#it didn’t start Oct 7

[whydidisavethistomyphone]

[jewishbarbies]

In relations to Gal Gadot's support for IDF, people started to bring up the infamous "Imagine" video.

Now, I also found it incredibly tonedeaf when it first came out. Bit why was she always the one to get most flack for it? I understand that it was her idea, but it's not like the rest of celebrities were forced into it.

Zoe Kravitz, Pedro Pascal, Jimmy Fallon, Mark Ruffalo and Cara Whateverthefuck? People completely glassed over their involvement in this train trainwreck even back then.

it’s because they were convinced she killed palestinian babies with her bare hands when she was first cast as wonder woman, and I’m not even remotely joking. Gal was a gym trainer during her mandatory service. they saw that and pulled a thg Gale like “even if they’re mopping floors they’re helping the enemy” and they’ve never let it go. the things people have given themselves permission to say about her bc of a lie is really, really disgusting and at the same time very telling of where we’re at as a society.

[virgopropaganda]

I screen capped these in ‘21 when my dumbass (redacted) said they were getting married in Jaffa but said Tel Aviv in ‘25

[theamazingannie]

Kinda crazy how people will call out celebrities for not speaking up on political issues and then a celebrity WILL speak up on that political issue but doesn’t do it in exactly the way these people want so they’ll call THEM out too and it’s like why tf would anyone want to do anything these days if every action they take gets them called out???

[lovelywyenn]

★☆«Kinktober ~ 2024|Demon Slayer Edition»☆★

★☆15 days of pure, filthy smut;) Demon Slayer style!!!!!!!☆★

Oct.3- “First Time”

★Mitsuri Kanroji x Obanai Iguro x Virgin fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Obanai and Mitsuri are absolutely smitten with you. Of course they’d love to take your relationship to the next level and make you theirs★

Includes★Threesomses, Cunnilingus, fingering, sloppy sex, missionary, vaginal penetration, deep throating, tip sucking, neck kissing★

★W.C★4.6k★

Oct.5- “Sensitive Girl”

★toxic!Obanai Iguro x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★There was something Obanai found so beautiful in getting one of the strongest woman he knew to whine and cum beneath him★

Includes★Bad decisions, making out, cheating, toxic relationships, cream pies, missionary sex, penetrative sex, titty worship, nipple play, nipple sucking★

★W.C★3.3K

Oct.7- “Handsome as Always”

★Tengen Uzui x Hinatsuru Uzui x Makio Uzui x Suma Uzui x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Tengen’s confidence was always off the charts. But after loosing his arm in the entertainment district battle…he hadn’t been feeling like himself. Luckily he always has you and his wives to make him feel like the most desired man in the world.★

Includes★Praise, Slight degradation, Deep throating, Dick sucking, Clit Rubbing, Fingering, Squirting, Making out,★

★W.C★3.8k

Oct.9- “Three Days|Day 1”

★Hinatsuru Uzui x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Tengen’s off on a three day mission, and this is your first time being alone with just your wives. Though it had nearly been a year since you all got married, you still felt as though you didn’t really fit in. But after a night time surprise by Hinatsuru, and a heartfelt talk paired with it. You were starting to think that just maybe, your wives didn’t hate you afterall★

Includes★Titty worship, nipple sucking, squirting, humping, dry humping, scissoring

★W.C★3.8K

Oct.11- “Praise Me, Baby”

★CEO!Mitsuri Kanroji x Assistant fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Mitsuri has a HUGE crush on you, her sexy assistant. One day, she gets the idea to invite you over. But as smart as you were, you were oblivious to what she really wants.★

Includes★Praise kink,Squirting,clit rubbing,strap-on use,stress relief★

★W.C★2.1k

Oct.13- “Three Days|Day 2”

★Makio Uzui x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★After Hinatsuru tells the rest of your wives how you had been feeling. Makio was determined to prove how much she loved you. And taking you against the wall was her way of doing so. It definitely wasn’t fueled by wanting to make you cum twice as hard as Hina did yesterday.★

Includes★Squiriting, clit sucking, cunnilingus, overstimulation, crying, groping★

★W.C★3.8k

Oct.15- “What the F*ck Are We Doing?!”

★Sanemi Shinazugawa x demon fem!Reader★

Synopsis★You were disgusting, a waste of space on this earth. Sanemi felt nothing but guilt every time he fucked your sinful cunt. Yet he could never stop, to addicted to your sins to ever give you up★

Includes★Deepthroating, dick sucking, sloppy head, clit rubbing, cum spitting★

★W.C★2.2k

Oct.17- “P*ssy Drunk”

★Giyuu Tomiokax fem!Reader★

Synopsis★forget pussy drunk, have you ever seen Giyuu a slutty, whiny mess just because of your thighs. That shit'll kill you ★

Includes★Pussy eating,Squirtingg,clit worship, mini handjob, thigh fucking, overstimulation, lots of cum★

★W.C★2.5K

Oct.19- “Man Junk”

★college student! Kyojuro Rengoku x college student fem!Reader★

Synopsis★There was something too sexy about your new roommate Kyojuro. You couldn't be blamed for wanting to grind on his meaty thighs. ★

Includes★Thigh humping, thigh grinding, choking, dirty talk, squirting, hair orgasm, ass slapping(a little)★

★W.C★3.2k

Oct.21- “Demon Doll”

★Muzan Kibutsuji x demon fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Muzan hates when you play with his favorite toy★

Includes★Edging, clit rubbing, wet pussy, crying, slight objectification★

★W.C★0.9k

Oct.23- “Three Days|Day 3”

★Suma Uzui x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Tengen's coming back to town soon and his wife's want to welcome him home to a nice dinner. Suma was always terrible with Makeup so you did it for her yourself. So how did something so innocent turn into another sexcapade. The third one this week!★

Includes★?★

★W.C★?

Oct.25- “She a Eater”

★Shinobu Kocho x maid fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Shinobu loved you. And not because you were good at your job. You were terrible at it. She loved you because she could never get the taste of your sweet pussy out of her head. ★

Includes★?★

★W.C★?

Oct.27- “Sex Crazed Slayer”

★Shinobu Kocho x Mitsuri Kanroji x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Shinobu always gets worried when you go on missions without her. She likes to protect you keep you safe. But she believes your in good hands with Mitsuri. But imagine how she reacts when she finds you and Mitsuri desperate for each other. And she can't find it in herself to be upset. Not when her pretty girl was clearly in need.★

Includes★?★

★W.C★?

Oct.29- “Full of that D*ck”

★Virgin!Gyomei Himejima x Prostiture fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Gyomei had been through so much in his life, he had no time to…take care of himself. After Sanemi hooks him up with one of his favorite taverns, he meets you. A pretty prostitute that has him twitching in his pants.★

Includes★?★

★W.C★?

Oct.31- “Birthday Boy”

★Tengen Uzui x flexible reader fem!Reader★

Synopsis★Oh this man loves to be flashy. Trust it's the same with sex. ★

Includes★?★

★W.C★?

