one more, before you're satisfied. He pulls away.

Your dirty clothes are dropped into the hamper. The clothes you didn't choose are left on top of your dresser to be put away later. He goes to place you in bed properly, but is stopped by your slight frown and the flicker of your eyes over his clothes. He grins. He can feel your eyes on him as he changes his own clothes, trading them in for some sweatpants that rest low on his hips and a tank top that shows off his arms. You're smiling contentedly when he approaches this time.

He lifts you up, but does not set you down again. Instead, he slips into bed with you in his arms, holding you close as he ensures you're comfortable. Not that you complain; you keep him trapped there with the way your legs hug him and with your head tucked under his chin. He rubs up and down your back with one hand. The other holds your hand over his heart.

The day that upset you feels lightyears away as your body relaxes against Sylus's. The cold and snow outside don't exist as he kisses your head and stops rubbing your back in favor of massaging the back of your neck. No concerns for tomorrow. No worries about what will come next. Just the gentle coaxing of his breaths, luring you into a much needed nap.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one

[revelboo]

Queen Revel i am ON MY KNEES begging for the next part of point of extinction because HOLY SHIT DUDE HE JUST WHIPS IT OUT????

He’s just trying to help in his awkward, unsettling way. 18+

Point of Extinction Pt 13

Shockwave x Reader

• You’re averting your eyes still, face reddening. “You find my lack of experience undesirable?” He’s always been quick to pick up new skills. This will be no different. And he can’t deny some purely unscientific curiosity about it. “I would be amenable to allowing you to take the lead while I gather experience.” How would those soft hands feel on him? Tracing ridges and dipping into seams. Wants to know. This is supposed to be about you, tending to your needs, not his. Wanting this isn’t logical, but that doesn’t change that he does.

• And he just keeps making this worse somehow. Risking a look and finding him just staring at you, his one hand gripping that weapon of mass destruction between his thighs and idly touching himself. The shape’s familiar enough, if the ridges and nodes are a bit Giger-esque and pulsing with ruddy biolights that draw your eyes against your will. Forcing yourself to look anywhere but at that, he’s still doing his creepy stare, antenna back. And stroking himself. “That’s a really… flattering offer,” you manage. Stop looking at it. Stop. Dammit. “Could you not do that?” It’s too distracting.

• Letting go of his spike he approaches you and your eyes dip to his bobbing spike then pointedly back up to his single optic. “Might I suggest mutual exploration to ease Thirteen’s uncertainty?” Gently catching your hand and you allow him to guide it to his spike. And your face somehow goes even redder. Shuddering at the feel of your soft palm on him. Lifting his hand and pleased when you don’t immediately snatch yours back when he cups your cheek, servos sliding against you. Thumb sliding over your bottom lip. Another mech would kiss you, but he can’t. “You can have control of this encounter.”

• Know you should get some space between you. Definitely not stroke your fingers along the ridges of his spike, thumb sliding over the head, feeling a bead of slick there. Startling when his helm gently bumps your forehead, that optic bathing your face in red light. It’s not exactly romantic, but you’re pretty sure you’d be worried if he was trying to be romantic. He’s awkward and creepy and more than a little bit messed up. “How much control?” You ask despite yourself.

• Optic brightening, his hips rock when you slide your thumb over the tip of his spike again. It’s difficult to ease himself down without just falling, but he manages and growls when your fingers slip free of him. “Familiarize yourself as necessary. I’m open to instruction.” Holding out a hand to you and waiting while you stare down at him and for a moment that dissonance swamps him. A memory of someone else standing over him, staring down at him with cold calculation. Smiling. A stranger’s memory.

• You’re not doing this. Right? He’s just staring at you, helm tipped up and his hand outstretched. Trying your damnedest to not look at his spike. Mutual pleasure. “You’re not going to lay eggs in me or anything right?” And those antenna go back in offense. You’ll take that as a no. Maybe you’re a tiny bit tempted and he’d mentioned being inexperienced. Popping his alien cherry shouldn’t be appealing. “And you’re not going to move unless I say you can?”

• “If that’s what you require.” Head tipping he waits. And you’re so small even with him mass displaced. Maybe that’s the issue? His size? And he freezes as it sinks in how illogical this all is. That he shouldn’t actually want this. Shouldn’t care about your well being. That he’s made a series of illogical decisions since he’d first interacted with you. And those phantom memories are worse since he began interacting with you, lifting through him suddenly to leave him disoriented. The logical thing to do would be to rid himself of you, but he knows that he won’t. He can’t.

• Something’s very wrong with you for even considering this. Is this just a new experiment to him? A test to see what you’ll do? Or does he actually think he’s taking care of your needs? And you’re not actually considering it, are you? Can admit you’re a tiny bit curious, but it’s the sort of horrified curiosity you’d have for a bit of particularly awful gossip. “Why do you want to take care of me?” Resisting the urge to make air quotes as you focus on his optic since it’s safer than the intimidating jut of his spike. Unable to ask why you’d been spared ending up like the deer. And those antenna go back again.

• Staring up at you, he can’t answer, because he isn’t sure. Doesn’t know why he’d culled you from his experiments. Why the idea of harming you makes him so uncomfortable. Is it only loneliness? That you’re someone to talk to even if the conversations are stilted? Fixating on you now even when he’s working in his lab. Experiments that never bothered him before now making him hesitate simply because you wouldn’t like them. Because they’d upset you. “I’m responsible for your well-being and health,” he says, watching your expression twist. Unhappy with that answer. “And because I desire to be the one to tend to you.” He shouldn’t, but he does. Maybe your illogical, emotional humanity is rubbing off on him. Infecting him.

• There’s something perverse about even considering this. This whole time you’ve been powerless to his whims and he’s giving you permission to take control. To give him orders that he claims he’ll listen to. Yeah, there’s something very wrong with you. “Can I touch you wherever?” He’s closer to your size this way and you doubt you’re going to get another opportunity like this. Want to take advantage before your common sense and survival instincts kick back in. Not waiting for his answer as you reach to cup his head in your hands, biting your bottom lip as you toy with his bunny ears as you think of them. Watching those antenna flick at your touch. And he allows it, keeping still as you gently run your fingertips over the plating of his helm, smiling when bits lift or shift at your touch like they’re sensitive.

Previous

[derangedroyalfae]

My mom is a-political, but even she’s scared.

She’s less scared of what the government will do, and more so of the mob mentality. Especially since history shows that someone doesn’t have to be the actual thing that’s being fear mongered, as long as they’re adjacent enough. Like when US thew people they thought were Japanese into camps during WWII. The amount of people who have been racist to some of my Mexican relations and family, but on the basis of assuming they were Indian. The amount of cis women who have been harassed for being mistaken as trans women. And so on.

