#it helps me to sort my jumbled thoughts

[akq96618]

nowhere

[someartistsammy]

Genesis's childhood award, the basis of pasteurization, and the supposed fragility of Banora Whites.

A take on it from a farm kid that actually specializes in growing apples.

Was talking with a good friend of mine last night about various takes in the fandom last night and was reminded of one I had seen semi-recently about Genesis's childhood genius in supposedly inventing pasteurization.

I want to believe this is a take that comes from being uninformed as to what pasteurization actually is, considering him being the first to invent it around the time of 1990 would show a stunning lack of technological advancements in the world of FF7. Let me explain.

Shinra has had a lot of technological advancements, and we can see those constantly portrayed clear as day throughout the world of FF7. However even in the time before Shinra, during the time of the Republic of Junon, it can also be assumed that they would have pasteurization, a process that in the real world was invented in the 1800s. Exploration of the world in Rebirth also reveals multiple areas that have shipment docks from the time of the Republic. This would include the assumption that this is how people both traveled as well as transported and exchanged goods.

Pasteurization is an incredibly important technological advancement as it's allowed for the easier shipment and trade of food on a global level. The definition can be found below.

In food processing, pasteurization is a process of food preservation in which packaged and unpacked foods (e.g., milk and fruit juices) are treated with mild heat, usually to less than 100 °C (212 °F), to eliminate pathogens and extend shelf life. Pasteurization either destroys or deactivates microorganisms and enzymes that contribute to food spoilage or the risk of disease, … (continued on Wikipedia)

There are different methods such as Low-temperature long time (LTLT), High temperature/short time (HTST) and Ultrahigh temperature (UHT) (also called Ultraheat treated) however that isn't super important to this, just know that HTST is the standard for apple juice.

The point in this being that if Genesis were to have invented pasteurization ~1990, the rest of the world would have been taking incredibly risky measures in transporting food and risking spoiling for decades, as well as various things being unsafe for consumption such as milk. With the advancements the world already had by this time such as phones, war artillery, windmills, and mako reactors, I find it highly unlikely that he would've been the one to invent pasteurization.

I feel as though it is important to mention that Genesis's award was first place in the National Agriculture Awards, but more specifically, an award in the processed food category. The processed category in these awards directly gives it away in the fact that food was already processed enough to have its own category for awards. Presentation on this is in relation to the presentation of a processed product, and not a form of processing itself. In the assumption that these reflect actual reward categories, there are different categories for scientific invention as well as processing systems.

Reference page for the names/categories presented. This is not the description document.

Agricultural Proficiency Award Area Descriptions.

Although there is the argument that they likely didn't use this same style categorizing, its important to note that they did use categories within the national agricultural awards, and they specifically made the choice of processed food, instead of any of the other choices. If he really made such an important invention, why wouldn't it be stated anywhere as clearly being pasteurization, something that would revolutionize the world, or for that matter why wouldn't it be awarded in the name of development of food science?

I believe its also worth mentioning that the Crisis Core Complete Guide says "Because the fruit can only be harvested in this region, it sells for a high price on the market, but the village children don't seem to know this, …" This would be due to the fact that the Banora Whites are common-place in Banora. In a similar way to how wagyu in Japan is significantly cheaper than it is in the United States, due to export; Genesis would have an easier and cheaper time attempting experimentation methods, if there even needs to be any variation for them, resulting in juice with correct pasteurization due to his being local to Banora. (Market price on them in Banora would be naturally lower due to supply likely being higher than demand, as well as not having to worry about import and export fees. Not to mention being the place where it is naturally grown).

*In the above example I used wagyu as a comparison, however this could just as easily be any other exported food that becomes considered rare when exported, another example which is actually more rare would be the black diamond apple.

While mentioning this, I also want to say that his invention is specifically upon Banora White Juice, not apple juice in its entirety of existence. In similarity to pasteurization, this feels like an over-exaggeration of what Genesis actually accomplished.

While branching through this topic, I also want to bring attention to a take I was sent a while back on the supposed fragility of Banora Whites. While going through the Ultimanias with assistance of a friend, nothing could be found on sources hinting towards Banora Whites being fragile. My next assumption is that this conclusion was likely reached on the basis of Banora Whites being mentioned to be region exclusive, and a high-price market item.

Banora Whites are called just that because of their area of growth being only that of Banora in the Mideel region. The growth of Banora Whites is actually tied to the amount of lifestream that flows through the Banora Underground, this gives Banora a very unique type of soil that allows for the growth of Banora Whites. Since Banora is the only place where the crop grows, giving it a very limited area of growth, and since it cannot be grown globally, gives it a very high market value.

