#if this is acceptable to some people then that’s fine

[carnalcrows]

MILK YOU DRY - THANOS

pairing: thanos x top male reader

synopsis: This is why you never accept things from people you don't know.

content warnings: 18+, bottom thanos, drug usage, riding, cockwarming, semi-public sex

word count: 0.4k (this is short as fuck lolol)

It all started with one little pill.

"Come on, man. It'll take the edge off," Thanos had said, pressing the tiny thing into your palm with that signature smug smirk. "Consider it a gift. Or an investment."

You had hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and dry-swallowing it. Bad decision? Maybe. But you were already knee-deep in the nightmare that was the death game you were currently stuck participating in, so what was one more risk? Plus, Thanos had this way of talking that made everything sound like a good idea, even the objectively stupid ones.

Fast forward fifteen minutes later, and you were absolutely wrecked.

"You're so—you're so soft," you slurred, hands gripping Thanos' waist as he straddled your lap inside a bathroom stall, your cock happily burrowed in his ass. The world was spinning in a fun way, your limbs felt light, and Thanos smelled like cigarette smoke and…vanilla?

"You’re so gone," he snickered, arms slung around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the back of your hair. "Damn, you really can't handle your stuff."

"I can handle you just fine," you shot back, half-lidded eyes locking onto his. That seemed to be the magic phrase because Thanos grinned, leaned in, and kissed you, as he slowly bounced on your cock– the overstimulation and the effects of the pill making your brain go mushy.

It was messy. It was uncoordinated. It was hands roaming where they shouldn’t and teeth clashing because neither of you had enough patience to slow down. Thanos was warm in your lap, your cock in his tight ass grounding you just enough to keep your head from floating off entirely.

"You're kinda hot when you're like this," he murmured against your lips before biting down—hard enough to make you hiss.

"You're kinda a menace," you shot back, fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back onto your length.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open barely registered at first. But then, a very familiar and exasperated voice filled the stall.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Both of you froze.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head. And there, standing in the doorway with an expression of pure disbelief, was Nam-gyu.

Thanos, the absolute menace that he was, didn't even look fazed. If anything, his grin widened as he leaned back, still comfortably perched on your lap. "Hey, Nam-gyu. We were just—"

"I can see what you were just." Nam-gyu pinched the bridge of his nose. "I leave you alone for twenty minutes, and this is what happens?"

You opened your mouth to come up with some kind of excuse, but all that came out was an unhelpful, "Uh."

Nam-gyu exhaled, shaking his head before stepping inside and shutting the stall door behind him. The last thing you saw before exhaustion came over you was the absolutely devilish smirk spreading across his face.

Well. This was gonna be interesting.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[revelboo]

Do you think Tarantulas does that little feet taps some species of male tarantula spiders do to try and calm their mates into letting them mate?

The little tappy taps would just be so cute

Him gently papping the reader and thinking he’s being so sexy and calming 😂🤭

That’s so cute?! I didn’t know male tarantulas do that and it’s even better if he just starts unconsciously doing it the more reader relaxes around him and accepts him.

Disappear Pt 6

Tarantulas x Reader

• “Maybe we should practice more,” he murmurs, tapping his avatar’s fingertips nervously together as he follows behind you. Further away from the safety of his lair and into the city. His anxiety slowly increasing the closer he gets. The noise, the humans, their vehicles. A living hive moving with a strange order he doesn’t understand. Tensing as you step out of the shadow of a building and onto the sidewalk, he reluctantly follows. Expecting someone to cry out. To react, but humans walk by and ignore him like he belongs. And it’s what he wanted. A chance at a new life. To disappear among them.

• Turning to look over your shoulder and check on Tarantulas, he’s frozen in the middle of the sidewalk as people go around his avatar. “You’re doing fine,” you say grabbing his wrist and tugging to get him moving. “But don’t just stand in the way like that.” Inhaling when he interlaces his fingers with yours and allows you to pull him along. Clinging to you like you’re his safety line. “Relax. You’re doing the serial killer smile again.” And you can’t even explain to yourself why you’d stuck around except that he’d seemed so lonely and that was something you’d understood. That’s a big part of it, but not all of it. You like his quick retorts and wit, his uncertainty and sarcasm. The way he freezes and slowly taps those extra limbs on the ground when you say something that surprises him. Getting used to the creepy spider legs and mandibles and getting over the anxious fear of him. Realizing he really isn’t going to hurt you.

• Staring at your hand in his, he follows you as you point out things in store windows. Relaxed and smiling. And it’s what he’d wanted. To belong among your people. No war. No factions. But he’s not sure it’s that simple anymore. Not sure that’s all he wants. Because he’d still be alone. Among your kind, but always separate, hiding what he really is. Your hand slips out of his as you turn toward a little shop and his spark constricts in his real body hidden in his lair. Afraid that you’re going to run away. Leave him behind. Catching at the back of your shirt so you rock to a stop, he can’t let go. Doesn’t want to be alone again. To be shunned because of who he is. A freak. A monster even among his own.

• When you look back at him, he’s not moving again aside from his hand trembling where he’s clutching the back of your shirt. Maybe there are too many people? Did he get overwhelmed? Turning against him, you cup his face to tip it down toward you. “Hey, you okay, spider man?” You ask, voice soft, because people are staring now. Going around them and paying too much attention to the two of you. What happens if his avatar glitches with people watching? “Snap out of it. You’re worrying me.”

• Soft hands cupping his face. His avatar’s face. And he tips his head against yours, feeling you tense at the contact. For a disconnected moment, he’s trying to curl his extra limbs forward to touch you and they’re not there. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I think I just need a break,” he manages and you hook an arm around him. Leading him down an alley and away from the other humans. Taking care of him even though you could have run from him. Escaped. So why hadn’t you? “Thank you.” Those words so inadequate to what he wants to say to you, because the fact that you’re still here with him means so much. Doesn’t want to be alone anymore. Can’t bear it after having you around and he doesn’t just want anyone beside him. Wants you. Wants to keep you as selfish as it is and he can’t ask that of you.

Previous

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ of shadows and sins - OO1

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Y/n was handpicked by their boss to help the recruiter find new players. However, it was obvious that the man wouldn’t like the girl assisting him, constantly belittling her and mentioning how weak and unqualified she was for the job. But in reality, he knew about her influence and was afraid of being replaced.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ The Salesman x Female Reader (British)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Typical Squid Game elements—blood, weapons, death, etc. Age gap: the reader is between 24-25 years old, while the recruiter is 40. Some angst and feelings of loneliness. The reader lives in Korea but is not Korean; she is British.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Note: Hi loves! I’m making a short series about the salesman. I hope you all like it! English isn’t my first language, so there may be mistakes—sorry about that!

next part here ! ���

You sighed as you watched your coworker fail once again. The man he was trying to talk to didn’t care at all and walked right past him. You just sighed, rolled your eyes, and crossed your arms, leaning against the metro wall near the stairs.

The recruiter began walking in your direction with his chin held high, a proud—or perhaps wounded—expression on his face, and you laughed at his frustration.

“What happened, Mr. ‘I-can-do-everything’?” you teased. He simply walked past you, heading up the station stairs.

“Shut up,” he muttered, and you chuckled, following behind.

“Did you manage to do anything at all?” he asked as soon as he noticed you catching up on the stairs.

“While you wasted time talking to one man, I got four. All of them on the verge of bankruptcy—desperation was almost funny, I nearly felt bad for them.” You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your beige trench coat. “With their financial struggles and my pretty face, did you really think they wouldn’t accept?” You smirked, stopping in front of him and framing your face with your hands as if showing off.

He simply walked past you, bumping your shoulder.

“You’re so full of yourself, seriously… What’s even fun about your game? No one actually likes Gonggi that much,” he scoffed.

You just shrugged. “That’s what I was told to do. And your job isn’t that exciting either, right? At least mine is getting results. Yours, on the other hand…” You glanced up at the sky as you stepped out of the train station—it was already nighttime.

“Can you shut up for a single minute? I already have to deal with you all the time. For the love of—just stop talking, girl,” he snapped.

You simply looked at him, already used to his sudden outbursts.

“Oh, baby, don’t be sad. Tomorrow will be your day, and you’ll manage to recruit some people. Besides, aren’t you the boss’s impeccable, invaluable favorite recruiter?” You pouted playfully, stopping in front of him again, this time by your car. You cupped his face in your hands, only for him to push them away and roll his eyes.

“I’m not arguing with a brat… Why don’t you just go back to your family?” he said, setting his black suitcase down and rubbing his chin. “Oh, right. I forgot. You don’t have anyone because no one can stand you. Your parents abandoned you, and your fiancé cheated on you…”

He spoke slowly, and when his gaze met yours, he noticed a brief flicker of vulnerability—but you quickly masked it with a smile.