★☆I’m so excited for this year!!!!!!! On everyone on tumblr’s SOUL I’m finishing Kinktober this year!(Sorry In Advance)☆★

[onepiece-writting-forest]

Topic 8 - [ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

Summary: Stressed, sleep-deprived, and surviving on instant noodles, you order takeout in the middle of exam prep—what you didn’t expect was your delivery guy to be a ridiculously hot, tattooed biker. Even more surprising? He’s a fellow med student at your university.

tags.: One Piece, Law x Reader, SFW & NSFW, slow burn romance, Modern AU, University AU, Law has a motorcycle cuz its hot, Penguin and Shachi as flatmates, fashion-designer uncle Corazon, Laws parents, His crazy Ex, Bonney and Nami additionally with the rest of the Strawhats being your close friends

status: [ongoing] last updated Oct 16th 2024

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 - ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀʏ

An awkward encounter with the handsome delivery guy, who hardly speaks to you, yet somehow makes your heart skip a beat with his pretty face.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 - ɪᴄᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ

Law was at your door once again, this time out of breath and visibly stressed. You offer him something to drink, which sparks a conversation that eventually leads to an exchange of numbers.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3 - ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ

At the café, you met up for a study date and saw a more relaxed, yet still exhausted, side of Law. Penguin showed up, clearly curious as to why Law was hanging out with someone from his university—especially since he rarely spent time with those people.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 - ʙᴏʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ

Penguin couldn't keep his mouth shut about Law meeting you, which led him and Shachi to bombard him with questions. It was just a study date, right? No big deal. His flatmates quickly realized how oblivious he was. Or was he just denying any meaning, trying to protect himself from another crazy relationship.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5 - ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜰᴜɴ

Law invites you to a party, and after a few drinks, the two of you start to loosen up around each other. So much that the bathroom becomes a short lived make out spot.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 - ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ (n.sfw)

After you forgot your keys at home and had no where to stay, Law casually offers his apartment for the night without any second intentions. Though the heat from the make out session still lingering in the air.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7 - ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪᴛ (n.sfw)

You meet Laws kind-hearted uncle, Rosinante, and learn more about his complex family history. What was supposed to be a casual, cozy game night with Law quickly takes an unexpected and more intimate turn.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8 - ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀᴍᴇɴᴛ

A girl you've never met before, starts a chit chat with you during an uni event, you being immediately drawn in by her friendly, outgoing nature. Before you knew it, she invited you to a small party where she hinted you could make some valuable connections. Little did you realize, networking with a biker gang wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for boosting your CV.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9 - ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ɢᴀɴɢ

You dearly needed a girl's night with your friends after all what had happened. Law came to pick you up, yet got dragged into the chaos of a spontaneous party with your friends. Someone save this guy.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 10 - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ?

This day should have been special, with you and Law celebrating your academic milestone together with friends and family. Yet, Laws private and closed off personality shots back at him, causing you to break down.

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Oct 16th

~*~

1. Hello! I would like to reread a story but forgot the title. It’s a fix-it I think lan zhan was thrown back in time in CR study arc and wei ying saw it because there’s a light and he hear a shout then Lan Zhan was unconscious. Thank you so much

FOUND? in a dream, i was home by thelastdboy (M, 25k, WangXian, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Different First Meeting, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Sentient Burial Mounds, CSSR and WCZ Live, Families of Choice, Protective LWJ, Everybody Lives, Temporary Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Golden Core Reveal, Fluff, Developing Relationship, Wen Remnants Live, WQ Lives, WN Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX)

~*~

2. Hi I saw someone ask this here but never saw the fic. I'm looking for a fic, It's where lwj leave the sect gives money and valuables to the wen remnants and lxc ask for rabbit as some kind of compensation. Op said some girls were braiding lwj hair by the end being vain and lan sect saw this. Thank you so much I hope you help me

FOUND?🔒Unpack Your Heart by Terri Botta (Isilwath) (T, 22k, wangxian, Romance, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, LWJ Has Feelings, Protective LWJ, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds Ensemble as Family, Wangxian in Love, YLLZ WWX, Lan Clan Elders are Assholes, Minor Transgender Character, Qiongqi Path Divergence, LWJ loves his bunnies)

~*~

3. hi there!!! this is for the next fic finder. i am looking for a twt threadfic which had wwx and lwj as academic rivals. i really don't remember much of it except there was a moment where lwj says smth really mean to wwx after he got lesser marks than him, and wwx starts crying a bit (???) and lwj is like Oh No What Have I Done. that was the last update that i read and idek if there's more or not. can anyone help?

thank you everyone!!

~*~

4. I am trying to find a Fic where Lan Zhan goes to Lotus Pier to ruin them for being rejected. He learns that Wei Ying never rejected him but Madum Yu did. She is punished and Lan zhan asks Jiang Yanli permission to marry Wei ying.

FOUND? Warrior Prince by QteCuttlfish (M, 3k, WangXian, Threats of Rape/Non-Con Angst with a Happy Ending, Omega Verse, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Implied Mpreg, Not Canon Compliant)

~*~

5. Hi! I’m looking for this modern college E fic where WWX is like a tatted punk and he overhears that LWJ is basically a sex god who didn’t do seconds. He hears that LWJ is into a guy in his department with last name Wei and confronts him. They bone and he sees that LWJ has a nip piercing and a tattoo that WWX designed a while ago tysmia

FOUND? So I love you because I know no other way than this by Trueredhearts (E, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, CSSR and WCZ Live, College/University, Tattoos, Nipple Piercings, Genital Piercing, Law Student!LWJ, Engineering Student!WWX, Childhood Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Graduate School)

~*~

6. Hi 👋 a ff where lan Zhan give wei Ying name wei Wuxian. Wei Ying lock BS in her mountain. Wei Ying Sect leader. BM all clear. JC lock his parents. Save XY . Wei Ying make JGY Sect leader of jin . Yiling best city. Control world . Slap Tham in there language. @richie-234

~*~

7. Hello I'm looking for a fic where wwx is a god, a prince to be exact. He meets lwj while visiting. I think they get betrothed but lwj does not know his real identity. I think by the end wwx and his entire family came down an while they were in line he was waving at lwj.

FOUND? cloudy autumn heaps the sky by anatheme (T, 23k, WangXian, Fantasy, Universe Alteration, Secret Identity, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Timeline What Timeline, wwx is a little older here, wwx piling gifts on lwj and encouraging hoarding tendencies, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Arranged Marriage)

~*~

8. Fic finder plz!

LQR owns a cat cafe and LWJ and LXC are like very pretty ragdoll cats and WWX is this gremlin sphinx cat that eventually wins over LWJ.