My father is an American citizen born overseas (his mother is from that country, but his father was an American stationed there when they met), but he doesn’t really have his papers, just his passport. What’s to say that isn’t enough for someone like a cop who is checking his details to think he’s an immigrant? And the fact that he’s fallen down a conservative pipeline and apparently is echoing the words of these people. My mom keeps saying how she doesn’t recognise him anymore.

She’s terrified for my wellbeing. Medically transitioning and dating multiple partners (currently only women, but primarily trans women).

We live in a blue state, but in a rather red area that keeps getting more and more a deep crimson.

One of my girlfriends who is a trans woman actually works and lives in areas well known for being blue. That didn’t stop someone verbally assaulting her at a gas station the very same day Trump was announced winner (fortunately, the clerk at the station ran to her rescue, otherwise I fear that it could have escalated).

When the election first happened and people were saying things like “if you voted for Trump, block me/you’re blocked” etc etc, I came up with something I felt matched with how I was feeling:

If you voted for Trump, you’re not invited to my funeral.

A vote for Trump was a vote to enable people who want to cause harm to people like me as well as other minorities of all shapes and sizes to give into their aggression and cause a rise of hate crime. A vote for Trump was a vote to remove protections for minorities, to remove aid for those with disabilities or the like, practically setting them up for their death sentence. A vote for Trump was a vote to making people, especially people who were already vulnerable, a step closer to their own grave. I feel like it’s fair that I wouldn’t want those who helped enable my death - should I die from a hate crime or inability to take care of myself with lack of aid for my disabilities (should they get worse that I need it) - to be at my funeral when they were partly the cause for it.

If you voted for Trump, you’re not invited to my funeral.

elon musk did a nazi salute twice at the inauguration, and republicans are defending him.

trump revoked executive order 11246, which prohibited discrimination.

trump put all dei employees on leave to be fired.

trump banned all lgbtq+ flags from being hung in government buildings.

trump rolled back biden’s executive order to lower prescription drug costs for people using medicare and medicaid.

trump rescinded the $35 cap on insulin, and prices are expected to rise to $1500 a month.

trump ordered the national institutes of health to cancel their review panels on cancer research.

trump ended the guidelines to prevent ai misuse. the guidelines prevent many things, but notably it prevents production of ai child pornography.

when sean hannity asked trump about the economy, he said “i don’t care”, after campaigning with the economy as his main talking point.

trump has withdrawn the us from the world health organization.

trump is ordering health agencies to stop reporting on bird flu and halt publications of scientific reports.

trump has pardoned over 1500 people who stormed the capitol on january 6th.

trump changed mount denali back to mount mckinley.

trump signed an executive order to rename the gulf of mexico to gulf of america.

trump shut down cbp one, an app which granted legal entry to 1 million+ immigrants.

trump is allowing ice raids at churches and elementary schools.

trump announced plans to declare a national emergency at the us-mexico border.

trump signed an executive order to expand the use of the death penalty.

trump disbanded the school safety board that works to prevent school shootings. it was comprised of survivors, educators, and gun violence prevention advocates and formed after the school shooting in parkland.

trump withdrew from the paris climate act.

trump revoked all protections for transgender troops in the us military.

trump rescinded executive orders made by biden that benefited and protected women, lgbtq+ people, black americans, hispanic americans, asian americans, native hawaiians, and pacific islanders.

trump is attempting to make it legal to refuse to hire or fire pregnant women.

multiple state legislators are drafting bills to allow the punishment for abortion to be the death penalty.

trump pardoned 23 individuals convicted under the freedom of access to clinic entrances (FACE) act for their anti-abortion activism, including oftentimes violent protests at abortion clinics.

trump signed an executive order allowing deportation of foreign students who they believe express support for hamas or hezbollah.

trump announced that the us government will from here on out only recognize male and female as sexes. intersex is not legally recognized anymore.

trump refused to swear on the bible during his inauguration. (i’ve gotten some comments about this specific point. i didn’t include it because i’m christian, because i’m not. i’m agnostic. i included it because he’s the first president in history to refuse to swear on ANYTHING, bible or not. in the bible it teaches that the only person who cannot touch the bible is the antichrist, yet that on TOP of everything else will never convince his followers that he’s unfit.)

andy ogles drafted a constitutional amendment to allow trump to be president for a third term.

georgia republican congressman mike collins called for the deportation of new jersey born mariann budde, the bishop who urged trump to “have mercy” on the lgbtq+ community and immigrants during a service at the national cathedral.

six states (arizona, idaho, iowa, kansas, mississippi, and north dakota) are planning on challenging obergefell v. hodges, which would end same-sex marriage nationwide. about a dozen more states have representatives who are also considering filing similar resolutions.

amazon revoked protections for lgbtq+ and black employees.

every single republican told us we were overreacting. trump swore he had nothing to do with project 2025 yet continues implementing details outlined in it. not a single person has the right to tell us we’re being dramatic anymore.

hope “cheaper eggs and gas” was worth it.

[isuggestforcefem]

Forcefem February story: Nicole saves Ethan

Part one - Nicole

It began as it usually did. Nicole, a poor helpless orphaned young woman, with a story to make the most stoic of men sob, and such a great excuse for her to join the town. The town's eldest was wary of her. He knew, she thought. Or at least, he suspected something. Nevertheless. That wouldn't stop her. This wasn't her first, anymore. Nicole knew how to handle herself. Keep herself en guarde.

It did make her job less fun, though. She had barely any respite, needed a consistent story and a consistent character, every moment of her waking day. And she couldn't work at night, lest they see the light of her room.

Angela had been very lovely, on this part. The old woman had allowed Nicole to stay in her ex-husband's study, as it hadn't been used in years. Angela had lost him, she would say, on the lonely nights. He had walked out one day, and never came back. Taken by the night, she would say. Nicole wondered if she knew, too. She wondered if the creaks of wood she heard from behind her door were Angela, watching her, spying her.

All that to say it really wasn't a fun time. She yearned for the plan to enter motion. It had already been a month! Usually, she could have had cleared step one in a week, at most, but clearly, Diana's choice of town still lacked. She'd have to talk about it with her, once she was back. Even though Diana was her best friend and most trusted ally at the Academy, she still lacked a lot of technical skills. Maybe that was why the administration still refused her application for solo missions. "I ought to help Diana out", Nicole thought to herself. Her friend was her senior in experience and yet Nicole risked graduating before her.

Nicole approached the mirror. She was still as beautiful as ever. Surely, this face would be enough to sway most hearts. Her hair was undone. She grabbed her hairpin, held a strand of hair, and clipped it onto her hair. Suddenly, a swirl of magic took control of the brunette's hair, assembled it in a neat ponytail. She messed with it a little bit. Better not make it look too neatly woven. She had an image to keep up. She grabbed her dress, Angela had washed it for her. What a treasure of a woman. She almost felt guilty to betray her trust in this way. But then again, she always did. It never stopped her.