He almost felt bad for you. Almost. But he didn’t regret saying it, and he would do it again if necessary.

“Whatever. Family is just a burden. I don’t need anyone, and I can live just fine on my own. Besides, maybe you should be worried, huh? The boss would never have sent me to you if he didn’t think you needed help. Maybe he realized just how useless you are.” You winked and got into your car.

As you started the engine and rolled down the window, the man remained standing there, lost in his thoughts, trapped by your words.

“Hey, baby, don’t walk around alone at night. This area is dangerous,” you teased before driving off.

He simply clenched his jaw, a growing resentment bubbling inside him.

He saw you as a threat. You would never take his place.

( . . . )

When you arrived at your apartment, you tossed your keys onto the table and hung your coat in the closet. You placed your shoes inside as well before closing the door.

With a sigh, you headed straight to the bathroom, undressed, and stepped into the hot shower—you really needed this. The water cascaded down your body, relaxing you, and a tired sigh escaped your lips.

Your mother and father would never have been proud of the person you became, but that was their fault. They were the ones who raised you the “right” way. Any mistake was met with punishment.

You became cold, sarcastic, and quiet around others. But no one ever really knew you. No one saw the pain, the fear, or the scars you carried from a disturbing childhood.

You had a slight fear of showing emotions or affection to anyone. There was only one person you had ever felt comfortable with, but even they betrayed you. So now, you truly had no one.

That day in the alley changed your life—but you still wondered if it was for better or worse. Everything felt strange. You felt strange.

Some days, your emotions felt numb. Other days, you just wanted to break down and cry with someone. But everyone you had trusted either betrayed you or left you traumatized. You would never trust anyone again.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you turned off the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel, drying your hair with another. You went to your room, grabbed some pajamas from your closet, and got dressed. After brushing and drying your hair, you applied some perfume and walked into the kitchen to make some tea.

One of the perks of living alone and having no friends was that you could use the guest room however you wanted—so you turned it into a library.

Once your tea was ready, you grabbed a book and headed to the balcony of your penthouse. The cold air brushed against your skin, but somehow, it didn’t bother you.

[mint-in-the-moonlight]

putting the poly back in polytheism

something that I've noticed in neo-pagan/polytheist spaces is this focus on one or a few deities. while this is a valid approach and seems to be working amazingly for many people, i wanted to write a short defence of a different form of polytheism that, while maybe less visible on social media, is equally viable.

the poly in polytheism necessitates the belief in multiple gods however modern forms of worship take many different forms on top of that. from my years being in pagan spaces on social media I have noticed that to many, being a polytheist means worshipping one or a handful of gods and having very close relationships with them. which deities someone chooses to have this kind of relationship with stems from multiple possible sources, for example, personal interest, the deity's domain being somehow related to a person's life or an inexplicable draw to them.

to me, this seems to be the dominant view on social media of the form that neo-paganism takes, however, after years of exploring my spirituality and practice, I have come to the conclusion that this is not how I want to worship. I am writing this post for more people like me, who are interested in exploring this often less mainstream approach.

an ancient template

reading about Ancient Greek and Roman civilisations I was always struck by the number of minor deities with hyper-specific domains and associations. as a modern pagan, I could not understand the appeal of worshipping such a deity, ie. using so much time and resources to build a relationship for only a handful of niche issues that you could approach them with.

but as I kept reading and exploring, I realised that I was approaching polytheism completely differently than the ancients did. they truly did live in a world full of gods and they did not require a relationship built over days, if not weeks or more, to approach a deity and ask for their aid.

as long as you followed the rules of reciprocity, you could approach any deity that was relevant to your situation because they were the best equipped to help you with your problem. now this is not true for all of the population all the time, there were definitely also for example, people devoted to one deity, but from my understanding, this seemed to be the general form that polytheism took in those ancient civilisations.

the influence of monotheism

I think another feature of online neo-paganism is this expansion of the major deities' domains which then removes the need to worship the smaller deities. now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for expanding the domains of deities, especially if this is done from a revivalist perspective in order to modernise them for the contemporary worshipper. but sometimes I feel like completely unrelated domains are added for the sake of convenience more than anything else, ie. so that someone can keep worshipping the same deity(ies) without approaching others.

this, in my opinion, goes against one of the core aspects of polytheism which is the idea that different gods rule over different domains and have power over them. following this idea, it would make very little sense to pray to Neptune during air travel as he has no influence over the skies. yet, I sometimes see the deities be treated more like monotheistic gods which are all-powerful and can influence anything in the world.

if this is your view of how the gods work, that's fine, but I feel like sometimes people accept it without questioning it much or thinking about their view of theology at all. after mulling this idea over for some time, I realised it made much more sense to approach those specific deities, even if they are much less known or minor because this fits into my beliefs about polytheism much better.

a poly-practice

so, how would a poly-polytheistic practice look like in the modern day? well, there are many ways to go about it but I will just share bits from my own experience.

what I have ended up doing is focusing on different deities as they become relevant in my life - I focused on worshipping Janus at the beginning of the year while also taking the time to pray to Fortuna in moment when I needed her aid. I then did some extra reading on Jupiter, but didn't forget to thank Mars every time I went to the gym. I no longer felt the pressure to have some sort of special "connection" to every deity or "feel their presence", just trusting that they are there and then catching glimpses of divinity in my daily life.

looking into which Roman festivals I wanted to celebrate also opened my perspectives to more deities I would not have otherwise worshipped on my own. like this, I feel like I am building an arsenal of deities I can turn to when I need and of course, it is also vital to remember that I can call on multiple ones at the same time, just like the Romans saw the gods aiding one another in their tasks.

I only have one altar, which is practical and thus quite minimalistic, but there is space for my prayer notebook as well as other supplies that I need for my rituals.

conclusion

of course, this kind of practice results in a much more "impersonal" relationship with the gods, but I never really felt the need to communicate with them directly or things like that, so it fits me well. I find comfort in imagining a world full of gods, who may only know me in passing but who look out for me nevertheless.

in the end, the goal of this post is not to change anyone's mind about how they worship, but to present an alternate perspective which you can learn from but also completely disregard. in the end I am just happy that you were interested enough to reach until the end of this post. thank you for reading!!

[pyract0]

ׂ╰┈➤Maybe in another life fate would accept us: hsr men (Part 1)

☪In which he open up about you after you're gone ☪Includes: Sunday, Boothill ☪No defined pronouns/ gender specific descriptions, basically just angst, Main character death prior to the storyline, past established relationship (engaged/ married) ☪Part 2/3 will include: Dan heng, Jing yuan, Aventurine and Blade

╰┈➤˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sunday

The Passenger Cabin was eerily quiet, being illuminated by the carved lights that sat along the dark roof, like the stars that surrounded the Express. The only disturbance to the silence was two sets of uncoordinated footsteps as they padded along the dull carpet.

The two had been sent on a "mission" by Himiko, gather the crew for dinner before Pompom got angry at anyone's absence. Stelle took the lead, a mere foot ahead of the complaining girl who was in a rush for no particular reason.

They came to a sudden halt at a door towards the end of the long corridor, much similar to the ones they had passed on the way through. The pink haired girl piped up, flickering her attention between the wooden door and her companion.

"Sunday should be in his room right? he didn't seem to be in the Parlor car."

An annoyed sigh left March as she violently banged the side of her fist against the dark wood, calling out to the man she assumed on the other side. She was promised juice, and the quicker she could drag the winged man to the Party car, the quicker she got her highly awaited drink.

When she got no reply, she opted to try opening the door. Unlocked. Without a second thought, she entered the room thinking he was simply immersed in her own world and didn't hear them. Instead all the pair was met with was a neat, but empty room. March found herself looking around the room more than intended, finding the new space comforting. The room screamed Sunday, with his interests and overall aesthetic leading a clear impact.

After a few moments of admiration the fact that he wasn't present caught up to the girl, causing her to drag a hand down her face angrily. Before she could finish spinning on her heel, intent on leaving to track down the current cause of all her misery, she found herself pausing. Her eyes stopped on something on the corner of his desk, a small photo beside a candle.

She took a few cautious steps towards it, failing to make out the image from a distance. Wax dripped down to the base of the candle, golden flame flickering as it dimly lit up the framed photograph. The first two people captured were recognisable at a first glance, halovian features almost staring back at her. The pair of siblings wore similar outfits, white with a complimentary shade as they stood in close proximity to each other.

As the seconds passed, March couldn't think of who the other person could have been. It was as if they were something in her imagination, someone so close yet out of reach. They were clad in similar attire, something classy yet it looked natural on them. Her first thought was of their appearance, looking almost angelic despite being human.