LQR isn’t happy about this though and has JC keep WWX locked up so he can’t come and bother LWJ but it all ends happy. I’ve tried searching cat LWJ and cat WWX and nothing comes up. Help! 😭😭

FOUND! allopatry by Anonymous (T, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Cats, not in a catboy sense they're actual cats, wwx's propensity for annoying lqr transcends species, codependent cats as a catalyst for, lqr + jiang sibs friendship) I searched cat Cafe 🐈 😻

~*~

9. Hi! I'm looking for a fic similar to one I read called play fighting where Lan Qiren had adopted Wei Wuxian and they grew up together. Or like where Wei Ying ends up growing up in the Lan sect and he and Lan Zhan are like childhood friends or super close growing up.

FOUND? 藍色的花，紅色的蘭 {Lan se de hua, hongse de lan} by Admiranda, AshayaTReldai (M, 45k, WIP, WangXian, Orphan WWX, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, wwx raised in the lan clan, softer lqr, Good Uncle LQR, Good lan clan, Good Older Sibling LXC)

FOUND? 🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, wangxian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, This fic gets a little raunchier as the kids become teens, But it won’t get too explicit, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Spanish Translation, Brief mentions/moments of WWX kissing others in chapter 22 but only on the cheek, also characters kiss WWX on the cheek in chapter 23, but his real first kiss is with LWJ, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

FOUND? 🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, WangXIan, Canon Divergence, Fix It, Not Jiang Family Friendly, JFM & YZY Bashing, Fix it for our main characters, Time Travel, Butterfly Effect, Madam Lan Lives, No Sunshot Campaign, Artistic License, Unreliable Narrator, JC Bashing, non-yunmeng WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Good Uncle LQR, OOC, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, WWX gets the love and care that he deserves from the very beginning, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiangs, verbal and physical (c/o Zidian) abuse from YZY)

FOUND? safe here with me by xcourtney_chaoticx (G, 3k, WangXian, Family Feels, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Goes to Gusu, Fluff, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Food Issues, Endgame WangXian)

FOUND? soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, wangxian, alternate universe, childhood friends, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, wedding fluff)

~*~

10. Hello! I'm looking for this wangxian fic I don't remember the name, but it's based on a song by Olivia Rodrigo, there is no happy ending between wangxian 💔

FOUND?🔒 drivers license by AG1234VL (T, 11k, WangXian, WangMian, WWX/Other, Breakup, Hurt No Comfort, slight comfort, Non-Chronological, Song fic, Crying WWX, Driving, breakup weight gain, Lots of Crying, Angst, Modern AU, Homophobia, from lqr, wangxian breakup)

~*~

11. Hi, I'm looking for a fic i read some time ago but i can't seem to find. Basically the great sects had isolated themselves for sometime and WRH still tried to burn CR but the Lan won that war , alone i think, and like they demanded a war prize/hostage/concubine? and YMJ with the other twos support , i think, sent WWX for the Lan's leader LWJ who was surprised by WWX's very feminine and very much marriage robes. So the Jiang and the Jin and the Nie got it wrong but LWJ lets him stay, I think it's been a while and they fall in love for real and LWJ reveals that his brother has been in a coma for some time. Anyway WX went to the Crowd hunt the Jin are trowing and YZY got very angry at like WWX being at her level socially, the spouse of a sect leader and then WX went home and LXC woke up and that's all i know because the fic had like 26/28/20 something chapters in total and it was a WIP and only one or two chpaters left till it was done. I don't know if it is still a WIP. @secretartquotes

FOUND? golden when the day met the night by glitteringmoonlight (Not rated, 95k, slow burn, sugar daddy LWJ, light, angst, fluff, developing relationship, eventual smut, WIP)

~*~

12. Hello, thank you for your page.English is not my first language, so I'm using a translator .Wei Ying is a web novel writer, from a fairly prestigious academy. The web novel he writes is quite popular. He was hired for a reality TV show/music competition as a translator. In the end, he also ends up as a contestant because there are not enough competitors. Every week he tells the public to eliminate him because he's just there as filler. Lan Zhan, I think he's a music coach in the reality TV show @lilassoleil

FOUND! 🧡 I Don't Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality show, Idols, Actor LWJ, Forced Contestant WWX, Tencent's 2021 Idol Producer)

~*~

13. Hello! First, I really love the work you do. I'm looking for a fic I read and can't find it anymore. So it's Modern AU, set in high school. Wei Ying is a cheerleader who likes wearing skirts and Lan Zhan is athletic. They didn't like eachother if I'm not wrong but had a contractual relationship like fake dating(I think). The fic had beautiful fan art and in one of them Wei Ying wore a crop top and a cheerleader skirt. Thank you in advance. @mamaladeskies

FOUND! drop the game by martyrsdaughter (E, 28k, wangxian, modern, romantic comedy, fake/pretend relationship, sports, cheerleaders, flirting, sexual tension, dom/sub undertones, compulsory heterosexuality, crossdressing, dub con, under-negotiated kink, consensual non-con)

~*~

14. The fic has Jiang Cheng preserving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli's body, a magical plant and coffin used. this was a oneshot on ao3. but Wei Wuxian definitely had and older sibling vibe when he got suspicious on what Jiang Cheng was doing. @eclipse-summer

~*~

15. Hey, kinda a weird req, but I’m trying to find this wangxian fic where WW pretty much manages to get a dildo stick in his butt, and then he an LW have to go to the hospital to get it removed. Think it was modern au. Tysm for the help!

FOUND? can you feel it by lanzhancore (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Awkward Sexual Situations, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Slice of Life, Fluff and Humor, Idiot Lovers, Crack Treated Seriously)

~*~

16. Hiii, for the next fic finder, there was a wei ying/lan zhan fic where they had a relationship around shibari + bondage and nhs tricked wy into walking right up to lz at a party and asking him to tie him up - it turned out that lz had always been super exclusive he had just been pining for wy from afar and agreed to do it and the rest is beautifully written, emotionally literate history. I read it about 17 thousand times but didn't bookmark or download it like a fool!! If its been deleted, does anyone know if the author is fine with people privately sharing? @lockandkeay

FOUND! Ember burning low by wanderingflame (E, 62k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, BDSM, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Bottom LWJ, Kink Negotiation, Kink Exploration, Sensation Play, Kneeling, Rope Bondage, Aftercare, Non-Sexual D/s scenes, Non-Sexual Submission, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Public Scene (Non-Sexual), Minor Retrograde Amnesia, safe words, Use of Safe Words, JC is not the most understanding when it comes to BDSM, Orgasm Delay, Porn with Feelings)

~*~

17. Hi!! Hoping that you can help me coz I’m really desperate rn 🥹🤧. I’m looking for a Xichen x Jiang Cheng fanfic where they had a daughter but lxc didn’t know cos he was in seclusion after the death of meng yao and when he got out of seclusion he help this little girl on the streets and the girl brought him to lotus pier to thank him and that’s when he found out the girl was Jiang Chengs daughter. 🥹 I’ve been looking for this everywhere but I can’t find it, please help me 😭🙏. Thank youuu @zosansss-blog

~*~

18. Hiiiii! I hope you all are well! Boy it’s been a long time since I was here. I finally learned how to bookmark so I was not losing track *that* much, but today I was bored and tried to channel my inner MY/JGY and read at work. (Without logging to my account because i don’t want to give my co-workers another reason to think I am crazy).