Going down the stairs, Nicole yelled "I'm ready!". Angela's brother had asked for a helping hand. It did upset her plans,, but she had to keep up appearances until the end. She could still do it tonight. She would do it tonight. She had faith.

The day seemed to never end. She had been gathering herbs for hours by now, but still Angela's brother showed no sign of going back home. At least the sun was still high. Finally, the man spoke to her. "I think we're done for today, you can go back." "Oh thanks," she said, without a trace of emotion in her voice. Finally, speaking her soul.

This place was boring. The local pub served frankly disappointing alcohols, and was only inhabited by things that were more of the decaying corpse than they were of the person. The town's center was usually occupied by a group of gangsters - guards - that looked at her like she was a piece of meat. Whatever. This would soon be over.

There he was, her target. A boy named Ethan. He had little presence, few friends. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would care.

She would.

He had short black hair, wore a white shirt and brown pants. She had seen boys like him by the dozen, and all of them had became beautiful, happy girls. He would follow.

"Hi," Nicole exclaimed brightly, with a little wave, "I'm here early! -Nicole! Hello, I am glad to see you. -I have a gift for you!" Saying this, Nicole reached for her bag's contents. There was a choice to be made; four rings from which to decide the step to take.

[et6rnalsun]

I NEED A GANGSTA

your boyfriend was like a crazy spring. he couldn't sit still, a sense of uneasiness surrounded him as he continually checked himself; under his shirt, under the waistband of his jeans, everywhere. as if he was looking for something he couldn't do without.

you huffed, crossing your arms as you leaned back in your seat, waiting impatiently for him to finally start the engine and at least go somewhere. “damn, rafe, what are you lookin’ for?” you couldn’t help but ask with as you leaned closer, tilting your head to take in his expression better. his eyes rose to meet yours, and he huffed as he ran a hand through his greasy, messy bangs. “think i forgot somethin’” he muttered, patting his pockets one last time.

“what?” you raised an eyebrow, your tone curious, a hand pressed to his arm. with a dismissive wave of his hand, he moved to start the car, but you stopped him by kneeling on the seat—blocking his hands with yours, even if smaller. “c’mon, tell me,” you whined, frowning. “what could this be? a gift for another bitch, huh?” your drama was never lacking, and in response rafe gave you a shit-eating smirk, licking his lips as his head leaned back.

“i forgot my gun,” he said, his lips moving slowly. “happy now? i didn’t tell you so you couldn’t say shit like how much i need to stop carryin’ it around, baby,” and it was the truth. you often insisted on lecturing him about how you didn’t like the fact that he had a gun right under his shirt, something he would surely and willingly hurt a potential disturber with, right before your sensitive eyes.

to that, your mouth formed a small ‘o’, as if the answer was more obvious than expected. you subsequently freed his hands, moving to take your (heavier than usual) purse and open it with a small giggle. to his utterly damned surprise, you pulled out his gun with casualness, showing it to him. you could barely hold it up properly, your manicured fingers contrasting the violent nature of the object. “i saw it on your bed and thought i’d take it,” you explained innocently, before it was urgently snatched from your hands.

“you must be crazy?” he spat out absentmindedly, checking to see if the gun was on safety. “you could have hurt yourself” rafe sighed, shaking his head in resignation.

“but it didn’t happen” you pouted a little, wrapping your arms around his neck. “come on, baby, I did it for you. appreciate it” your sweet voice was close to his ear as your glossy lips pressed against his cheek in many sticky kisses, making him roll his eyes and place the weapon back where it belonged. “i’m appreciatin’ it” he teased, a hand on your waist and the other finally turning the car key.

who would have thought you'd really keep his gun in the same bag as your $50 lip gloss, mirror, and perfume?

[cybrheartheart]

OMFG, this is soooo important. I didn't have this; my family didn't do anything together except watch TV because my dad was retired and just needed to rest after his weary years of life. And my egg donor was never there in my life. I never learned crap from her because she was never there.

I learned more from my teachers and neighbors than anyone else, and once I got too old, they didn't want anything to do with me because I wasn't theirs and I had trauma that no one wanted to deal with, because I wasn't theirs.

I have a deep encompassing black hole in my life because of this lack of empathy for someone who just needed someone to be there for me...someone to actually be there and teach me hands on. Please be there for the next generations to come, because they won't have the systematic support that children who fall in the cracks have had when we were growing up, and even the little amount of support we have left these days in the US.

Be there for your children, or be there for those children who are not yours...be they your grandchild, nibling, neighbor kid, or students. Be a safe space, a safe harbor for their lives, and be the example I've never had in my life.

Create life in this time of destruction and harm that will be ahead...and know, we have each other, we have community, we have support, if we're able and willing to create it, even for those kids who seem weird, do weird things, and just embarrass and humiliate themselves because they just can't help it...since they're doing it because they haven't been taught the right way to do it in a way that will help them learn.

Teach why it is important for them to cook, to clean, to take care of themselves, to bathe and shower and clean areas that no one will talk about (hands off, of course), give them your silence so their voice can be heard, give them a place where they won't be looked at with judgement. Give them a loving manner without conditions. Allow them to talk about things that spew out of their minds, random things that no one else will talk about, and give them the opportunity to live without groomers opening them up to abuse.

When children are clean slates, they are open to abuse, to inappropriate touching, to violence, to malicious control, to brainwashing (gaslighting, negging, etc.), to abduction, to kidnapping, to illicit drugs*, and so much more.

Fill your children to the brim with your presence, with your time, with your attention, with your energy, otherwise someone else will fill them up with something worse, trauma, pain, suffering, emotional or psychological torture, and will resent you in their teens and into adulthood.

Don't get me wrong, my dad was always there, but that doesn't mean people were not able to get to me. He invited family and friends into the home all the time to spend time with me, to give me the parental figure I didn't have, but it didn't satisfy because they were never there but to see him and I was an afterthought. And thought he was there, he had people to keep me company and that one person abused me while he wasn't there, and he never knew, he never would have allowed me to stay with them during his heart attack.

One week of my life that damaged me beyond repair and forced me into a position to tell no one. I had no one to trust, had no one's attention, no one to understand with a look that something was wrong with me and I didn't want to go anywhere with this person. I was isolated and it traumatized me for life, and it's hard for me to trust anymore. I can trust mentally, but my body will not allow me to trust, my psychology will not allow me to trust, and it is hardest to reach out when I really needed someone, because I didn't have anyone who was willing to give me a safe space, a safe harbor.

Give children the chance to trust you. Trust is earned, not forced on others. Give them safety, security, and protection...even if they don't have that at home, school, or other places. Give them yours. Always. Choose them. Always.

*And as a side note, since illicit drugs are a lot of the time these days laced with fentanyl. Illicit drugs will most often not just be addictive, but be more often than in the past, lethal. Hospitals use patches to administer fentanyl because lethal doses are so miniscule. When it comes down it the addition of fentanyl leads to instant death. And a lot of the time, you don't know what illicit drugs are cut with, baby powder, heroin, cocaine, rat poison...but fentanyl is a game changer entirely.