Stelle came up behind her after noticing the lack of movement from the normally hyperactive girl, looking at the image with her with a similar confusion. As if some connection had formed, the two girls made eye contact before blinking owlishly at each other. Their hands balled into fists in sync, raising as they engaged in a quick game of scissors paper rock.

They both had the same idea, loser has to ask the man himself.

While in their heated match, they both failed to hear the tap of boots against the floor, or realise Sunday had entered his room, sceptical of his open door. He opted to stay silent, watching the two with his arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame.

The victor was shortly decided, with March huffing and stomping her foot at poor turn choice. With a agitated fine, she turned to make her way to the exit, jolting with a gasp upon realising the very man they were originally after was now in the room. The two who occupied the room further in looked at him sheepishly, looking guilty as ever.

Sunday couldn't help but sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he finally questioned the two delinquents.

"what are the two of you doing in here?"

Stelle was quick to explain, alas poorly, about how they were looking for him for their meal together. After she had finished her defence, the pinkette was quick to fill in the silence, pointing back at his desk.

"oh, oh! Who's that? In the photo."

The man gave her a confused look, trying to figure out which photo she was referring to amongst the many that covered the expanse of the hard wood. At the expression on his face, March was quick to specify the one that intrigued her.

"The one by the candle! The person between you and Robin."

March was quick to follow it up with her assumptions on who it could have been, not realising the shift in his expression of the slight downwards twitch in his wings. He was quick to regain his composure, though not before Stelle realised his clear discomfort on the topic.

"Ah, they're.. my partner."

"Really? How come we never met them, please introduce us! They seem like they'd be loads of fun to hang out with."

Sunday knew she was right, you were always a delight to be around, the light in his life that never seemed to wither. Until you did. he was confident that the crew would have adored you, always having a way of making even the coldest people warm up to you. That was something he adored about you, something he loved that made you different from the rest.

He seemed caught in a trance, staring at the photo as if it was bound to vanish the second he turned his back. He came out of his mind at the sight of a smaller hand waving in front of his face, March trying to get his attention as her request hadn't been answered. He was quick to clear his throat, hand twitching at his side.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible, they aren't with us anymore."

The girl looked as if she was going to ask something else, but stopped herself at a gloved hand covering her mouth. He watched as Stelle leaned into the girls ear, whispering something before she could say something unfavourable in the situation. The said girl let out a gasp upon the realisation of what his words were referring to. Her expression changed to something remorseful, giving him a sad smile before her hand wrapped around the ashy haired girls wrist.

"We'll be by the bar, come over whenever you feel like it. I'll make sure dinner's left for you."

He watched as the girl rushed out of the room, the taller girl right behind her as she got dragged along, giving him a small wave as she slid the door shut with her foot. His gaze returned to the photo that was previously the topic of conversation, taking it into his gloved hand as he ran his fingertips over the glass.

He remembered the night as if it was mere moments prior, remembered the way you pulled him up to dance as Robin preformed. It was before her first big show, a final practice to two of the most cherished people in her life. He remembered the smile his sister gave seeing them spin to her song, hand in hand with Sunday. It was clumsy, the both of them having little experience in dancing but it wasn't how good they were that mattered, it was the simple admiration they shared as they found themselves swaying along to the beat.

He remembered how you treated Robin with so much love, being there for her and being a shoulder for her to lean on. Seeing the two of you interact, the two people he swore to protect with his whole being, he knew you were the one. Yet he failed you.

The photo frame clicked as he returned it to it's spot on his desk, the shuffling of his shoes on the wooden floor echoing through the room as he sat in his office chair. The glove of his left hand was quickly removed, allowing him to trace his engagement ring delicately, the small engraving of your initials glowing under the muted light of his room.

Sunday found himself reminded of everything until your dying breath, the smile on your face as your heart stopped with you cradled in his arms. Gold clouded the corner of his visions as he buried his face in his hands, winds moving to cover the gaps of his fingers as he felt his shoulder shake.

He let himself weep for the first time since his departure from Penacony, lowering his walls for even just a moment as the realisation of it all hit. He had lost both you and Robin now, even if she continued to breath.

Yet despite it all, he held some hope, some hope that kept him going.

Maybe in another life he could have seen you walk down the aisle. Maybe in this other life he could grow old with you.

Only his death could tell if this other life was possible.

╰┈➤• ➵ ✩ Boothill

The sound of his cue colliding with the pool balls reached his ear as he pushed himself up from the table, using the stick for support as he watched the rolling spheres on the table. He hadn't lost yet, which was an upside, but he was still doing awful at the game. Boothill outstretched his arm to offer the cue stick to the red haired knight beside him, fixing his hat before crossing his arms over his metallic plated chest. The game had been going on for a few minutes at this point and to put it simply he was getting sick of it, having wanted to give up 4 rounds ago. He watched as some of the Express crew stumbled around the dance floor, clumsy actions causing them to collide with each other as they tried to dance to the off beat of the song. As the round came to a close, with Argenti sinking the last ball with unmatched precision, Boothill gave a half hearted salute as he spun on his heel. His boots collided with the hard floor as he made his way to get some drinks, quickly pulling himself into a seat when he got to his destination. Fluorescent lights illuminated the lilac themed bar on the Radiant Feldspar, reflecting off the metallic body of the cyborg as he sat on a stool. His elbow came to rest on the marble surface, cuffed leather sleeves wrinkled at the uneven pressure. He waved over the bartender, placing his usual offer before looking around the decorated room. It was.. nice. The space held a familiar feel that he couldn't place, but it gave him a sense of comfort he hadn't felt in years. A neat row of glasses sat were placed before him, seven to be exact, another being picked up in his hand as he swirled the amber liquid absentmindedly. The charmony festival had come to an end, him walking away from his new companion who he had been playing pool with to relax. Boothill found a sort of comfort in the flamboyant mans presence, much like that of a brotherly bond that he had long since missed. The sound of metal scraping against the floor caught his attention, seeing as a person sat beside him, pulling the bar stool closer to him. His black rimmed eyes were focused on the man beside him, piercing cerulean eyes meeting his gaze. He cocked a brow at the silent man, giving a crooked grin that allowed his sharkish teeth to show through. "Ain't you oughta be with them Express buddies of ya's? Sure they'd wanna celebrate with ya" Boothill spun around on the stool, back leaning against the countertop as his arms supported his upper body. Dan heng simply shrugged at the cowboy, something about them playing a game leaving him, before scrolling through his phone. The two sat in a refreshing silence, both opting to do their own things before another man made his way over. Argenti gave the pair a charming smile before moving a seat to sit between the two, a bit further back from the bar as to not get in their faces. The sound of his metal colliding sounded from his armour as he settled down, looking between the two like they were insane, quietly judging their lack of enthusiasm from the festival. It was clear the newest addition to the trio had some alcohol in his system, dozing off without the noise of chatter to keep his attention. The red head, obviously not the biggest fan of the silence the other two set, asked the cyborg a question. "My friend, feel free to disregard due to my ignorance on this, but what was life for you before... this?"

He motioned to his body, referring to his cyborg features, something that seemed to make people think he lost his humanity. Even if he was giving to give up his mortal flesh to prolong his life, he was still human at heart. Boothill thought about it for a second, trying to think of a suitable answer before landing on one a few seconds later. wordlessly he began searching through the breast pocket on his leather jacket, stopping at his steel fingertips grasped at a small photo. He pulled it out, placing it carefully on the table, making sure no condensation from the glasses could make contact with the edge of the paper. It was roughed up, burn marks corrupting the once pristine image, three figures being able to be made out through the mess. The photo focused on a small girl, auburn hair tied into two small space buns atop her head, a red dress worn over a long sleeve white shirt being half visible. An equally as small, hand crafted guitar sat in her grasp, engravings unlike anything the knight had seen before. Even in the still image it was clear the girl was smacking at the wooden instrument placed in her lap, clearly only a toddler. Behind her were two figures, the white and black hair on one of them heavily recognisable, though the other figure was foreign. They both wore casual clothes, some sort of jeans and a button up shirt, with the stranger wearing a familiar cowboy hat. Boothill pointed at the image, specifically at the smaller girl first.