But back to reason, i need your help lovelies. I am looking for a fic. LQR can read music and he bumped into NMJ and he heard the Turmoil song. He thinks LXC is poisoning him so he goes and ask WWX for help and basically it was a major Canon Divergence. That is where i had to close the tab. I would really appreciate all the help. THANK YOU!!

FOUND? Polyphonic by nirejseki (Not Rated, 14k, NMJ/LXC, WangXian, LXC & LQR & LWJ, WIP, odd abilities, Family Drama, Investigations)

~*~

19. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where the best way I can describe it is WWX has a magic sex toy that is keyed into his own body which LWJ then confiscates and later uses not knowing it's keyed to WWX. I believe it's during the CR arc but not sure how the fic was tagged so haven't been able to pull it up and I don't remember much beyond that. Thanks for all you do!

FOUND? 🔒 The Golden Cutsleeve by syrus_jones (E, 77k, WangXian, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Aged-Up Character(s), WWX POV, WWX is a gremlin, Internally Screaming LWJ, No Sunshot Campaign, First Times, Accidental Sex, Masturbation, PWP, Porn with Feelings, WWX experimenting with things he shouldn’t like always, Happy Ending, Porn With Plot)

~*~

20. Hi! Thank you for your hard work! I'm looking for 2 fics today, but I really want to find the first one. A) It's arranged marriage fic, LWJ is some sort of royalty. After the wedding (I think?) WWX is sent to live in a separate palace (?) He and the Wens (I can't remember why they're there) start a farm to make money (and have food?) to fix up the palace which I think was in some state of disrepair. Eventually he LWJ notices and starts to send gifts and such. I feel like there's something about a dragonfruit? But maybe that's a different fic?

B) The second one I'm looking for is a modern mob au, wwx asks lwj to watch a plant and then disappears for a year, or something like that. I'm sure I probably found it on here, but I must be overlooking it @iluvshikamaru

Hi! 20a is definitely sowing seeds in the cold palace! Thank you so much, it was driving me crazy!

20b is not lightning in a bottle, but it was a delight to read so ty for the suggestion! I seem to remember that jc shows up to kidnap lz at some point, and that lz was also part of the mob/mafia but has retired from it?

20A)

NOT FOUND! The Legend of Moonflower by JJSIN2020 (E, 135k, wangxian, 3zun, A/B/O, Emperor LWJ, LWJ FUCKS, he has a whole harem of male omegas so of course he does, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Beta LXC, Omega JC, Omega XY, Omega XXC, omega SS, Omega OYZZ, Beta NHS, Mpreg, Wolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Imperial China, Character Death, Fighting, Blood)

FOUND! 我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

20B)

NOT FOUND! lightning in a bottle by bigbabyjeno (E, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, Photographer LWJ, Wedding Crasher WWX, Erotic Palm Reading, Fluff and Smut) fun fact I remembered the fic and that it was a ficus plant and the fic came up when I searched ficus 🤣

FOUND! See What I've Become by Vamillepudding (T, 24k, WangXian, Mob, YLLZ WWX, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Protective WWX)

~*~

[mightbeimpossiblenotto]

Call - Oct 15 - @rosekillermicrofic - 920 words - Warnings: none

Barty was having an awful day. It started when he woke up late because the alarm on his phone didn’t go off. And then he discovered that the reason his alarm didn’t go off was because his phone couldn’t turn on at all. Thinking it had died, despite being plugged into the charger all night, Barty brought a different cord to work with him to charge it during the day.

But it didn’t turn on even after a full workday in his father’s terrible office. At that point, Barty was very frustrated, and decided to go to the phone store and get an entirely new phone so that he didn’t have to deal with this one anymore. Only, at the phone store, they also failed to get his old phone to turn on, meaning Barty had lost all of the previous memory on his old phone, including all of his contacts.

Fed up with his entire life, Barty decided to call the only person who would listen to him complain for nearly an hour about everything that had ever happened to him: his best friend, Regulus. Luckily, he had memorized Regulus’s phone number ages ago, just in case he ever had to call him from a jail cell.

0 - 2 - 0 - 3 - 5 - 5 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 7 - 7

The line rang a few times before the receiver clicked, and Barty started talking before Regulus could say hello.

“You’ll never believe what bloody happened to me today,” Barty began. “First, I’m sure you’ll notice that I haven’t called from my usual number. That’s because my phone decided to up and die, completely unusable anymore, and I can’t even get any of the data. I woke up and it was just black, the whole screen, and it never came back the whole day. I thought it might have died, only I charged it all night and all day during work for good measure, and you know how unbearable a day without my phone is, especially when I’m at work. And I get out of my long 9-hour shift only to find that my bloody cellular is still fucking broken — so I have to go to the phone store —“

“I don’t know who this is,” a voice snapped suddenly, interrupting Barty’s tirade. Barty was caught up short at hearing a voice other than Regulus’s, the only voice he’d been expecting. He brought the phone back from his ear to look at the screen, scanning the number quickly — oh, he did two sevens at the end, his mistake. Regulus’s number ended in a 7 - 8.

By the time he brought the phone back to his head, the other man had hung up and the dial tone was ringing in Barty’s ear. He cursed, quite affronted about the lack of response to his rant, stranger or not — and he decided to call the man back. This time, when the line clicked, the man spoke in a terse tone before Barty could get a word in.

“What do you want now?” He demanded, and Barty’s eyebrows flew up his forehead.

“Wow, aren’t you just a peach?” Barty said sarcastically. “You didn’t care to respond to my no good, very bad day, which I took offense to.”

“Sounded like a typical day to me,” the man responded. “Now will you leave me alone?”

“No,” Barty replied instantly. “I think it must be fate that I dialed the number wrong and got you instead, if only to brighten up your miserable life.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“That’s the whole point, but you need me, you see,” Barty insisted.

“I doubt that,” he sighed.

“Will you humor me for just a second?” Barty huffed. “I’m Barty, nice to meet you over the phone. I’ve had a very unfortunate day, how was yours?”

Silence on the other end for a long moment. Finally, another sigh, and then, “My name is Evan. My day was fine.”

Barty ended up calling Evan the following day, just to annoy the guy, since he seemed so stubbornly irritable. Evan acted annoyed at him, but he stayed on the phone for a full conversation, so Barty declared it a success. He called the next day, too, and the day after that — until one day Barty was bringing up Evan’s contact to give him a call, and he realized he had been calling the other man every single day for an entire month. It only made him pause for a moment before pressing call.

“Hello again, Barty,” Evan answered somewhat-warmly, and Barty hummed in response.

“Did you know that you have taken my call every day for a month?” Barty asked. Evan went quiet for a moment as he pondered that.

“I didn’t think it had been that long,” Evan admitted, sounding a bit sheepish.