Someday your hands will be old and wrinkled, the skin spotted and bunching over your knuckles. And a child will watch you make something. It's a simple task, you'll have done it a thousand times before. But to that child, the smooth, confident way your hands move will seem like impossible magic. You have to keep living.

[shysuccubusstuff]

L&DS LI are for those that... pt. 2:

Content: Gender neutral reader + Non proof-reader.

Note: I'm so glad that those that read pt. 1 saw themselves reflected on what I hc!! Thanks for reading as always, it makes me so happy to be able to read and respond to the comments, wish I was able to respond to those that repost as well... Something that I find interesting is that the people that like people like Zayne or Sylus are quite similar, at least in my opinion! I feel that the part of Caleb still lacks a bit of knowledge about him, but bear with me while I try to get to understand him better. Please let me know if I messed up big time with Caleb...

Sylus:

Sylus is for those that have spent their whole lives misunderstood. The ones that have always been seen as if they were the problem, always being left alone because of their tough/mean exterior. He is for those that have always been avoided even if they are one of the kindest people to walk on Earth. For those that have been cast away because of something that escapes their own control. He is for those that despite their harsh experiences due to their outer appearance still remain kind, fighting in the dark to prove (they aren't sure if to themselves or to society) that the exterior is nothing more than a façade, something that has no real value when it comes to loving.

Sylus is for those that have been always alone. The ones that either became accustomed or forced to do everything by themselves, the ones that were seen as people "mature" for their age. The ones that were praised for being such a good behaving child, even if this was merely a constant fear of being seen as useless or too naïve for their own well-being. Sylus is for those that have always dreamt about having someone that is always for them, the ones that enjoy having their own time alone but hate the feeling of loneliness. Sylus is for those that despite being aware of their own capabilities, need someone that is there, someone who reassures them that they are indeed able to do that and much more, even if they may fail on their first attempt.

Sylus is for those that hate lies. The ones that have always been feeling as if they are missing out on something, even if they aren't really aware of what it actually is. He is for those that have always felt as if people keep stuff away from them, because how are they supposed to trust someone that is constantly hiding vital information from them? Being able to find someone like Sylus, a person that despite having their fair share of secrets, have never tried for a second to lie to them about who they truly are and their likes and dislikes. Someone who will never make them question their true intention behind their actions, someone who will make sure to reassure them, answering to every single question that their lover may think of. Sylus' voice remaining calm and collected as they explain once, twice or as many times as they need just to make sure that their loved one is sure of his love.

Sylus is for those that live for the trope of enemies to lovers. Those that have always yearn for someone that wil love them even after seeing their worst. The ones that have been dreaming about that slow burn love, the one that despite beginning with harsh words and mean looks soon melts into the purest love, one that is born not just from love, but the feeling of pure admiration for the other. At the same time, Sylus is for those that kept fawning over the bad boys in novels and games, the ones that were always seen misbehaving in class, skipping school every single day, you know the drill. That is of course until they meet the main protagonist, the only one who is able to turn them into a better person while still maintaining that care free nature. This ties with how Sylus is for those that feel suffocated within their daily life, the ones that keep imagining themselves running away from all your responsibilities (even if it's just for a single night).

Caleb:

Caleb is for those that have always yearn for someone to protect them. He is for those that have always been forced to protect themselves, growing claws and fangs just to keep their own selves from being hurt. Caleb is for those that constantly craved for someone that would protect them, the ones that had to endure all kinds of hardships since a young age.

Caleb is for those that love hard, the ones that instead of letting go when they get hurt, choose to bite harder, deciding to sink their teeth deeper into the ones they love. After all, that's the only way you have ever learnt to love, choosing to stick to the ones that may hurt them, even if they are aware of just how damaging this is. Caleb is for those that love like dogs, tail wagging towards those that they love, even if they have hurt them before.

Caleb is for those whose love language is acts of service. The ones that pay close attention to what their loved one likes or dislikes. He is for those that love doing things for the others, making sure to listen to their every word just to make sure that they got everything right. Caleb is the one for those that have grown tired of being ignored, the ones that felt unseen, as even as they tried to let those close to them see their inner world, they simply chose to remain blind. Caleb is for those that always dreamt about being listened to, the ones that love speaking about their interests just as much as they love hearing about their lover's.

Caleb is for those that loved the yandere archetype. The ones that loved having someone head over heels for them, even to the point of causing pain, it doesn't matter if it's to him or to someone else, he is ready to risk it all. You know this may sound twisted, but how could you make someone understand just how much you needed to feel it. That desperation, the hunger... Caleb is for those that need their lover to prove just how much they love them, just how much they are ready to give up just to keep you. Caleb is for those that have lived in a constant state of unstability, the ones that have always feared waking up from that sweet dream of being loved. Caleb is for those that only know how to love too much.

[sevastiel]

Behold ye, my Protoframe oc, Darius.

(Ft @doggojin and @thatfluffyboi's Chanho n Sol, they make an delightful trio tbh)

Some extra deets (lots of notes on him be warned) post cut! :)

Separated into physical and psychological/lore.

Physical notes :

Spanish-Mediterranean, mid-to-late twenties, looms at a ridiculous 6'6" (200 cm I believe? around there.) but is normally hovering an inch or two off the ground. Thankfully, he's gotten into the habit of tucking his legs in a bit so he doesn't hit every single doorframe that he passes through. He lost his left leg from the knee down due to an unfortunate incident with a landmine, and had a prosthetic for several years before the techrot.

Darius's body is made up of connected pieces held together by sentient energy, and all of his organs have either been replaced by the techrot-sentient hybrid growths, or are no longer necessary and have been removed. He currently lacks the entirety of a regular digestive tract as we would know it, and subsists mostly on energy. However, should he require physical mass for either rebuilding/modifying himself, or creating other sentients, he can 'eat' by putting materials in his mouth, pulling his bodily pieces together, and allowing the techrot systems to dissolve things into more workable particles, or pushing things between separated segments of his body (usually his chest) and letting the sentient bits pick things apart and feed them to the rot for storage. (This takes longer and is less effective at energy conservation) Extra notes on this later when we discuss his abilities.

The connective energy between segments is manifested in string-like bundles of force, which are manipulatable and can be 'touched', though unless he's focusing on keeping his energy properly contained you will likely get a light zap, and with prolonged touch you'll likely be able to feel them hum with power. They normally have about the same tactile strength as woven spiderwebbing of the same thickness, stretching easily but ultimately severable with either enough effort or something sharp. Should you sever all the connections, the piece will just fall off. Removed pieces aren't controllable by him any longer, but are re-attachable, and although he's got a body plan that his form defaults to, every single bit of him is entirely modular except for his cranium. Removing his jaw takes some effort, as there are technically still segments of flesh (his lips, basically) holding it on, but it is possible. If he really puts his mind to it, though, he can remove a segment, and maintain the links through mental focus, or by tethering them to something that he/they can feed off of. Through this, he can make replacement limbs for others, or additional armor, given they've got the bio-energy to keep the segments active.