"She was my little girl, found her when she was just a tiny thin'"

His finger shifted over the other figure captured. "And them, my partner, sweetest ya could ever meet" Argenti looked between the photo and the man before him, taking a moment to consider his words. They were a cute family, all looking vaguely different yet obviously holding a great deal of love between them. Yet the cyborgs tone was something amiss. "Oh, my apologies for my inquiry friend, is it safe to assume something happened to them?" Boothill's jaw tighten, fist clenching against the edge of the counter top. He let out a deep exhale before turning to meet light green eyes, a look of disgust contorting his face. "It's all those forkin' IPC muddlefudgers fault. Took everythin' from me and acts all high n' mighty! When I get ma hands on the last of 'em I-" "I'm sorry for your loss. What were they like?" Dan heng broke his tranquillity, cutting off the enraged man before he could get too far off topic. He could understand the pain of loss, even if it wasn't his current incarnate, and didn't want his newly acquired friend to go down the wrong path in his grief. Even just for a moment, he wanted to see the man talk about something that he valued above all else. He could see a slight glimmer is Boothill's eyes at the opportunity presented on a silver platter, moving to try and grab something else of the same pocket he previously pulled the small photo out of. "Ma sweet little girl? Found her when she was knee-high to a grasshopper, tiny little thin' in the forest, kept cryin' till I picked her up. Took her in, couldn't just leave a little one alone, ey? and my partner." He cut himself off, thinking for a moment before he continued with his shortened life story. "Aw shucks, where to start? Sweetest thin', most lovable person ever, and if ya didn't like 'em, I'd put a bullet through yer skull!" He let out a small sound of triumph, pulling out a chain that held two golden rings that shimmered under the dim lighting. They were simple, but held a deep connection he refused to alter. "Just had our weddin', Those sons of a nice lady just to ruin it. Hard to wear 'em now being all metal but keep 'em close to ma heart." Boothill fell silent after that, rethinking the incident and the possibilities if it went different. Would you have moved to your own little house? Would his sweet girl have grown up into a loving person like you? He placed the chain on the photo that sat dormant on the marble, picking them both up in his hand before sliding them neatly into his pocket, careful to not inflict damage on the precious memories. He was quick to skull the remainder of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before pushing himself off the counter. His boots hit the floor as he stood, waving his way off to the other two before they could question him further. Despite everything that happened, the abolishment of what could have been a peaceful life with his loved ones, he still found himself wanting to push forward. He wanted to keep going for you, knowing you'd want him to live on without regret. He kept you close, keeping pieces of you and your daughter on him at all times, because he knew one day he'd meet you again. Even if he had to meet his demise first.

[flamebrush]

"Uh sure. It's not that bad of a problem. But you don't need to do that. Her Mobility recon is already good at that. You just need to make sure your wrist doesnt get ripped off. It happened to some people on my first few attempts"

"Yeah. We don't want that to happen again. Three of them lost a hand or two. I had to make them mechanical ones to compensate for the damage that Manu did"

"I warned them didn't I? So that at least counts on something"

"Yes. But they are not as strong as most of the fighters here right now. You had them tested on the backlines"

"Now I can make an improved one with having Z here to test out. Isn't that right Zac?"

"I guess."

"Zachary. Are you fine with it? With your permission. Manu can make you a set. But a set. But you have to know the consequences of accepting it" all without looking since Irene can't see.

Yuki jumped off and laid on the other platform. Mostly sitting down.

A ninja’s perverted partner (open to female muses/ocs)

Typically, guilds list quest requirements on quest boards for safety reasons, less one person tries to solo a slaying quest that was made for a whole party. Zac typically struggles with this as he was kind of afraid of bringing others with him in fear of someone dying on his watch. He was known around certain guilds as a fairly reluctant to join but highly reliable team member to any party, which had lessened his fears of party death over the years. However, there was another reason why he was reluctant to go on quests with others…..he was a practical magnet for perverted women. It didn’t matter if they were a cleric, mage, human, demi-human, demon, angle that one time, barbarian, that other time with a mindflayer, you name it.

However, he could really do a solo quest this time. The quest maiden said a much as a monster such as a zombie dragon required 2 or more adventurers to accept. Zac simply sighed and tried to look around for anyone up for it. He wouldn’t need to wait for long, but it was a matter of what this person’s class was, whether or not they were human, and possibly how dirty minded this partner was gonna be.

[lauravbleediotiewrites]

Im just going throw this idea I've been thinking about for a hot minute.

So this is Janitor Ford.

After Fords his science fair project breaks, he still tries anything to attend the school, so he fills out a few job applications for the school, thinking he could get his foot in the door that way. Fortunately for him, he gets a response back from the janitorial department telling him he got the job. He doesn't tell his parents this, only that he got accepted into the school after all. He moves out to California and starts his new life as a janitor.

As for the job aspect he hates it, pay is not good, people treat you like garbage, the one good thing is he has some down time and he uses it but studying and doing self taught experiments in the lab after hours. Basically, he holds on just for the chance to show the admissions borad what he has to offer (the board hates him for this) so he can get his fancy degree. In his mind, it's WCT or nothing.

Over the years, Ford has become more and more desperate, and one day, he found a book while cleaning up the library, inside of it has instructions on how to summon a creature with immense knowledge. Ford thinks that this creature and its portal will help him impress admissions. He's fine everything's fine!

[vonbabbitt]

k in further regard to that You Are Ableist Because Kamimura Is Ugly anon i wanna rant a bit because i didn't have time last night but i do now

i think the bigger issue is equating ugliness as an inherently bad thing. like its somehow Bad Representation to be disabled and conventionally ugly. unfortunately sometimes disability is conventionally ugly!!! thats fine!!! i hate this narrative surrounding disability thats supposed to be encouraging where the take is just "even if youre disabled youre just like the rest of us youre beautiful and gorgeous in your own beautiful gorgeous body teehee!!"

actually no! at the peak of my chronic pain a few years back i could not regularly shower or brush my teeth or brush my hair or make myself look presentable. and thats fking fine because i was dealing with other shit!! but dont be purposefully obtuse and be like "youre still beautiful in your own skin teehee" because thats not what we're talking about!!!

when you inherently assign a moral value to whether or not someone is conventionally unattractive, YOURE the one creating the problem. its the same narrative i hate of people being like "if you really believe in yourself you can do anything!!! it doesnt matter if youre disabled" like no it does in fact matter and i cant in fact do absolutely anything!! i cant walk properly! i cant see properly! i never will! and that isnt some sort of Bad Representation its LIFE

there was someone i will not name in the tetro server ages ago who said some really insightful stuff about Ugly Disability and i felt like it was received quite well at the time. but now im disappointed that people seem to have missed it lmao. it just annoys the hell out of me because the issue isnt disabled people being ugly, the issue is that you view ugliness as an unacceptable taboo and thus its somehow less acceptable for a disabled person to be ugly than an able-bodied person to be ugly

[emmg]

wip whenever blabla

tagged by my wife @heylittleriotact and tagging back all my other spouses, we're in a polycule now, no you don't get to leave @aldisobey @caffeinatedmunchkin @jainydoe @thepalehorsevictoria

I don't have much else in the works right now, aside from this bit from the next part of Aftertaste, which I’ll probably drop at the end of the week. Just having fun letting Rook terrorize Emmrich, lmfao

****

Why the hell had he worn a cardigan? He tugs at the sleeve, disgusted. Now he just looks like a dejected, albeit expensive, librarian, a man who catalogs sorrows instead of books. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a complete miscalculation. The loose fabric at least conceals the burgeoning evidence of his disastrous self-soothing strategy, which consists of inhaling what feels like half the canapés and mini tarts circulating the room like a locust in designer wool.

The server, a lanky boy with the posture of a wilting houseplant, has begun to orbit the room with increasing evasiveness, his trajectory subtly adjusting each time their eyes meet. No doubt he has taken the cardiganed menace for either a lunatic or a man with intentions. Who could blame him? He had, after all, attempted small talk.

"Are you from here?" he had asked, chewing.

"What are you studying? Ah, architecture, fascinating discipline. The poetry of form, the language of space. So… buildings and such?" Swallowing.

"Theo, you say? A fine name. Stately, even. I once knew a cat named Theo." Fucking Maker. 

Rook, of course, is perfectly at ease. She would fit in anywhere—a sinking ship, an Orlesian ball, a courtroom in which she is quite obviously guilty. Until she speaks, that is, and tells some unfortunate soul to kill themselves or, for variety, go lick an electrical socket (which, functionally, amount to the same thing.)

But she is lovely, so lovely, and loveliness is an all-access pass to the small, effortless miracles of social grace. People forgive beauty before it even has the chance to offend. Her hair, glossy and pale, is woven into a thick braid; her dress, a slip of silk that had cost him far too much, is the kind that suggests an invitation without ever formally extending one. She had thanked him for it in the usual way: by sticking her tongue down his throat. That had been most enjoyable. 