“I think it’s officially undeniable that you like my sparkling personality,” Barty gloated, grinning widely at nothing as he walked home from work. Some of the people walking by stared at him as he passed, and he only grinned wider.

“Like is a strong word,” Evan insisted. “Tolerate, more like.”

“I don’t know,” Barty drawled, still smiling. “Some of those calls have been pretty long...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Evan finally acquiesced. “I guess it’s finally time we meet in person.”

Giddy excitement rose up in Barty’s stomach, and he fought the urge to actually skip through the streets. “Yes, yes, literally any time.”

[ilookattextile]

Last year on October 6 my partner was visiting me in Winnipeg where I was living and we walked around all day and went in this amazing shop that sells vintage deadstock jeans made in the old factory upstairs that used to be active until the 80s and it was owned by this old man who had been born just after WW2 in Russia somewhere and then immigrated to Israel and then Canada. He talked to my partner in Hebrew and talked about his minyan and closing his shop on Saturday mornings when he’s at shul. Then my partner and I walked to the amazing old-style Jewish bakery in the North End that looks unchanged since the 70s. That night he got a text from his brother who lives in Israel saying there were rockets landing near his city, but he was safe. The next few days he couldn’t stop checking his phone to make sure his brother was safe, meanwhile the news about the Oct 7 attacks was everywhere and the retaliation was starting. My partner said, at the time when we didn’t know the scale of the attack, “if 100 Israelis were killed, they’ll kill 1000 Palestinians.” This felt horrible, feeling scared for family in Israel and knowing it was about to become so much worse for other people’s families in Gaza.

The vintage deadstock jeans store was closed every day after Oct 7, for months, and I often wondered what happened to the old man who ran it.

The next weekend the first pro-Palestine protest happened downtown. A protest happened every weekend after that, now for a year. Winnipeg is one of the only cities I know that had protests that consistently. I went almost every weekend while I lived there. Every friend I made in that city I met at a protest. It sometimes started to feel useless, but the movement was so much bigger than it had been before. I used to go to protests in Montreal with less than 50 people, mostly people who were directly affected by the issue: Arabs and Jews. Now all kinds of people were joining the protests. There’s no going back to how it was before. Apartheid will fall.

[edmundtudor]

Below the cut I have made a list of each English and British monarch, the age of their mothers at their births, and which number pregnancy they were the result of. Particularly before the early modern era, the perception of Queens and childbearing is quite skewed, which prompted me to make this list. I started with William I as the Anglo-Saxon kings didn’t have enough information for this list.

House of Normandy

William I (b. c.1028)

Son of Herleva (b. c.1003)

First pregnancy.

Approx age 25 at birth.

William II (b. c.1057/60)

Son of Matilda of Flanders (b. c.1031)

Third pregnancy at minimum, although exact birth order is unclear.

Approx age 26/29 at birth.

Henry I (b. c.1068)

Son of Matilda of Flanders (b. c.1031)

Fourth pregnancy at minimum, more likely eighth or ninth, although exact birth order is unclear.

Approx age 37 at birth.

Matilda (b. 7 Feb 1102)

Daughter of Matilda of Scotland (b. c.1080)

First pregnancy, possibly second.

Approx age 22 at birth.

Stephen (b. c.1092/6)

Son of Adela of Normandy (b. c.1067)

Fifth pregnancy, although exact birth order is uncertain.

Approx age 25/29 at birth.

Henry II (b. 5 Mar 1133)

Son of Empress Matilda (b. 7 Feb 1102)

First pregnancy.

Age 31 at birth.

Richard I (b. 8 Sep 1157)

Son of Eleanor of Aquitaine (b. c.1122)

Sixth pregnancy.

Approx age 35 at birth.

John (b. 24 Dec 1166)

Son of Eleanor of Aquitaine (b. c.1122)

Tenth pregnancy.

Approx age 44 at birth.

House of Plantagenet

Henry III (b. 1 Oct 1207)

Son of Isabella of Angoulême (b. c.1186/88)

First pregnancy.

Approx age 19/21 at birth.

Edward I (b. 17 Jun 1239)

Son of Eleanor of Provence (b. c.1223)

First pregnancy.

Age approx 16 at birth.

Edward II (b. 25 Apr 1284)

Son of Eleanor of Castile (b. c.1241)

Sixteenth pregnancy.

Approx age 43 at birth.

Edward III (b. 13 Nov 1312)

Son of Isabella of France (b. c.1295)

First pregnancy.

Approx age 17 at birth.

Richard II (b. 6 Jan 1367)

Son of Joan of Kent (b. 29 Sep 1326/7)

Seventh pregnancy.

Approx age 39/40 at birth.

House of Lancaster

Henry IV (b. c.Apr 1367)

Son of Blanche of Lancaster (b. 25 Mar 1342)

Sixth pregnancy.

Approx age 25 at birth.

Henry V (b. 16 Sep 1386)

Son of Mary de Bohun (b. c.1369/70)

First pregnancy.

Approx age 16/17 at birth.

Henry VI (b. 6 Dec 1421)

Son of Catherine of Valois (b. 27 Oct 1401)

First pregnancy.

Age 20 at birth.

House of York

Edward IV (b. 28 Apr 1442)

Son of Cecily Neville (b. 3 May 1415)

Third pregnancy.

Age 26 at birth.

Edward V (b. 2 Nov 1470)

Son of Elizabeth Woodville (b. c.1437)

Sixth pregnancy.

Approx age 33 at birth.

Richard III (b. 2 Oct 1452)

Son of Cecily Neville (b. 3 May 1415)

Eleventh pregnancy.

Age 37 at birth.

House of Tudor

Henry VII (b. 28 Jan 1457)

Son of Margaret Beaufort (b. 31 May 1443)

First pregnancy.

Age 13 at birth.

Henry VIII (b. 28 Jun 1491)

Son of Elizabeth of York (b. 11 Feb 1466)

Third pregnancy.

Age 25 at birth.

Edward VI (b. 12 Oct 1537)

Son of Jane Seymour (b. c.1509)

First pregnancy.

Approx age 28 at birth.

Jane (b. c.1537)

Daughter of Frances Brandon (b. 16 Jul 1517)

Third pregnancy.

Approx age 20 at birth.

Mary I (b. 18 Feb 1516)

Daughter of Catherine of Aragon (b. 16 Dec 1485)

Fifth pregnancy.

Age 30 at birth.

Elizabeth I (b. 7 Sep 1533)

Daughter of Anne Boleyn (b. c.1501/7)

First pregnancy.

Approx age 26/32 at birth.

House of Stuart

James I (b. 19 Jun 1566)

Son of Mary I of Scotland (b. 8 Dec 1542)

First pregnancy.

Age 23 at birth.

Charles I (b. 19 Nov 1600)

Son of Anne of Denmark (b. 12 Dec 1574)

Fifth pregnancy.

Age 25 at birth.

Charles II (b. 29 May 1630)

Son of Henrietta Maria of France (b. 25 Nov 1609)

Second pregnancy.