Bodily segments are almost entirely made of toughened armor plating, with the majority of flexibility being located on the twin pieces that make up his chest/torso, as this is also where the majority of the techrot based organs lie. Although he does need to breathe, each segment intakes oxygen individually, through the softer and more porous dark insides. He has full sensation in any piece of him that he's linked to, as the energy connections serve as a nervous system, and can 'digest' pieces if he's in desperate need of energy/materials in a pinch.

Being modular, he can, in the same way he summons other sentients, simply craft himself differing body parts whenever he so pleases. The larger the piece, the more effort/thought it takes, since it requires a greater complexity of systems for nutrient, oxygen, and waste management. Due to his own lack of knowledge, he doesn't manifest any replacements larger than his own legs, and would rather just spit out a patch and slap it onto injured areas and let the techrot do its thing. This is why his 'armor' looks less dramatic compared to actual caliban, because why the hell would he want that much weight throwing him off balance? He'll accept the techrot/sentient's desires and keep his form adjacent to it, though.

Ability wise, he's functionally pretty similar to a vampire. While he technically could subsist entirely off of regular food, it would require a lot of time and careful dieting to gather the proper resources his body needs, and his energy levels would be rather constantly low. So, instead, he just eats as much techrot as he can and prays for the best, or drinks directly from power generators when he can get away with it, or anything similar. Pure energy as a baseline keeps all his sentient systems running, and metals/proteins allow his techrot systems to keep going. Thankfully for him, he's got two boyfriends who are both quite energetic, and really don't mind his needs as much as they should.

Manifesting sentient fighters usually happens in the same way as he manifests new pieces of himself, but with the added caveat that they don't need functional internal systems for long term usage, and he can charge them up with his own power to keep them running as long as he needs. This is obviously extremely resource intensive, but if it keeps those he cares about safe, (and since it appeases the eternal need to consume and create and consume and create and consume and create) he'll do whatever he must.

Due to all of the above, he prefers particularly tight or comfortable clothing,, as it helps mitigate the changes that happen depending on his energy levels. The less he's got, the looser his pieces, and things will just fall off if he's dead tired (lol). So... Avoiding that is nice. Additionally, although he needs his chest cavity within reach for making sentients at a quick notice, he does like looking in the mirror and not seeing his own body immediately as so blatantly inhuman and monstrous. The straps he uses for his military harness are half to hold things and half to straight up just keep himself together. The mask is for keeping his eyes clear of gore while he's in the middle of shit, because that was a severe issue beforehand. Take a bite, get blinded bc there was more fluid than you expected, have to panic and try and fix that mid combat, leaving you even worse off than you were previously? No thanks.

--

Psycological notes and lore:

Before Entrati got his hands on him, he was a well respected mediator that worked on communications for the ICR, and worked directly with the Hollvanian government and its military to allow for the ICR to remain in the city.

Coming from a well off and well expecting background, from a young age he was put through his paces and taught to be the finest edition of a modern renaissance man, giving him very little time to do anything but his studies, and very little affection from anything but perfection. Even then, kinda mid. As such, he is a well mannered and well spoken fellow with a deeply repressed childish nature that only ever comes out at the worst possible times amidst the best possible company.

Having been tailor-made for communications work, he was also ensured a healthy dose in very many other skills that might come up from time to time while traveling. (Including, but not limited to, sewing (which he hates), cooking (which he has extremely low patience for), midwifery (which thank god hasn't come up yet), medical triage (unfortunately has), general electrical and mechanical knowledge (much better for him now than it was before), a few languages, and so forth. Post becoming a protoframe, much of his knowledge has degraded due to the changes required for his brain to be able to control his bio-energy, leaving him constantly irritated when faced with a challenge that he knows DAMN well how to deal with, but cant remember specifics on.

He deals with irritation and anger very expressly, not one for subtlety or sarcasm when it comes to his displeasure. This man will Not be the one making snide jabs across the table, he would instead pull you aside privately and explain quite logically the behaviors he's disliking and see if either an agreement can be reached or if another specialist should be put forth. A trait learned from his parents, no doubt, but also one that helps considerably when it comes to governmental relations and respect.

All of his emotions are generally delt with highly logically, which, when it comes to more positive or soft feelings, gets very awkward and confusing for him very fast. One might find have found him before sitting on a bench, staring up at the falling leaves. If you asked him what he was thinking about, he'd respond that he's trying to comprehend why exactly he should be feeling happy about witnessing something so mundane. He wouldn't leave, of course, he'd still watch, but there will always be a part of him that shies away from emotions as a whole. All the sweeter, imo, when he really starts feeling and letting himself feel. Love is a strange thing, isn't it?

During his time in Hollvania, he got infected through volunteer work, doing his best to actually be helpful past the eternal red-tape. He hid it for as long as he could, taking extra care to frequently wash, scrub down, and then properly bandage and ointment up the affected bits of his arms so he wouldn't risk spreading anything, but it didn't do much for him at all. He was needed to maintain good relations, often running intermediary briefing dialogues to keep both sides as up to date as possible on the ICR's doings, so duty really did pull him in half. (haha) As the rot progressed and claimed more of his body, leaving him weaker and more frequently ill, it was less and less ethically feasible for him to keep working, despite it more or less being the only thing he really knew how to do, and there being very few people who could replace him. If he wasn't doing something, if he wasn't being productive, solving problems, keeping people happy, then what was he?

And then he heard of a man with a miracle cure, our good old Doktor Friday, and the fact that it worked. Naturally, Darius paid him a visit, already having used his infected status as an excuse to let him do a bit more hands on assistance wherever he could. And Entrati indeed did give him a cure, listening and nodding along to all the reasons Darius gave as to why he would likely be a good test subject, especially if it meant that if it worked, Darius would be in an excellent position to grant Albrecht significant funding for expanding his cures to the greater populous, who needed them desperately.

Well, it sure didn't fucking do much, did it, leaving him visually better, but when word got out that the others who'd taken the cure had become super-spreaders, you bet your ass he started panicking immediately. He'd been in rooms for extended periods of time with everyone in command, just his presence might have been enough to entirely destabilize the local government, or absolutely gut the ICR. So, once more, he claimed a stomach illness to take some time off. This was a very big problem, so back he went, livid as all hell, to hunt down Entrati.

He got the whole spiel about unforeseen mutations within the techrot responding strangely, and although he didn't believe it, he already had nothing left to lose. He wasn't a soldier, sure, he had training in fencing, could handle a gun, but he couldn't help like the others could, and he could not go back to the one thing he'd been set up all his life to be. And Entrati had a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he said that there might be something that he could do, but it would take time, and multiple tests, to be able to make it all work. There was another strain Dr E was experimenting with that, as he was shown samples and heard the explanations, seemed to be able to nullify the techrot almost entirely. (It was actually just subsuming it, but visually, the two outcomes were nearly identical.)