Now into the technicality of things, it could also be assumed that the sale of the Banora White was likely tied to its aesthetics, similar to the way that the pink pineapple is in the real world. The difference here being that when juiced, the pink pineapple loses most of what it has going for it in terms of its aesthetic appearance and thus reducing its marketability and price. Meanwhile, Banora whites, while although losing what would make them have a unique aesthetic appearance, could possibly have a specific flavor to them that translates into the juice.

You see, I believe Genesis's intelligence on the matter comes from not creating some life changing way of preserving things, but rather from preventing waste. Although I do not find any info on Banora Whites being fragile, it can be argued that all apples are fragile in a sense, or at least majority of them. They're truly one of those fruits where sometimes you can chuck them at a tree and only see a bruise or dent, and other times you look at them wrong and they'll split wide open.

When thinking of an apple in general, chances are fragile is not the first word that comes to mind, as many other fruits would be considered fragile long before them, and that'd be correct. However, the harvest and transportation of apples, as well as their general growth, can be littered with complications. When moving apples in a commercial wooden apple bin, when you have hundreds of them stacked together, driving faster than even 2MPH by tractor can cause shaking and damage to the fruit by rubbing damage which can create bruising.

Banora is a remote island location, and import and export of items is likely expensive, which would contribute to the income that Banora Whites would bring in (see earlier mention of wagyu and Japan vs US price) Due to being an island, the methods of exporting would have to be either by air, which would be incredibly expensive and fuel taxing, or by ocean. I mentioned earlier that FF7 Rebirth shows multiple docks and ports that would hint towards ocean being the likely way of transportation of food and people. This would require a boat to leave from down by Banora and travel all the way up the coast through the Meridian Ocean. Constant swaying of the ocean and anything unsecured likely leads to aesthetic damages which allow for even less of the Banora Whites to reach market in aesthetically acceptable shelf conditions.

Banora and in general the Mideel Region is a very coastal region that by flora alone also appears to be a very warm and tropical one. By this assumption not only would Banora Whites possibly be prone to sunburn, a reason they likely developed their darker appearance to survive, but also being internally cooked by the heat of the sun. Also being coastal could lead to strong storms brought in by the ocean leaving damage from heavy winds, pelting rain, hail, and similar damaging weather factors. Excessive rain also typically leads to apples suffering growth cracks, which also takes them off the table for being sold to market as-is.

In the assumption that the Banora Whites would survive possibly brutal conditions that are located down in that area, due to any damage caused by going across the sea, they would likely need to be packaged first while in Banora (hence the warehouse) which would also bring up the pricing on them. However, where does this leave the fruit that's been damaged? Just because it has a crack it it or an aesthetic-only scar across the skin does not mean that the fruit is ruined or inedible. This is fruit that can be used for many different things, including juicing. Juicing is a method that ignores damages that are purely aesthetic, and allows for profit where there would otherwise be none given. Genesis's invention is that of one that prevents waste, and allows for another source of income to the area.

Juicing of apples that wouldn't make it to market would keep the price of the pure solid apples that do make it to market still profitable, while also giving use to those that wouldn't be allowed onto the shelves. While its nothing groundbreaking for the world, like pasteurization would have been, it does allow for Banora to be able to sustain itself via income more, and just overall prevent the waste of more food.

Although to some its not as glamorous if he didn't do something that fundamentally changed the world as a kid, that doesn't mean that what Genesis did isn't still something that he was worth awarding for, especially as a youth. Not only did his creation prevent the waste of food, which earned him his award, but Banora White Juice also did become a famous global hit.

[artem1sc0re]

Fuck it; live reaction to the bagley mission in legion (so essentially a yap session that’s a bit jumbled up, as I have a habit of jumping to conclusions and saying something that’s actually incorrect, if you will)

Through text.