Age 20 at birth.

James II (14 Oct 1633)

Son of Henrietta Maria of France (b. 25 Nov 1609)

Fourth pregnancy.

Age 23 at birth.

William III (b. 4 Nov 1650)

Son of Mary, Princess Royal (b. 4 Nov 1631)

Second pregnancy.

Age 19 at birth.

Mary II (b. 30 Apr 1662)

Daughter of Anne Hyde (b. 12 Mar 1637)

Second pregnancy.

Age 25 at birth.

Anne (b. 6 Feb 1665)

Daughter of Anne Hyde (b. 12 Mar 1637)

Fourth pregnancy.

Age 27 at birth.

House of Hanover

George I (b. 28 May 1660)

Son of Sophia of the Palatinate (b. 14 Oct 1630)

First pregnancy.

Age 30 at birth.

George II (b. 9 Nov 1683)

Son of Sophia Dorothea of Celle (b. 15 Sep 1666)

First pregnancy.

Age 17 at birth.

George III (b. 4 Jun 1738)

Son of Augusta of Saxe-Gotha (b. 30 Nov 1719)

Second pregnancy.

Age 18 at birth.

George IV (b. 12 Aug 1762)

Son of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (b. 19 May 1744)

First pregnancy.

Age 18 at birth.

William IV (b. 21 Aug 1765)

Son of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (b. 19 May 1744)

Third pregnancy.

Age 21 at birth.

Victoria (b. 24 May 1819)

Daughter of Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saafield (b. 17 Aug 1786)

Third pregnancy.

Age 32 at birth.

Edward VII (b. 9 Nov 1841)

Daughter of Victoria of the United Kingdom (b. 24 May 1819)

Second pregnancy.

Age 22 at birth.

House of Windsor

George V (b. 3 Jun 1865)

Son of Alexandra of Denmark (b. 1 Dec 1844)

Second pregnancy.

Age 20 at birth.

Edward VIII (b. 23 Jun 1894)

Son of Mary of Teck (b. 26 May 1867)

First pregnancy.

Age 27 at birth.

George VI (b. 14 Dec 1895)

Son of Mary of Teck (b. 26 May 1867)

Second pregnancy.

Age 28 at birth.

Elizabeth II (b. 21 Apr 1926)

Daughter of Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (b. 4 Aug 1900)

First pregnancy.

Age 25 at birth.

Charles III (b. 14 Nov 1948)

Son of Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom (b. 21 Apr 1926)

First pregnancy.

Age 22 at birth.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Probably the biggest news in Israel today is how many of the hostages are already confirmed dead. The thing isn't that we didn't know some were. If you've been following my update posts, then you know that more than once, we got the news that a hostage was confirmed to have been killed, and their body held hostage in Gaza. The thing is that up until now, no one talked about the total number of dead, or the number of those with an indication (which still needs to be verified) that they might be dead. So here are the numbers, as published: out of the official number of 136 Israeli hostages in Gaza, 32 are dead bodies, with the IDF trying to determine whether at least 20 more were also killed. That means that it's confirmed there are no more than 104 living hostages abducted from Israel and held in Gaza, and potentially no more than 84.

In the wake of the Oct 7 massacre, Hamas has been self contradictory. On the one hand, they shared footage of the carnage themselves, many times live (this website is dressed as if it's Hamas', and presents some of the evidence from that day, for all the deniers). The footage and testimonies of survivors, as well as forensic evidence collected from the slain shows that civilian communities were intentionally targeted, and that women, men, kids were intentionally raped, maimed and murdered under close proximity, where no mistake about the identity of the victims could have been made. A Hamas senior has openly said that they would repeat the massacre until Israel is destroyed. All of Israel destroyed obviously harms the civilians, including the women and kids. Following the massacre, Hamas has also called for Oct 13 to be a global 'Day of Rage' where Hamas supporters were called upon to attack Israelis and Jews worldwide. They did not specify leaving women and kids out of it, and when Jews are made into targets globally, meaning way beyond Israel and its army, that obviously means civilians. Yet at the same time, Hamas has denied having targeted civilians, that if Hamas did kill them it was due to confusion, and even blamed Israel for the civilian deaths. But now, Israel has released evidence of a book of fatwas (Islamic religious decrees) found in Gaza, which exlpictly allowed the Hamas terrorists to target civilians, including women and kids. The pic on the right shows the cover of the fatwas book, with Hamas' emblem, and the left shows the relevant fatwa.

The newly elected president of Argentina is visiting Israel, to announce the moving of the Argentinian embassy to Jerusalem. I'm just gonna remind everyone that foreign embassies normally are in a country's capital, and that foreign countries don't get to choose a capital instead of a country's own people. In fact, I personally don't know of any other case where foreign nations refuse to acknowledge a country's choice of capital by keeping their embassies out of there. Originally, the refusal to recognize Jerusalem as Israel's capital happened before the war in 1967 (when the two parts of the city, torn apart by Jordan in 1948, which also ethnically cleansed East Jerusalem of Jews, were re-united), and was connected to the fact that in the 1947 UN partition plan (which wasn't legally binding, and was nullified by the Arabs' refusal to accept it, and them starting a war against Israel), Jerusalem was supposed to be an internationally governed area. In other words, this isn't the world acting on behalf of the Palestinians, it's acting on behalf of its own political and religious interests in the historical Jewish capital, and the city holiest to Judaism for over 3,000 years. Currently, Jerusalem is home to the embassies of the US, Honduras, Guatemala, Kosovo (the first Muslim country to have an embassy there), and Papua New Guinea.

And while it's not an official embassy, because it doesn't represent an actual country, the other day a symbolic one was opened in Jerusalem, the Indigenous People embassy. And to see other native people connecting with the Jews, who are native to the Land of Israel, warms my heart. The embassy may not be an official one, but it has the support of various indigenous leaders from around the world, and its opening was attended by over 100 ambassadors.

This is 42 years old Lara Tannous.

She's a Palestinian from East Jerusalem. On Jan 7, 3 Palestinian terrorists opened fire at the car she was in. Another Palestinian man who was driving along the same road, 32 years old Amar Mansour, was killed immediately. Lara was seriously wounded. She was hospitalized in Hadassah Ein Kerem, the Jerusalem medical center where she's been working as a pharmacist for the last 17 years, but succumbed to her wounds on Jan 24. She was buried in the Palestinian-ruled city of Ramallah. The three terrorists thought they were shooting at Jews. According to at least one source, they were 2 doctors and a male nurse, before choosing to take lives instead. This morning, I happened to undergo a procedure at Hadassah. Before leaving, I noticed there's a corner for the workers or their family members killed on or since Oct 7. Here's the corner dedicated to the hostages, the one to the victims of Palestinian terrorism, and one zoomed in pic, where you can see Lara's photograph a bit better:

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[xovalentinewritesxo]

Care [Miguel O'hara]

✿ - You assumed no one cared about you anymore after losing your universe, turns out, the person that did was right beside you.