So he said yes. Like a fucking idiot.

The initial dose laced him with the helminth strain, preparing his body, granting him strength, even though it hurt so very much, the pain leaving him borderline insensate, unable to do anything but lay there and cry as he felt his very flesh twisting and saw Entrati approach with the second dose after a few hours.

Number two was a low dose of the sentient strain, modified, following Caliban's biological approach, and the reaction between the two was violent, techrot subsumed with a rapid hunger and made to serve a new master. Darius's body quite literally began tearing at the seams, and Entrati took his time with the process, utilizing several more small injections, so he wouldn't die of pure blood loss.

When all was said and done, his twisted body was held together by a scant few threads of power, and he was very much unconscious, having fallen into a coma that would last multiple days, fed with an occasional battery set into the new cavity within his chest.

Wisely, Entrati was not there when he awoke, starving, terrified, and in great pain. All he could focus on was the hunger, that pulsating desire that screamed at him to consume, create, consume, create, consume, create, his human mind utterly overwhelmed by the twin techrot and sentient desires. It took him some time to figure out how to move again, much less walk, and the hunger only got worse by the second.

When the Hex found him, they came across a crying, shattered man, tearing into mounds of freshly killed techrot with his bare hands, stuffing wires and flesh alike into his mouth with an inhuman voracity. He was guarded by bizarre automatons, whos' origin was quickly made apparent by him reaching into that glowing gash that bisected his entire body and pulling out another, his own form splitting and reshaping as he dragged it free.

It took quite some time for him to regain his humanity. Quite some time to mediate the new desires of his reformed body with his own. The urges have not left him, but at least he's got a choice, now.

Prince of both worlds indeed.

[spurbleu]

where the aster grows

ch.1 bookmarks neighbor!price x fem florist!reader

The sky wears blue to your grandmother’s funeral

Memories of yesterday’s rain remain as dew on the grass shards of the cemetery, but the sky gives nothing away. Robin egg belly, sun peaks from behind thinning clouds, and the crisp air denies downpour.

There’s plenty of irony, here. Every fiction iteration of death leads you to believe that nature cries with you, feeding the oceans and the dirt she returns to. And by all accounts of your Ma, who at the ripe age of 87 still jumped in puddles, rain had restorative properties. What about your grief had convinced nature not to join?

Perhaps you had enough for the both of you.

Your father graciously accepts the condolences as people file out into the parking lot. Even from where you stand, you can see the mulberry beneath his eyes, paling ears. At a certain age you forgot his fragility. Found it again as you drove him home after the last visit, offering the tissues in the front compartment. It was the first time you’d seen him cry. You’re nearly 35.

He joins you by the fresh grave once everyone had left. Her coffin is closed, and you think that’s for the best. The morbid curiosity died a long time ago. He doesn’t look at you, and you struggle with your words. You eventually settled with,

“Wanna get dinner? On me.”

His response starts with a sigh. When he faces you, you wish you were five again, when you didn’t recognize misery when it meets your eyes.

“Yeah.”

The hostess gave you a look. It falls somewhere between questioning the formal (albeit bleak) clothes you woreto their hole in the wall diner, or figuring out the relationship between you and man across from you.

The reality is it was a seven-minute walk from the cemetery, and was the cheapest place in the area.

As for your father, he looks young  for having a middle-aged daughter. You were a college baby. Your mom didn’t want the responsibility, but your father lacked the iron fist to change his mind on raising you alone. You’ve seen how guilt stamps itself to the print of his loafers for the trivial mistakes. Your absence would eat him alive.

You chew your noodles in a practiced silence. It comes as a surprise to you when your father is the one to break it.

“Your grandma was still working when she died.”

You pause mid-bite. “The…she still kept the old thing?”

Your Ma, after her retirement and just before your grandfather’s too-early departure to the grave, bought a floral shop. You’d visit them for weeks, sharing their flat in Liverpool and helping around the shop while your father worked. Once Pops passed, Ma offered you a paid position as an assistant. You took the job without the salary.

However, when you went to college, you had to quit. She understood- but said she couldn’t hire someone outside of the family. “Wouldn’t feel right”. You had assumed the shop dwindled with her age, and that it had been lost to time and some expensive construction project. But…

Your father laughs. “You’d be surprised. That ‘old thing’ kept a handful of cliental. Still running now.”

You stutter. The image of your grandmother, arthritis bows and yellowing teeth, giving flowers to a sweaty teen in February makes your eyes water. You take another bite to swallow the feeling.

“She never lost her charm, did she.”

He shook his head. He took out a folded piece of apple slice paper, and under the dim lights of the restaurant you see her cursive in browning ink.  

You look at him over your water glass. He confirms your hunch when he purposely avoids your eyes.

“Dad I can’t-“

He slides the letter to you. “I know. It’s up to you. but you wouldn’t inherit any debt. She owned the property. It comes with her old house, above it. And…”

He doesn’t say you’re jobless, but you hear it anyway. With your recent ‘let go’, you needed something to pay the bills if you wanted a roof over your head. The English major has really only brought you to libraries and we appreciate your application but emails. Your sigh makes your chest cave.

“I’ll think about it.”

The misery in his eyes is replaced by hope. You wish you hadn’t put it there.

“Great.”

The letter wilts on your desk for three days. You procrastinate opening it- not because you haven’t come to an answer, but because it’s the last remaining piece of Ma you have. It would be like unwrapping a limited-edition action figure or leaving an antique on the edge of the table.

You risk losing what made it so special to begin with. The choice to give an object mortality or permanence.

Your hands shake when you peel the stamp.

Missy,

When you read this, I will have finally kicked the bucket. Pops had always been the patient one, between the two of us, but I think he’s waited long enough.

I know you’ve got a lot on your hands. But the shop and house are yours when I’m gone, if you choose to have it. It’d kill your father, if I gave it to him. Don’t think he knows how to feed the flowers, and I can’t have them all dying on me. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Think it’d just make him miss me, too. I gave birth to such a sap.

Keep him steady for me, will you? You’ll be just fine, I know it. I swear you were born with two green thumbs- if anyone knows how to keep my petunias, it’s you. And if you don’t take the shop, I want you to sell it. Your father has a notoriously bad sense of character.

Love you heaps and heaps and a pebble more,

You better miss me,

Ma.

You’re weeping when you text your dad for the key and address.

Although it is cliché, walking into the store feels like you never left.

citrus oil. tepid rain. chipping paint.

The store architecture is a family secret.