He shifts, catching sight of himself in a tall mirror placed, rather cruelly, beneath the worst lighting imaginable. For a moment, he is arrested by his own reflection, standing there like some weary apparition clutching a champagne flute. The cardigan, he now reasons, was not such a poor choice after all. A forgiving silhouette. He inhales sharply, stomach obliging, fingers smoothing back his hair. Posture, at least, is still under his control. And height—yes, height is a mercy. It distributes excess, conceals indiscretions. He prods a rib, as if checking for damages. 

Maybe Rook has a thing for the distinguished professor who looks like he drinks expensive whiskey while brooding over obscure philosophy aesthetic. Or maybe he’s just drunk and hallucinating entire futures again. Maybe, when the time comes, he will slip that absurdly expensive watch onto her delicate wrist and then sink to his knees in some ridiculous display of devotion before she allows him to fuck her. But not before he spends an equally ridiculous amount of time in front of his mirror at home, confirming that he is, in fact, as "pretty" as she insists. Despite the grey hair. Despite the cardigan. Despite looking like the unfortunate result of a librarian’s indiscretion with a waiter who has already accepted that his tip will be “the pleasure of the job.”

Arms slip around his waist, and in the mirror, he sees Rook pressed against his back, her face flushed, her expression loose with wine and pleasure. Her nails catch on a loose thread of his cardigan, and—because destruction is a compulsion, not a choice—she begins pulling. She is going to ruin it.

"You smell so good," she sighs against him. "This is nice."

"I'm glad you approve," he says, patting her hand where it rests on his abdomen.

She takes another deep inhale. “Like you raw-dogged a Wintersend tree, jerked off with a fistful of basil, and went down on a rosebush as if it was the love of your life who just returned from war.”

So. She’s drunk.

[etz-ashashiyot]

In the wake of the Sandy Hook shooting, there were lots of discussions about meaningful gun control which never came to fruition. And I remember reading it said somewhere that "the conversation on gun control ended with Sandy Hook." Because that was the nightmare scenario, right? That was what advocates were putting out there as a real possibility, a worst case scenario, to shake people out of their selfishness in order to prioritize school children over their desire to feel important and powerful. "What if someone had access to a high-capacity weapon and shot up a bunch of kindergarteners and school teachers?" And people on the other side put this down as fear mongering and unrealistic.

Until it happened.

But the thing is that they were already fine with this nightmare scenario; they just didn't want to admit that to themselves or others yet. Then Sandy Hook happened, and people sent their self-serving thoughts and meaningless prayers instead of putting on their big boy pants and accepting that they were wrong and change was needed to protect kids.

Nothing since that extreme moral failure has materially changed, and thus the conversation was effectively over. There is nothing - no horrifying scenario - too severe for opponents of sane gun control laws to actually budge on this issue. They will prioritize this hobby and power fantasy over everything, including the lives of small children just attending school.

Why am I on about this? Because that's what October 8th was, for Jews. October 7th was the nightmare scenario, but October 8th was when the conversation on the rights of Jews to live and on antisemitism ended. "Social justice activists" ripped down posters of the Bibas children. Previously reputable women's groups denied the mass rapes and never apologized after the fact. Leftists started shrieking about genocide before the victims' blood had even cooled (never mind Israel actually responding militarily). Major news sources and human rights orgs and international legal bodies sided with terrorists over and over and over again. People in academia denied the obvious facts of Jewish history in the Levant. Diaspora Jews who didn't immediately and completely capitulate were forced out of public spaces and advocacy groups - some of which we founded - and those who were allowed to stay were regularly subjected to ideological purity tests. Jewish public spaces and individuals around the world were attacked in "protest" of the actions of a government we have no say in for the crime of not wishing death on half of our global population. People who in the past gleefully jumped on the "punch Nazis!" bandwagon now actively engage in Holocaust inversion, denial, and/or colonization, spitting our trauma back at us because punching someone in their broken arm to "teach them a lesson" is somehow not abuse in their eyes when directed at us.

What will it take?

The question is answered; the conversation is over. The answer is nothing.

There is nothing that is too disgusting or cruel that they will not either turn a blind eye to at best, or actively support. They don't just want us dead. They want us to suffer terribly, and then die. And then they want to kill us again by disrespecting the bodies of our dead, again by erasing our names from our own trauma and history, and again by mutilating the memories of the dead for whatever purpose serves their narrative best. They don't want us to live in the diaspora. They don't want us to live in eretz Yisrael. They don't want us to live; they want us to die horrible deaths and then gibbet our dead who can no longer speak for themselves as puppets for whatever story they want to tell. And this, not even outside of living memory of the Shoah.

It's over. Until there is a true moral reckoning that has so far not happened in 2000+ years, any potential conversation that maybe might have been able to happen in the wake of the Shoah was slaughtered on October 8th and the conversation is done.

Edit: This is not directed at OP, who has been throughout this whole nightmare, the exception that proves the rule. Thank you for caring about us, truly; your support means so much, particularly in light of others' apathy.

Jewish hostages emerge from 16 months of underground captivity emaciated, broken and bewildered, looking for all the world like concentration camp survivors, and the world is silent.

Returned female hostages give graphic and horrifying accounts of sexual assault and torture, and the world is silent.

Antisemitic abuse and hate crime has skyrocketed, Jews are traumatised and terrified and in deep pain, that is celebrated and laughed at, and the world is silent.

THE WORLD IS SILENT.

WHAT WILL IT ACTUALLY TAKE FOR PEOPLE TO GIVE A SHIT??

I just don’t understand. I never will.

[o-sn4pple]

“Neuvi, I need you to approve this for me.”

Neuvillette barely looks up from his papers, nearly signing off on the form until he reads the neat script printed at the top. “A…marriage license? Why would you need this?”

“I need this to scare someone off,” you say with a shrug. “I’ll shred it later, but for now-”

“Why shred it?” Neuvillette casually signs the fine line and returns to his own work. “We’ve been married for quite some time now. Having it in print would be useful for tax returns-”

“What?” 

Neuvillette dabs his pen into the bottle of ink beside him. “It would make filing for taxes easier-”

“No, I mean-” You step around his desk, bending over to stare the Iudex in the eye. “What do you mean we’re married? ” 

Neuvillette hesitates, glancing at the handmade necklace dangling from your throat. The shell is clasped shut, but he knows quite well that the romaritime petals and lone pearl are still nestled within. “You are still wearing the necklace.”

“Yeah, I always do.”

“I gave that to you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Neuvillette stalls again, this time looking at the marriage form he’d so casually approved. After a moment, he says, “You are wearing the necklace that I put on you. That is how a dragon courts its mates.”

Finally, your own expression falls, brows pinched and eyes darting to and fro. The longer you think, the worse your expression seems to grow. 

Neuvillette is no better. He sits up straighter and sinks his ink pen into its stand. “Is that not how marriage works?”

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. It closes, then opens, then closes again, each time accompanied by a vastly different expression. He’s seen this before. You had done the same thing when he asked about human breeding seasons. 

(That had been a fascinating lesson in its own right. To think humans were so embarrassed by their natural instincts…)

Eventually, you sigh and massage your face, setting the paper aside. “ No, Monsieur Neuvillette. That isn’t how marriage works.” You give your temples one final knead before opening your eyes. The genuine curiosity is expected at this point, but it still eases the storm clouds building outside of the window. “Have you never seen a marriage proposal before?”

“None that I recall,” he says. “Though I’ve presided over many trials regarding divorce.”

“Ah, yeah. Makes sense.” You clear your throat and lean against his desk, the same posture you’ve always done whenever his ignorance rears its head. “So, marriage doesn’t exactly count if the person you’re marrying is unaware that you’re marrying them. You can’t just lay claim to them and expect other people to know…not other humans , at least.” 

Neuvillette nods, a trickle of amusement in his thoughts. So, you must have been aware enough to notice the Melusines’ sudden change in addressing after you’d donned the necklace. Good. “But if the other party is aware?”

Your throat bobs, shifting the necklace resting so openly against your skin. “Then sure, that’s marriage. In the court of law, though, it wouldn’t be recognized without the proper paperwork. Also, that would be very…uh…dehumanizing.”

“How so?” 

“People have the right to choose who they’re marrying. It isn’t exactly a union of two people if one of them didn’t even know they’re being married. That’s like marrying a fish.”

“...I see.” Neuvillette rises from his seat, stepping forward to remove the necklace. Outside, the storm clouds seem to thicken at an alarming pace. “Forgive me, then-”

You casually slap his hand away and cover the necklace with your own. “What? No, I’m still keeping this.”

Neuvillette hesitates once more, hands awkwardly returning to his side. He…didn’t exactly ask you if you wished to be his mate. You had readily accepted his offered gift, even allowed him to drape the chain around your neck when you claimed you wouldn’t be able to clasp it. If all of what you said is true (which it is, he’s figured long ago you aren’t one for lying), then you still aren’t ‘married’ by your standards. What is he to do, then?