✿ -Light Angst and comfort.

✿ - 1k words!

A/N: Heres my second fic for the day/night! It's a little thing I wrote a while ago but never go around finishing it, but now that I have a blog here ya go!

If you want to support me: Here's My Kofi! <3

I appreciate everything and everyone who comes across my works! Enjoy!

“I’m going to have to tell Alexander to keep her Universe under control!!”

You yell out as you swing through the city chasing after the Doc Oct that escaped from Earth-229. 

You are one of the many SpiderWomen that are a part of the Spider Society. You’ve been a part of the society since it’s beginning, being a close friend of Miguel’s.

You had him to think for you being here.

Speaking of which, You zip past him, determined to get the Doc Oc and return them back to their universe. You were alongside Miguel when you noticed something being hurdled in his direction.

Without a second thought, you swung up and shoved him out of the way, taking the brunt of the hit and was sent flying, last thing you saw was Miguel’s concerned face and him shouting your name.

Before you knew of anomalies or anything strange like that, you were just your friendly neighborhood spiderman, going about your days spending time with your family, fighting crime and enjoying life. That was until one day..

It was all just suddenly ripped away.

You can remember it like it was yesterday, you were fighting this Green Goblin that looked a little weird, like he didn't belong in your city. Then boom, your universe started looking like a glitched out computer screen, you remember the screaming, the crying as your universe evaporated around you.

Last thing you remembered was Miguel running with you in his arms, he was cursing in spanish to himself as he opened a portal and brought you back to the Spider society HQ.

And just like that, you were alone.

It changed you. 

You weren’t the same person anymore. After seeing your universe collapse in front of you, it was like a slap to your face. All your friends, family and things were all gone and you were forced to start all over.

You had Miguel by your side, who explained that it wasn’t your fault, that everything that happened to you was a canon event, that it was something that was going to happen, that you couldn’t have done anything to stop it.

That didn’t stop you from crying nonstop, some nights were better than others. But as you stayed with Miguel, you would wake up with vivid nightmares, seeing the images of your friends evaporating in front of your eyes.

It was hard, and Miguel was there, but you knew you couldn’t depend on him always.

You felt like a burden whenever you woke him up in the middle of the night after having a bad dream, following him around because you didn’t really know anyone else in the spider society and you were afraid of making new friends in fear of losing them again.

It causes you to get in your own head. You started to doubt yourself. 

You started thinking of yourself as a problem, you felt like an outsider as you couldn’t go home like everyone else. You thought everyone was annoyed by you being around 24/7. You would feel awful whenever you would go to Miguel in his office when he was busy or stressed from a mission gone wrong. 

He would yell at you, tell you to get out and find somewhere else to go, but then immediately took it back when he saw the hurt look on your face. 

You often get reckless on missions, risking your life for others who had places to return to when the day was over. And that tended to get you scolded by Miguel.

But did you care? Not really.

You saw it as trading your life for someone who deserved to live on, you saw yourself as a burden and you saw what you did as good.

But apparently someone didn’t appreciate it, and he would make it very clear.

“Y/N”

You didn’t have time to react before you were slammed into a building by a large piece of debris, you felt yourself go through several walls before landing on your back and falling forward, landing with a thud.

You groaned as you tried to move but your back felt awful. Your vision was blurry as you made out a figure coming into the hole that you were knocked through and running up to you.

“Dios, por favor déjala estar bien…por favor..”

It was Miguel and you heard his footsteps land near you and you felt him pick you up and cradle you in his arms. 

“Idiot..what did i tell you about doing foolish stunts like that!?” He yelled as he held you, assessing your injuries. Your spider suit was torn in several places and he could see a deep gash on your back. He curses as he opened a portal and walked through with you in it. 

The two of you entered the apartment that you shared together and he placed you down on the bed, not caring that your blood was getting on his sheets. You watched as he moved around and you were about to speak but was cut off.

“Migu-”

“¡Callarse la boca! (Shut Up!) Why do you still do this!?” He yelled as he prepared bandages and medicine for you. His back was turned to you as he was yelling and you frowned.

“Do what?..”

“No juegues estúpido. (Don’t play stupid) You know what I mean. Why do you continue to risk your life out there like you have nothing to go home to.”

You look at him as you slowly sit up, being careful not to make your injury even worse. You avert your gaze as you feel him turn around to look at you.

“You know why Miguel..everyone else has something to live for..a home..I don’t have one.” You answer softly. You then jump as in a blink of an eye he grabs your shoulders, being mindful of your injuries but still gripping tightly.

“¡Cállate!(Be Quiet!), Do you not understand how much that hurts me when you say that?! I am your home! You have me! Am I not enough for you!?”

His words hit deep and you stare blankly at him before you feel tears well up in your eyes before they eventually spill over. Your quiet cries evolve into sobs as he gently pulls you into his chest, allowing you to cry.

He cant rub your back due to your injury, but he reaches up to pet your head as you cry. He soothes your cries, rocking slightly.

“I’m here for you, Y/n..don’t you ever forget that, you’re never alone. Not anymore.” He says gently as he maneuvers so he is sitting on the bed and you’re in his lap. He cradles you gentle as he looks down at you.

In his arms, you realized that you weren’t alone.

And you definitely have someone who cares.

© xovalentinewritesxo 2023 <3

Please feel free to put a request in!

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 4: Apple Leaf Adagio

Bearblr Promptober Day 3: Apple Picking

Summary: In which Carmen reflects on the time you took him apple picking. Cute fluff.

Warnings: Nothing major, mentions of anxiety, swearing, written with fem reader who is a trauma surgeon (nothing gross described) in mind, she/her pronouns.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Reblogs appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

03 Oct 2024

Sound stupid, but I went apple picking with my girlfriend today.

It’s something she used to do with her grandmother when she was a kid. There’s this orchard out in Boone County—Edward’s, I think? I can’t fucking remember. Anyway, it’s this cute little orchard, family-owned. Had, quite frankly, amazing apple cider donuts. These rows and rows of apple trees. We went first thing in the morning, when a lot of kids and families wouldn’t be around to overwhelm me. Felt strange leaving the restaurant partway through prep, but I need a break from the constant stress of it all before I become a problem for everyone else. I hate admitting that Syd was right about that, but she is. Again.

Anyway, it had rows and rows of apple trees, and so we picked a random one and just walked through it. They had decent selections but nothing that particularly caught my eye for a good tart or something to pair with duck (Tina was saying something about pairing the duck with an apple glaze) this early in the season. Seasonal menu changes are up in two weeks, and I got nothing substantial, it’s driving me nuts. Honestly felt like a waste of time. She reminded me that we were there to take a break. It wasn’t until I saw that her apple basket had that one with the green heart on it that I’d looked at several trees back that I realized she’d just been picking all the ones I found interesting.

It was sweet.

God, I love her so much.