The room was vacant of the crowded charm that drips from green grape wallpaper before it met your grandfather. leather glove labor remains in the medullary rays of the oak that dresses the shop in various shelves, tables and chairs. The centerpiece, an island with base cabinets, is engraved with small familial symbols- some that you recognize- others older than you are.

But it’s not just your grandfather that breathes in the construction of the store.

Your grandmother was a talented ceramist. Being a florist, pots were her specialty. You find many of them in corners and nests on the floor, warm as they were out the kiln, analeptic in gauzes painted off-white and copper. They hold her other children, fiddle leaf figs and dracaenas, next to smaller pots of her florals, dwarfed by their greener counterparts.

But none of these things are known by someone who isn’t you, which is perhaps why it was so important you inherit it. The secret dies the minute its sold.  

The only anomaly is the cat.

Calico sleeps where you’d draw as a child. Nuzzles the lace curtains that haven’t been opened since Ma passed. Looks at you with eyes that convince you animals can miss someone.

You kneel with an outstretched hand, after setting your stuff down. She sits and watches you from afar.

“She’s not here.” You scold yourself for talking to a cat, but when she dips her head to the side you feel strangely understood.

“I miss her too.”

She rolls over, exposing her belly in what you can only assume to be an offering of vulnerability. You run your hand through the burs of her stomach, and when she starts purring the fondness your grandmother must’ve had for her balms your palm and the pit of your stomach.

Everything aches as you sit with applesauce legs on the cool tiles of the main room. It feels weird to call it yours- so you decide to share it with the cat.

“Do you want to run the shop with me?” She rolls over and nuzzles your knee. The corners of your mouth twitch.

Everything lulls. Ataraxia unravels from the spines of the walls. The sun sets over the sills, and the world seems to fold into you, the cat, and the space you’re still learning how to breathe in.

And then the door begins to rattle.

You think it’s a figment- until it rattles again, this time more aggressively.

You’re on your feet in two seconds flat, and the cat scampers to a corner. You see the flickering outline of a wide, tall figure from behind the lace shudders of the door. Your heart leaps to your throat.

In the ten seconds you have before the shadow enters the shop, your franticness focuses on a blue watering can on the shelf. The toolbox with the more intimidating and likely effective weapons sits across the room on a desk, which you do not have time to reach. At least this might keep the perpetrator distracted until you grab them.

The door rattles again, this time it whines at the hinges.

You brace your arm for the throw of your life.

The next few seconds register as a blur. You launch the watering can the minute the door opens, you hear a startled grunt, and you scamper to the toolbox across the room. You pull out a small shovel, aim at the door, until you notice that his eyes seem to be just as startled as yours.

He raises his hands forward in surrender, and your arm falters.

“Who the hell are you.”

[sexually-attracted-to-pans]

My drama so far is so much more lame. I'm about halfway through my Freshman year so you have a timeline for this.

Theater: So this couple that's in sophomore year, broke up after three years together. They were cast together as the main couple in our play Puffs this year, and on the night of the second show they had an argument. Now I'm a tech person so I didn't see anything go down but apparently this happened again the next day, the day of our final show. And that night at the cast party, one of the other actors was flirting to the girl from this relationship while she flirt back and that's how everyone found out they broke up. About 90% sure they got together. But anyway the guy was devastated no one saw or heard from him for weeks, we were all getting really worried and then he just showed back up one day and hooked up with one of the senior guys(yes he's bi its high school theater none of us are straight), and we found out he was quitting theater the same day.

(Bonus: I wrote fanfiction about 2 unrelated characters from the play and it was shared around the entire cast before a senior friend of mine read it out load in dramatic reading for one of the actors who played one of the characters that I wrote about. The fanfiction I wrote about to sad gay Hogwarts kids and the life of one of them after the other dies in the battle of Hogwarts. traumatized him. I feel sorry for the man but we have talked and luckily he only holds the grudge against the friends that read it to him, who later wrote smut fanfic about the characters on Wattpad(mine was ao3)).

BEN(before I start this one I want to say I did date him for a month in middle school but I hate him for being a manipulative gaslighting bitch): SO started with small lies last year about being extremely good at a card game he played called Battle Spirits, none of us though anything of it as it was just him being cocky and pretending to be cool.

Then this year, supposedly has 9 grandparents die in the same 2 weeks, is still going to school and claims he cared but never brings it up unless we are talking about something he doesn't know about. Then claims his mom got pregnant with his what 5th sibling, a little girl. We know he doesn't have a mom that he's in contact with as he was adopted and his father is gay(my friends dad is friends with Ben's dad that's how we found out). Then less then 5 months after he made up lies about her whole pregnancy he claims his "little sister" dies of a non-existent heart disease. Still going to school and doesn't even bother pretending to act sad. Claims to win a world wide contest for the card game in Japan, we don't even have proof of him going to Japan over the summer.

We are getting tired and kick him out of the group. You want to know how he tried to convince us to let him back in? Claim he got a girl(from our school who we know) pregnant. Only took a month for him to try and gaslight the school into believing that abortion wasn't a medical procedure which you need parental consent for so that he could lie and say they never told their parents.

He also tried to claim he had the rarest blood type in the world when our school did a blood drive. He was referring to Rh-null also called Golden Blood. "Rh-null aka “Golden Blood” is the rarest blood type in the world with fewer than 50 (43 to be exact) known cases ever reported. While there are only eight main/common blood types, there are an additional 61 possible antigens in the Rh system, which means that the eight main blood types can be subdivided into millions of different blood types. Rh-null occurs when a person’s blood lacks all of the 61 possible antigens." (I am quoting this from an article about blood types: https://rarest.org/people/blood-types).

Yep this man has done so many other small things like claiming to have 1000s of dollars in custom made costumes while showing us ai photos of them, and thousands of dollars in cards for the card game(which might be the only true one as his dad owns a card and game shop).

Now that I wrote that whole thing maybe my life is much worse then I thought...

where do TV shows get this idea that high school is constant drama, nothing even fucking happened to me in high school

[buck-up-buttercup]

So we all know how protective and possessive Caleb is. I want to write some head-canons on how he perceives and responds to people showing interest in MC (you) throughout the years.

As a child, Caleb had a fierce obligation towards protecting you from bullies. He even went so far as to lock you in an attic to prevent you from getting caught up in a fight with those twerps (reference Rain's Embrace). Especially with how fool-hardy you could be, he knew to keep you out of it completely. The bullies he mentions fending off would have been more than eager to play with a cute girl such as you. Caleb didn't like how rough they could be with you, obviously lacking respect towards a young girl who wanted to "run with the boys" as you so claimed. And of course, you only wanted to because Caleb could. But Caleb could handle himself and unfortunately, he couldn't juggle fending these kids off and keeping you unscathed in the mix of things. He needed to prove to these kids that he was not to be messed with and neither were you. That day, he made it doubly clear that no kid was to mess with you. He never fully explains to you the scuffle he went through to gain this sort of respect, but he won't ever forget learning to take advantage of his Evol to use against someone for the first time... and of course, that first time was for you. Everything he did was for you, somehow.