You clear your throat, and the storm clouds nearly rupture as he watches you remove the necklace. Then you grip his wrist, dump the necklace in his waiting palm, and say, “Just ask me if I would like to be your mate” 

“Would you like to be my mate?” Neuvillette repeats automatically. It feels silly, having to verbalize such primal instincts, but your amused smile makes it worth it.

“Why, yes, silly dragon, I would love to be your mate!” you tease before turning your back to him. “Would you do me the honor  of putting it on yourself?”

Sunlight bursts through the dark clouds beyond the window as Neuvillette loops the necklace around your throat. A flick of his thumb locks the chain in place, and you give it an experimental tug before turning back to him with an equally warm smile.

“There,” you say. “Any other questions?”

Neuvillette glances at your necklace and shakes his head, the last of the gathering storm vanishing entirely. “None, my love.”

[hivemuthur]

Pet Me Instead

My second humble tiny contribution to jayvik nation!

general audiences! fluff and tension resolved with a hug :')

word count: 1,8K

summary: another one from @mithrava's HCs - Viktor's cane + Jayce's shin = a love story, a little bit tweaked. @mithrava darling this is for u!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Jayce knows that most things happen for a reason. There are some mild exceptions, maybe, though he doubts it—but he’s willing to accept the possibility. Reluctantly. So when their peaceful coexistence in the lab is interrupted by a painful yet completely accidental snap of Viktor’s cane against his shin, he chalks it up to the law of entropy.

It’s entirely believable that Viktor gets distracted, that sometimes he lacks grace, and that his cane landed on Jayce’s sensitive spot purely by chance. Which it did. Jayce doesn’t know this for sure—only suspects. Or rather, believes, because if there’s one thing he’s certain of, it’s that people start with good intentions. And there is no bad intention in Viktor.

Viktor, on the other hand, knows for sure that it was an accident, for which he apologized almost immediately after noting Jayce’s sharp hiss and the way his face twisted in mild pain. But then, Viktor also noted something else—how Jayce’s face lit up after the apology. And he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the apology itself or Viktor’s hand on Jayce’s shoulder that made his partner perk up so hopelessly. But in that moment, he decided the matter warranted further research.

And as it was a curious mind above all else that rested between Viktor’s ears, he devised a plan that would allow his research to continue unnoticed. He had to introduce variables—ones that would, undoubtedly, broaden the scope of his results. So at first, he gave the cane a rest. Long enough for Jayce to forget the incident entirely. Instead, he opted for a glass of water accidentally spilled over Jayce’s notes. An over-sweetened coffee placed in Jayce’s hands with a sickeningly innocent, “Forgive me, I must have gotten distracted. Let me get you another one.” And, of course, a hand on Jayce’s shoulder—for good measure.

“Oh no, V, it’s alright. It’s not so bad, I’ll drink it,” Jayce says, his fingers fidgeting with his pen, ready to shoot up and rest on Viktor’s hand. His pupils dilate, his mouth parts before curving into a smile—and Viktor makes a thorough note of it. Mental, of course, as his experiment is still a secret.

And just to push it a little bit further, Viktor holds Jayce’s gaze for a moment too long and gives his shoulder a firm squeeze before saying, “Alright. I will be more careful next time.” Then, he turns before Jayce can say anything else, but he still catches the faint hitch of breath behind him. Noted.

Viktor spaces out his attempts, waiting about three days between each one. Sometimes four, to avoid making Jayce too suspicious—after all, underestimating his partner is the last thing he would do.

The next time, he returns to his original method, using his cane again. But this time, he changes his approach—while walking past Jayce, he presses the bottom of his cane firmly onto his foot. As expected, Jayce winces. This time, a small ow follows.

Jayce’s reaction is immediate—his shoulders tense, his lips part like he’s about to curse, but then he catches himself, eyes flicking up to Viktor instead. Viktor tilts his head, the very picture of mild concern.

“Oh dear,” he says, tone as light as ever. “That was careless of me.”

Jayce exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s fine, V. Just—maybe look where you’re going?”

Viktor hums, nodding agreeably as if he is making a very serious mental note. And then, for good measure, he presses the tip of his cane against the floor just beside Jayce’s boot before shifting his weight off of it. A near miss.

Jayce blinks down at it, then back at Viktor, brow furrowing just slightly. But when Viktor rests a hand on his forearm, thumb tracing a brief, thoughtful arc, the furrow smooths.

“I will,” Viktor assures him, voice quiet. Then, just to push it a little bit further, he lets his fingers linger before pulling away, already turning back to his work.

He doesn’t need to see Jayce’s face to know he’s watching him. Noted.

What Viktor doesn’t take note of is that Jayce is beginning to suspect something. So, as the scientist that he is, Jayce decides to play along. Moreover, he decides to conduct his own research.

The next time Viktor executes one of his unintentionally intentional moves, Jayce is—more or less—ready. This time, it’s an innocent, fairly gentle snap of Viktor’s cane against his ankle, not strong enough to hurt but strong enough to be noticed. So, Jayce climbs the mountain of his never-before-explored acting talent and exclaims with a voice so pathetic that it startles Viktor, his eyes going wide, his measured movements turning instinctive.

“Jayce, are you alright?” he asks, visibly worried that he might have actually hurt Jayce. His hand slides down to Jayce’s shin while the other is already unrolling his sock to assess the damage.

And that’s about as much acting as Jayce can manage, because his breath immediately hitches, his cheeks bloom in a burning blush, and his voice hiccups in his throat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says weakly, pulling Viktor’s hand off him. And now, somehow, they’re holding hands—awkwardly—Viktor staring at Jayce, Jayce staring anywhere but Viktor.

“You just… hit a spot, that’s all. I’m fine,” Jayce mutters, letting go of Viktor’s hand, which remains suspended in midair where Jayce held it a second ago.

Viktor clears his throat. “I am very sorry. I will be more careful.”

“It’s fine, V, really. I’m fine,” Jayce says, sounding utterly unconvincing. And of that, Viktor makes the most thorough note and decides to put his research into a halt. Or rather, change the nature of it.

Instead of the initial brutality, which in the long run, Viktor decides was rather cruel, he opts for a more gentle method. So, from now on, he gets Jayce’s attention with delicate nudges, rather than accidental snaps. He makes them look as unbothered as he can, but there is a certain difference between an accidental hit and intentional nudge, no matter how absent-minded it is made to look.

And Jayce’s reaction is remarkable. He starts touching Viktor more often—absently, deliberately, effortlessly. Instead of answering his taunts with words, he rests a warm hand on the nape of Viktor’s neck, humming out a low “hmm?” rather than asking outright. It derails Viktor’s thoughts completely, making him forget what he wanted in the first place.

Worse still, Jayce stays unbearably close, lingering in his space with an ease that Viktor finds both infuriating and intriguing. His arm hooks around the loop of Viktor’s cane, anchoring himself there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it makes Viktor feel… nice. Strange, too. An unfamiliar warmth coils low in his stomach, something he can’t quite place.

But being the man he is, he decides—begrudgingly—that his own experiment has turned against him. And so, in a rare act of surrender, Viktor deems it a failure and abandons it completely.

Until one day, Viktor is so exhausted—his mind fogged from yet another night of criminally little sleep—that he actually, truly accidentally clips Jayce’s shin again.

And that does it. Jayce, equally sleep-deprived and running low on patience, snaps. “V, what is wrong with you?”

Viktor, caught off guard, blinks at him, entirely confused. But then he sees the way Jayce grips his leg, and panic sets in. He rushes to check the damage, mumbling frantic apologies. “I am so sorry—I truly did not mean it—let me see—”

Jayce just sighs, watching Viktor fuss over him, hands warm and careful as he rubs at the spot, trying to soothe the bruise before it even blooms. And then, in a tone so exasperated it borders on fond, Jayce mutters, “You’re so smart. I thought you’d already figured out it’s better to pet me than hit me.”

“W-What?” Viktor stutters. Outright stutters, as if caught in the act—except the act itself is now far removed from its original intention. If there had even been an intention at all. So he just stares at Jayce, stupidly, cold sweat dampening the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“I prefer the other method, if I have the right to decide at all,” Jayce says quietly, offering Viktor a weak smile. “It was nice.”

And Viktor has no idea what comes over him when his chair rolls closer to Jayce’s and his hand cups Jayce’s cheek. Barely—there’s still just enough space for a few atoms to squeeze between his fingers and Jayce’s skin. But the warmth is there, and Jayce exhales—a sigh that is almost relieved, as if that simple touch fixes the pain in his leg and everywhere else.