She told me to focus on the sound of wind rustling the leaves. That I’d have other thoughts intrude, but to keep directing my attention back to the sound of the leaves. I asked her why, and she said that when things got crazy in the trauma bay, when she felt like too many things were happening all at once, when all the monitors were going off and the nurses were shouting and family members were being assholes and patient number 6 of the night came in looking more dead than alive, when her hands shook and she felt like she was going to puke, she found the sound of the ventilation system and focused on it while in the OR. Kept her from exploding.

I didn’t know if it was going to help me, but going to the orchard didn’t feel like a waste for the rest of the time we were there. The leaves, they made this soft sound in waves—maybe it was the wind pattern that day or I just never noticed it before—but they would whoosh loudly, then go quiet, then pick up volume, then trail off again. I could almost sway back and forth to it. A soothing hum that found permanent residence in my memory bank. During service, when the line started drifting behind, I tried to find it again, tried to conjure the adagio of the apple leaves. It didn’t return, but I kept thinking about it. And when I was thinking about walking through the trees with her, I’d blink, and 7 tickets would’ve gone by, and I wouldn’t’ve exploded. And then I’d feel my heart in my throat because the line was now 3 minutes behind, but then I could picture her smile as she held up another apple, the way the sun glittered in her eyes, almost hear the hum-dum-hum-dum of the leaves—and another 9 tickets would go by. 4 minutes behind. Still no explosion.

That’s something, right?

[jewfrogs]

hi gabriel. i have a problem. i initially followed your blog a year or two ago because i was in the process of converting; haunting my local reform synagogue, becoming a known quantity, chilling with folks at holidays, et cetera. i stopped attending friday services regularly a little before oct 7 (restaurant job with conflicting hours), but since things started i haven’t gone back. i keep telling people it’s because i don’t want to have to talk about it but i don’t know how to square being an anti zionist convert with being surrounded by people who are firmly pro israel. just last week they invited an idf soldier to speak about how hard his job is!! and fuck i miss the friends i made there. i miss having ten grandmas. im sorry i know you’re not the Jewish Ambassador and you sure didn’t ask for receiving random emotionally loaded anons, but i dont know what to do. i know i can’t be a solitary jew but the ones i know are apparently cool with war crimes if their side does them. i didn’t think i had a soul but i guess i do and it’s fucking hurting bad right now fuck

hi honey. i’m sorry i can’t say much of substance beyond that i’m right there with you and it’s miserable and i wish there was an easy solution. i wish it wasn’t this way; i wish so many jewish spaces weren’t this way.

nothing can fully replace physical, in-person community in most cases, but it’s important to find ways to remind yourself that you may be solitary, but you are not alone.

you might look into the shabbat services at tzedek chicago (one of the only actively antizionist synagogues i know of) which are available virtually around the world.

depending on where you live, there might be a jewish presence at pro-palestine protests or events with organizations like JVP or INN or other local groups, which can be affirming and meaningful (and even if there isn’t an explicit presence, there’s a high likelihood that there’ll be other solitary jews).

reading historical and contemporary writings by antizionist jews is great (i recommend anti-zionism: analytical reflections, although i’m not sure if it’s anywhere online).

online spaces can be a blessing too—r/jewsofconscience has consistently solid conversations and community, and even just seeing other antizionist jews on here reminds me that i’m not alone and i’ve never been alone.

i wish you well and i hope you find as much peace as possible 🪬💙🧿

[valaruakars]

Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2  → Part 3 → Part 4  → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6  → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference. 

Except maybe in your quadriceps. 

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough. 

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to. 

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something. 

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them. 

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house. 

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention. 

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that. 

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one. 

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive. 

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left? 

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :) 

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me? 

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it. 

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets. 

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs. 

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal. 

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones. 

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home. 

Not until he’s standing above you.  

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention. 

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan. 

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat. 

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him. 

You just can’t. 

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him. 

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot. 

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize. 

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down. 

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not! 

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor. 

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter. 

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you. 

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser. 

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.” 

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.  

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.” 

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin. 

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught. 

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity. 

It doesn’t, of course. 

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.  

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same. 

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him. 

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you. 

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought. 

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually. 

Of stretches.  

The familiarity sparks excitement. 

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses. 

“These are from the physical therapist?” 

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie. 

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?” 

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?” 

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never. 

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit. 

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry. 

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready. 

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree. 

So you don’t.  

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting. 

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky. 

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl. 

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?” 

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise. 

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.  

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is. 

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”  

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth. 

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation. 

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually. 

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it? 

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight. 

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.  

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you. 

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone. 

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?” 

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really. 

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?” 

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.” 

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to. 

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door. 

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot. 

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy. 

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become. 

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.” 

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?” 

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will? 

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.  

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over. 

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it. 

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?” 

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded. 

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live? 

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer. 

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time. 

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again. 

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew. 

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all. 

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence. 

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?” 

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be. 

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot. 

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship. 

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense. 

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck. 

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” you squirm. 

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?” 

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...” 

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus. 

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.  

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.” 

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.” 

“He is.” 

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right. 

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.” 

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask. 

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.” 

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.” 

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.” 

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.” 

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night. 

Is it any wonder that another slips? 

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.” 

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone. 

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.  

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.” 

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.” 

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.” 

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy. 

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit. 

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.” 

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind. 

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.” 

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?” 

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped. 

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly. 

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too. 

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like. 

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No. 

“Is your mother alright?” 

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?” 

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask. 

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger. 

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him. 

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it.  “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have. 

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days. 

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel. 

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce. 

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?” 

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit. 

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried. 

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee. 

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers. 

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

[eretzyisrael]

by Christian Toto

The play’s performance at Princeton earlier this month went off without a hitch. The next stop on the college tour may be different.

McAleer and McElhinney’s email newsletter shared news, gleaned from Instagram posts, that pro-Palestinina protestors plan to buy tickets to the show and “disrupt” the performance. The production will be held at UCLA on Oct. 7 – the one-year anniversary of the terror attacks.

“They want to start a riot and make it impossible for us to perform the play,” the newsletter said.

The HiT ‘cast spoke to McAleer and McElhinney earlier this week about what it took to produce a show like “October 7” given the violent protests we’ve already seen across the country.

“We were the only play in New York that needed a permanent police presence,” McAleer told the HiT ‘cast. “What kind of a world are we living in?”

“New York is home to the biggest Jewish population outside Tel Aviv, but it’s unsafe to put on a Jewish play giving voice to Israelis in New York,” he added.

McAleer said he kept one part of the security plans quiet during the show’s Big Apple run. His team hired an armed security guard to be on-site for every performance in addition to other precautions.

“That’s what we had to do to make the actors comfortable, so they could concentrate on their art,” he said. “I’m not sure a play about Palestine or Gaza from a Gazan’s perspective would need police protection outside.”

Thankfully, nothing untoward happened. The show went on for several weeks. The material still kept some actors from appearing in the show, the duo shared.

“A lot of actors didn’t want to do this play because they feared it might harm their career,” he said.