As a high-schooler, Caleb had many admirers and thus received many gifts and notes in school. You were always a little put off by it. You always thought Caleb was cute, but you didn't realize just how cute until his admirers showered him with attention. You also joked with him about being jealous that he received so many gifts on holidays from secret (or sometimes not-so-secret) admirers while you were left with none. He'd quickly play it off with a smile, claiming you could have all of his gifts if you wanted them since he had no interest in any of his admirers. Besides, he always provided you with the most thoughtful and personable gifts, so was it really so bad? Quality vs quantity, after all. He'd be sure that you would never know about him going behind your back to scare the life out of any teenage boy who so much as looked your way. One instance would have been in PE when the boys were having their typical "locker talk." Caleb wasn't one to join in on such conversations... until you were brought up one day. Some dumb boy would talk about checking you out and Caleb would immediately chime in, "keep her out of your filthy conversation. If I hear anyone say anything demeaning about her, they're going to regret it. Got it?" The boys would be wide eyed and agree not to speak about you. Even if there were some jocks involved, they knew better than to try to one-up someone with Caleb's stature. Not only was he a well-liked and high-achieving student, he was very athletic and a fairly large guy. Caleb also intercepted any guy who tried making a move on you. At one point, you had a sweet guy start to show a liking towards you. You expressed your disappointment to Caleb when this guy suddenly avoided you after his feelings were admitted to you. Caleb would just shrug his shoulders and say, "his loss, pipsqueak." Meanwhile, he'd secretly be proud of himself for scaring the poor guy off after Caleb posed a light-hearted threat at him. "So, you like her?" The guy would confirm and Caleb would nod thoughtfully before adding, "then you need to stop. She's not for you to have." He'd smile politely but his eyes would be sharp as daggers, "Kay?" The guy would take the hint real fast and run.

As a college student, Caleb has some good friends from the Aerospace Academy. One of the boys would say something about the "pretty girl in Caleb's photos" on his moment posts. Caleb wouldn't respond much to this, though he would say something if they followed your profile. "Don't be weird," he'd warn. When meeting you for the first time, they'd be chivalrous. Afterwards, they would definitely tease Caleb for not letting them have a chance with you. He'd roll his eyes at this but would definitely need to take his frustrations out later, whether it be through working out or diving into his schoolwork to distract himself. It bothers him that others see how precious and pretty you are. On the one hand, it makes him proud to know and be so close to such a beautiful and lovely person. On the other hand, he wished he lived in a world where it was just the two of you so no one else could come in between you. His anxieties would only heighten once he thought about the potential pursuers you had at your own college. His head hurt as much as his heart just thinking about it.

As a colonel, Caleb would have strong jealousy towards the multiple men in your life. When he finds out how close you've grown with Zayne after the explosion, he'd feel regretful. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, especially as he harbored the guilt of causing you such pain from disappearing and having you believe him dead. Once he learns about your partnership with Xavier and how he's neighbors with you, he'd feel annoyed. He wouldn't like how often you'd need to work with Xavier, and now you two could even walk home together or see each other at your own apartment complex whenever? Ugh. Frustrating. Rafayel would get on his nerves as well, making his temper flare up. Why do you even need to be around this famous artist? Especially one with a bounty. He would not like the messages he'd see on your phone from Rafayel. He'd contemplate blocking his number on your phone but didn't have a good enough excuse to... so he simmered with anger silently. Sylus is by far his least favorite person you're associated with, though. Being in cahoots with the leader of Onichynus only spelt out trouble in his mind. He would chastise you on the sort of company you keep. He'd be adamant about knowing your whereabouts and to never go into the N109 Zone without him knowing of your exact location and an itinerary of what you'd be doing and who you'd be seeing. This is only because you refused to have him escort you himself since this was "Hunter business" and you could handle yourself... which he highly doubted, but he knew better than to belittle you now that you were an adult and a capable Deepspace Hunter. At the end of the day, Caleb just wants you safe and the only way he can curb his anxieties is by keeping you under his watch and care as often as possible.

Though the man is endearing, he can be downright suffocating. But why wouldn't you want to drown in all the love and care he showers you under? MC doesn't always realize just how deep his love runs for her.

[chlobliviate]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62725594

Wolfstar Microfic - Lover

Words: 508

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Sirius threw himself on James’ bed and groaned. Not an altogether unusual occurrence, but James knew from the lack of words that this was serious.

“Don’t tell me you struck out with McKinnon again?” James said, not looking up from his magazine.

“McKinnon? Don’t be disgusting, Prongs!” Sirius scoffed. “I have no interest in Marlene.”

“Then what’s got you throwing yourself around like a 19th-century maiden on a fainting couch?”

Sirius frowned at him. “I am not— Shut up.”

“So what is it? Detention? Did you tear your leather jacket? Your fags got wet? You know you can do a drying charm, right?” James laughed.

“No, it’s none of that…” Sirius sighed, having no idea how to phrase this and somehow coming out with “I think Remus may have... taken a lover.”

James’ eyes almost popped out of his head, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Sirius covered his face with his hands as James roared for a good few minutes. “You are not beating the 19th-century lady accusations, mate. ‘Taken a lover.’!”

“Come on James, you know what I mean!” He grumbled. “Why else would he not comment on my earring?”

“Wait, you haven’t actually seen him sneaking off or walking in on him in flagrante delicto with some stuffy Ravenclaw? This is all because he hasn’t commented on your earring?” James’ shoulders started shaking again.

“It’s a moon!” Sirius snapped.

“I can see that.”

“I thought it might be a nice little discreet way of… I don’t even know.” Sirius slumped back onto the bed. “Am I being an idiot? Wait, you are absolutely not the person to give perspective on that. Do you think he’d ever… you know, after the thing with Snape? It really felt like something was building before that, and I know it’s been a year, but sometimes I get flashes of that glorious tension, and fuck me, I want him, Prongs!”

“Have you told him?” James asked, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Padfoot…” James was interrupting by the door to the dorm opening quietly. Remus looked at them both on James’ bed and raised an eyebrow, then he looked at Sirius for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Do you have a new earring?” He crossed the room and Sirius’ heart started to pound in his chest. He nodded, and Remus reached out to brush his hair back so he could see it properly. The moon pendant dangled just below his earlobe, and goosebumps rose on Sirius’ arm as Remus’ thumb ghosted over it, and then his earlobe. “I like it. It suits you.” His face broke into a slightly wonky grin as he looked down at Sirius.

Sirius could feel the bed shaking slightly from James’ silent laughter, but couldn’t bring himself to look over his shoulder and glare at him. Not when Remus’ eyes were boring into his own like that.

“Thanks. It reminded me of you.” He said, uncharacteristically quietly.

The blush that rose up Remus’ neck was all the response he needed.