“Like this?” Viktor asks quietly, eyes fixed on Jayce’s lips as they curve into a shy smile.

“Yeah, like this,” Jayce murmurs, his voice softer than before, almost dazed.

Viktor swallows, his own breath slightly unsteady. “And what about this?” His hand drifts to the nape of Jayce’s neck, fingers threading through his hair, dragging slowly. The strands are warm beneath his fingertips, soft in contrast to the faint prickle of Jayce’s skin where his touch lingers.

Jayce hums—a low, pleased sound—and a barely perceptible shiver runs down his spine. “This is nice too,” he admits, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head into Viktor’s touch. His breathing slows, his shoulders slacken, and for a moment, he looks so content that Viktor forgets himself, forgets why he started this in the first place.

He lingers, watching how Jayce reacts, how the faintest tinge of pink dusts his cheeks, how his fingers twitch slightly on the armrest as if debating whether to reach out. The warmth of Jayce’s skin seeps into his palm, settling somewhere deeper in his chest than he cares to acknowledge.

And then, before he can let himself sink any further, Viktor pulls back. The absence of his touch makes Jayce’s eyes blink open, hazy with something unreadable.

Viktor leans back in his chair, adopting a contemplative tone as if the past few seconds hadn’t altered something between them. “Alright,” he muses, a teasing lilt creeping back into his voice, “I might be willing to change my methods then.”

 And then, Jayce does something unexpected. He leans over his chair, arms wrapping around Viktor’s frame, pulling him flush against his chest. Viktor’s breath catches, startled, but before he can react, Jayce presses his nose into Viktor’s neck, nuzzling gently, ignoring the faint protest that escapes Viktor’s lips.

It’s completely surprising for Viktor, this boldness, but he doesn’t pull away. He stays there, frozen for a moment, feeling the warmth of Jayce’s embrace, the steady beat of his heart against his chest. Jayce hums softly into Viktor’s hair, a sound that vibrates against Viktor’s skin. “That would be nice,” he murmurs quietly, his voice muffled but undeniably content. “Thank you.”

[drdemonprince]

Similar to what some other people have said- I was never sexually abused, but did experience what I suppose it's fair to call emotional and physical abuse at the hands of my primary caregivers. As an adult, while the physical abuse is what tends to upset other people the most, for me the most traumatic experiences were denials of my bodily autonomy. We all knew there was a limit to the physical damage they could do to me without getting CPS involved, and they didn't want that to happen. But there were no laws protecting my autonomy. Isolating your child from their friends, severely restricting their internet access, and forcing them to attend religious events are seen as standard parts of parenting and I knew the only way to escape that was to age out. Even then, they maintained a lot of control over me throughout college, through tuition + housing + access to my siblings. I'm not trying to diminish how incredibly lucky I was to graduate without student loan debt, but it gave them a lot of power over me- I would probably have had to drop out of college if they stopped paying (which they threatened to do multiple times). What's maybe the most fucked up part of all of this is that yeah, I think the money might be worth more than the trauma. It was a lot of fucking money lmao. In conclusion I suppose there are a lot of ways to violate children's autonomy that don't involve sex and are perfectly socially acceptable, and not all of them end the moment you turn 18. The only differences in my situation at ages 17 and 19 were made up by the legal system. Yeah, having my own bank account and being able to consent to my own medical treatment made a big difference to me, but it's honestly weird that I had to wait that long when I would have been responsible with those at a much younger age. Yeah, everyone is different, but when I was 15 the school nurse had to call my caregivers for permission to give me tylenol. Tylenol! Something I had been taking several times a month for years. Not even my caregivers required me to ask permission for that. And I turned out perfectly fine (in that respect) because at 15 I could easily read and understand safety labels, lol.

Yeah, this is tertiary to your point anon but I've never envied the handful of wealthy people I have known because the amount of control their parents leveraged over them using that wealth was horrific and really limited them as people. Lots of parents do this to a smaller scale with whatever resources they do have access to, of course. And yeah, sometimes you gotta decide what makes the most sense for you and put up with mistreatment as cannily as you can to get those tuition bills paid! It sucks.

[arizonaconservativegal]

Oh just for fun let's do some math.

Estimated 770,000 homeless people in the US. 20 billion divided among them is just shy of $26k per person. I think the original tweet US trying to suggest this would be a one time cost but since I cannot fathom how that's supposed to work out, let's be generous and say they meant annually. California's $24 billion works out to $42k per homeless person per year as of FY 2021-22. I'll let you tell me if you think homelessness in California has even been a little bit alleviated, much less eliminated.

Leaving aside how fun it must be to be a lefty who can just make up numbers at their own whim, throwing money at the problem indiscriminately isn't going to solve it. I'd actually be willing to talk about spending some money here but there are some conditions on that.

First and foremost, we have to acknowledge that chronic street homelessness is not in any way the same as someone who lost a job or got in an accident and fell behind on their bills. It is true that the latter group is the majority of the homeless population and we can help them with relatively little money to get them back on their feet and let them take it from there. But. Federal law prevents us from doing so and activists and so called advocates don't give a damn. They only care about the unlucky temporary homeless when they want to shame people who bring up the mentally ill addicts begging for money on the side of the road.

Those people are a whole different issue. They can't be simply put in an apartment and expected to thrive. They need significant help getting clean and treated. They also, largely, do not want that help.

Now personally I think it is abusive to say they are competent enough to choose a slow death in the elements while od-ing on something but the law says they are free to refuse treatment. Fine. Except the law also says we can't spend our resources helping the temporary homeless until we have helped the chronic homeless first. And the chronic homeless don't want help. So we can't do anything for the temporary homeless - again, the majority - who do want help and who can be helped pretty easily.

Instead we get to spin our wheels wasting time and money on people who don't want it and who we cannot compel to accept it and everyone else is left to fend for themselves.

That, combined with the weight of massive public and non profit sector bureaucracies eating up large portions of the money before it ever reaches the street, is why $24 billion later and California is no better off than it was. This won't change until we the law changes to either reverse its priorities or to allow us to compel treatment. Or both. If we did that, $20 billion a year probably does get us pretty close to handling the problem. It would certainly be enough to take care of the temporary homeless.

[hungermakesmonsters]

✨️✨️Congratulations on 500 followers✨️✨️ you deserve all the love for creating and writing such beautiful stories and i'm so happy for you 💖💖

Could i ask for a mini scenario where billy and (y/n) having a relationship like sandra bullock and hugh grant in the movie "two weeks notice". So it's basically boss - secretary relationship, but with a dash of romance and i think the movie was so cute abt how well those two work together

I have 2 scene in mind if you allow me to show you: the closet arguing scene and the restaurant scene. The restaurant being my favorite bc they just keep taking and giving food to each other bc maybe one can't eat them, or dislike them and the others just accept it and even taking it without being asked. And that happened so flawlessly fluid motion. I mean the were discussing business yet still taking care of each other's food 😭. And the closet argue are just cute. They were fighting but.. i'm gonna put those two in links and if you don't mind, do see them. Bc they have this cute chemistry in that movie

The closet argument: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS6sFQPu4/

The restaurant:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS6sF4osY/

They were talking abt business, i can't find the audio for it, but this is the scene. They just take care of each other's food like a second nature. Mind you these two have not start a relationship other than working together as boss-secretary and i just 🫠🫠🫠

Okay, so I have not seen that movie in a REALLY long time (I think probably around the time it came out??) but I tried to really capture the underlying will-they-won't-they vibe. For some reason I always headcanon Billy as being really food driven and being particular about his food, so for him to allow anyone to touch his food is a really big deal for him. Anyway, I hope this lives up to your idea!!

His Smile

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : PG 

Warnings : None, just cuteness  

There was something automatic about the way you were together, probably due to all the time you spent with him. You could anticipate Billy, you knew what he wanted without him having to tell you. Half the time you even found yourself finishing his sentences.

That was just how things were between you. It was simple. Easy. Comfortable.

Of course, there were the jokes that you were like an old married couple from Frank and Karen, but Billy — well, Billy was Billy, and you were just his secretary.

Any feelings you harboured were one-sided, but it was fine. You were fine just being around him, being his secretary and his friend. You were one of the few people he trusted, that he confided in, and that wasn't something to turn your nose up at.

Women would come and go, but you were a permanent fixture in Billy Russo's life.

"I'm starving," he grumbled, eyes fixed on his phone.

You barely looked up from the file you were reading. "It'll be here soon, we only ordered five minutes ago."

He gave a hum and shifted in his seat. If it hadn't been for you, the both of you would still be at Anvil trying to solve the problem you'd found yourselves stuck in. But, fortunately, you'd managed to convince him to relocate to the little burger place just down the block from the office, knowing how cranky he tended to get on an empty stomach.

It wasn't unusual for you to work late, to lose whole evenings at his side working through whatever problems might have presented themselves. And, it was fine. In fact, you love these evenings you got to spend with him.

The moment your food was placed down, you found yourself lifting the bun on your burger to remove the pickles, lettuce and tomato. Without thinking, you placed them on Billy's plate and knocked the bun from his burger to take his red onions.

"I can't see a way around it," you said, "I think you're going to have to take on additional operators if you're wanting to keep up with the work load."

"I know," he answered, "but the budget..."

He didn't have to finish the comment for you to know exactly what he was trying to say. Profitability was on a knife's edge and adding more paid operators would mean more contracts but, for the time being, a much smaller return.

"The only other option is to lose the other contracts," you shrugged. "Or risk leaving current missions understaffed."

Billy barely looked up from the spreadsheet on his phone as he reached for the sauce, squeezing a healthy dollop of mayo on your fries before coating his own in ketchup.

You both started to eat, his fork finding its way to your plate to scoop up some coleslaw, knowing how much you hated it. You couldn't help but smile at that, glad that it was gone.

"The other option is temps," you said before taking a bite from you burger, your eyes still fixed on your paperwork. "Loan some guys from another company."

"That'll cost more."

As he spoke, you reached across the table to relieve him of one of his onion rings, knowing he had no intention of eating them. You weren't sure when or how you'd realised that Billy didn't care for onions, just like you weren't sure when he found out that you hated coleslaw. You just knew.

You knew him.

You knew each other.

You spared him a glance, only to find that he was already looking at you, a soft smile on his lips that had your cheeks instantly starting to warm. Then his eyes quickly dropped, seeming almost embarrassed that you'd caught him looking.

"You could outsource? Let a small firm take the contract for a percentage of the fee?" You offered.

Billy hummed as he chewed on his burger, and you decided not to say any more. He needed to eat — you already knew that he'd skipped lunch, and the thought of him going hungry just made you feel uncomfortable.

While you ate, you both continued to read through your respective work. You reached for another onion ring from his plate, while he started to help himself to your fries once his own were gone.

Dessert was a similar affair.

Billy took the cherry from the top of your pie, while you exchanged his scoop of chocolate ice cream for your scoop of vanilla, leaving him with two scoops of vanilla. Again, you weren't sure when you'd found out that Billy didn't care for chocolate ice cream, but it was one of the things about him that always had you rolling your eyes.

Still, once you'd both finally finished eating, he looked a lot better — still tired, as if he needed a proper night of sleep, but he didn't look unfocused and hungry anymore.

You looked up and caught him smiling at you again only, this time, he didn't look away. In fact, he reached for you, his thumb brushing over your lower lip before he seemed to realise what he was doing and pulled back.

"You had, uh — there was ice cream," he said by way of explanation.

"Oh," was all you managed to say in response, cheeks starting to burn despite the two scoops of ice cream you'd just eaten.

"I'm going to head back to the office, see if I can get this sorted," Billy said, shrugging his coat back on.

You knew he was offering you a way out — it was late and you knew he wouldn't blame you if you wanted to call it a night and go home — but you shook your head. There was nowhere else you'd rather be than by his side.

Pulling your own coat on, you just smiled at him, "we'll see if we can get this sorted."

Billy's lips pulled into a smile again, that strange little smile that had butterflies swarming in your stomach and made you wonder if your little crush was really as one-sided as you thought.

One day, you told yourself, one day you were going to kiss him on those lips and potentially ruin everything.

One day, you were going to find out what that smile really meant.

But not tonight, not now.

[bippityboppity69]

Sinbad/Sonja-Not What I Thought

This is for @sofieartz ! Some Sinbad/Sonja! You know I think I understand the pairing now 👀

“Ow!”

Sonja gave a stern look to Sinbad. “Stop moving. It won’t stop bleeding otherwise.”

“Easy-“ Sinbad hissed from gritted teeth. “-For the one without the hook wound to say!”

“You whine like a child. They don’t hurt that bad.”

“Excuse me?!” He exclaimed, glaring at her. “Last I checked, getting a giant hook through the shoulder is extremely painful!”

Hissing as she applied more pressure to the wound. Oh how he wished it was Merlin instead of Sonja, but no~ Apparently, Merlin had to accompany the hamsters and Nara to go herb and firewood collecting. Which left him in the lead handed care of the Whispers Leader. Wincing as she squeezed his arm.

“Are you trying to cut off my circulation?!”

“It’s called putting pressure on the wound to stop bleeding.” She told him, voice annoyed.

“Yeah to stop the bleeding, not cutting all the blood flow to my arm off!”

A cold stare was all Sonja gave him. An expression of disinterest resting on her face. As if she was dealing with an annoying insect. Maybe that’s how she viewed him. It made sense since she was part of the Carmines.

An awkward silence fell over the two.

“…were they okay?”

“What?”

“The… women from Brineville.” Sonja spoke, eyes focused on the bandage. “Were they all safe? Any injuries?”

Sinbad blinked, confused and surprised about her question. Was she worried? Why was Sonja of all people asking? Eyes narrowed in suspension as he stayed silent.

“I am being honest with my concern.” Sonja told him. “They have suffered long enough from Tesio. I do not wish for that suffering to continue.”

She was truly worried about his moms? No one else had asked him that. A confliction of emotions began to take place inside. Should he say anything? He was worried about a few of the women who were injured. But to admit that to Sonja, daughter of the man who had tormented his family for so long?

“…We’ll be fine.” He spoke after a moment.

A sigh left Sonja, Sinbad looking over to see her frown. Was she upset at his response? Watching as she grabbed another strip of fabric. Flinching as she touched the wound, red showing through the cloth.

“I understand…” She spoke, glancing at his face. “…I wish to establish peace with Brineville. I cannot undo the damage that Tesio did. However, I can ensure it does not continue to.”

Still not trusting her, Sinbad glanced at her face. Pausing as he saw the sorrowful expression she wore. She was being truthful. It would be nice to get some supplies. A few women did get injured.

“Some medicine would be good.” Sinbad mumbled, not looking at her. “Clean bandages too."

“I will ensure they get it.” Sonja promised.

Sinbad couldn’t help but stare at her, a faint smile appearing. That would be good for the villagers. He hoped that they would accept it. Maybe if he brought it in instead of Sonja?

“I’ll accompany you. They probably won’t accept it if you turn up alone.”

“I would appreciate that.” She spoke. “Also I want to invite them to testify in Tesio’s trail. They were his biggest victims.”

“…That will take some convincing. They haven’t stepped foot in Rustport since that day.”

He could already hear what they would say. Already seeing the surprise in their eyes that would turn to sternness. Brow furrowed as her hands planted on her hips.

“Really? The first woman you bring home?”

The thought made him snicker, a pang of homesickness going through him. He missed Brineville right now. Eyes darting to Sonja, did she miss Rustport right now too? Maybe she missed the Carmine Whispers like he did his moms.

“Why do you want to help us so much?” He finally asked. “You could just have treated us like Tesio did, brushed us away. Yet, you don’t. Why?”

Startled as Sonja sat up straight, a look of determination on her face. Face flushing as she moved closer to him. Hazel staring into intense green. The scent of Turkish rose and sandalwood circled him.

“There has been too much pain for too long.” Grabbing his hand as she brought it up to her forehead. Pressing the back of his hand against her as she spoke. “I promise as long as I live that Brineville will be protected by the Carmine Whispers. I will fix the wrongs that have been done.”

“I- uh, yes that would be good.” He swiftly said.

Heart pounding in his chest as he felt the warmth of her hands. He was suffering from blood loss. That was why he felt his cheeks burn under her gaze. He was going delirious.

“And we could always use a skilled captain like yourself.”

Yep, he was hallucinating, there was no other explanation. Sonja had just given him, him, a compliment. That was a compliment right? Yeah, she said he was skilled!

“I-I’m, I mean of course I am!” He chirped. “I’m Sinbad after all!”

It was a defense mechanism. Fall back on an air of confidence and bravo. Flashing a quick grin, facade nearly breaking as Sonja did something unexpected.

She gave a chuckle.

His brain was short-circuiting. Stunned as she turned her head to the side with a smile. A part of his brain whispered about how nice her laugh sounded. Also about the dimple in her left cheek.

“Usually I would doubt such claims, but after seeing what you can do. I don’t doubt your skills.”

“You know, she’s… not bad company to have.” Sinbad thought. Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach as he looked around the cave. “Not what I thought she was. Maybe sh-“

Wincing as his arm throbbed, “Gah! Stop squeezing so hard!”

“My apologies.”