(Entices you to read with a bagley doodle)

(POST LEGION CAMPAIGN SPOILERS‼️)

(6/9 memories in since I got the idea to do this at the last minute)

Honestly it’s kind of cute seeing what Bagley got up to as a human and the people he interacted with. Highlight for me was definitely number 6 and 5; he’s honestly so real for liking strawberries, also the entire interaction between him and Arthur as they rowed together was so so sweet

Also screw the Larsen parents, I feel bad for bagley (Bradley) considering he was probably neglected for more academic aspects and probably was the witness to his parents’ arguments considering that whole scene of being bluntly told his father was leaving for “someone he loves more”. I would gladly go to your matches with no hesitation little Brad☝️☝️

(7 memories in) WHAT?? NATALIE’S SKYE LARSEN?? HOW TF CAN YOU DOWNGRADE A NAME FROM SOMETHING LIKE NATALIE TO SKY?? THATS RIDICULOUS ☠️☠️

Skye Larsen assumption aside, I think he had another seizure which wasn’t nice judging by the amount of shifting in the audio 😞😞

[correction since that whole point was drastically incorrect: my attention span was out of the window when I listened to it, which led me to jump to conclusions and Bagley was not talking about Natalie. He was talking about Skye when Bradley proceeded to say “she did this! Someone stop her!”]

(Mission aside, the whole neural mapping concept and Bagley’s character is low-key making me inspired to write something)

(8 memories in) don’t tell me skye did what I think she did. I’m taking her out of the grave to shake her by the shoulders very aggressively, if that’s the case (What did I think she did? Non-consensually neural-mapped him like she did to her mum because oh yes daybreak! Progressive and amazing! Totally didn’t cost her entire family getting involved in her unethical shenanigans!)

(9 memories in) I am eyeing Skye like a hawk despite her already being dead years after this conversation

I feel so bad for Bradley ☹️☹️ because of what he’s been through, he had to give up his whole life including his hobbies, friends and partner; it’s breaking my heart to see because he seems like such a good drinking buddy and friend to have

(Post finding Bagley, so after meeting Bradley)

Well that whole conversation was heartbreaking asf. Who taught bagley how to output such heart string tugging monologues/pieces of dialogue, BECAUSE THATS TWICE HES DONE IT! (For me at least)

Fuck Skye Larsen tbh I can get why people hate her now

And it’s making me regret my decision of sparing her because that is in fact what I did (it’s fine though because doing a second playthrough exists)

ALSO ITS THE FACT THAT SHE PROFITED OFF OF USING HER OWN BROTHER AS A GUINEA PIG TO CREATE BAGLEY AS WELL, LIKE HELLO???

Edit: So ermm I played back the audios in chronological order and it just clicked to me that Skye Larsen was possibly digitally lobotomising Bradley for the sake of making Bagley due to the whole neural mapping thing. NOT VERY LOVELY! What the fuck Skye?! Not cool! If anything the whole thing of profiting off of her unethical practices of using her mother and own brother as well as her dog as Guinea pigs for this just enrages me

So yea as I said 8 memories in, she did in fact did this all without her brother’s consent!

Anyway yap session over, maybe someday I’ll rewrite this with my thoughts but this time more coherently

Thanks for taking some time out of your day to read this ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞

[lemonlover1110]

𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀!

Sylus

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Summary: You leave a memento for Sylus before your business trip

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Smut, Oral Sex (m. receiving), FILMING (aka they make a sex tape), Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Cockwarming, Nipple Play, Praising

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sylus gets pouty when he realizes you’ll be gone for a week. He doesn’t know how he ever survived without you. The thought almost seems impractical now. 

The issue with Sylus is that you notice he’s upset, but nobody else does. Sylus successfully manages to suppress any and all of his feelings. To everyone else he looks normal, but you notice that something is off with him. His lips are slightly pursed together instead of being in their typical straight line. His eyebrows are more together than usual, and you can’t help but notice how he subtly wrinkles his nose when you mention that you’ll be gone for a week.

He’s upset, but every time that you mention it Sylus completely denies it. He typically laughs, as if you’ve told some sort of joke when you’ve simply pointed out your observations. He keeps up the facade that he’s a big and strong man that won’t get upset by his girlfriend leaving him; even if it’s with you. You won’t push the matter though, if he claims that he isn’t upset then he’s not upset.

“Is everything packed?” Sylus asks, staring at the pink bag that contains all of your stuff for the week. Sure, it’s big but not enough for a week’s worth of clothes and necessities. It surprises him when you nod. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t low maintenance…”

“You act like I’ll be gone for a month. It’s just a week, and I’ll mostly be in uniform.” You respond, and you watch as his face contorts. He’s upset. Your eye could twitch at his reaction– It’s not that you’re mad that he’s upset, you’re mad because he denies it. No matter what you say he’ll deny it.

“Right, it’s just a week.” He answers. Comforting yet distressful words. 

“But maybe you’re right, in case I need to stay for longer I should pack–” You begin but before you can even finish the thought, the man cuts you off.

“Why would you need to stay for longer?” His words almost come out jumbled from how fast he speaks. He notices how he acts and corrects his speech, “Doesn’t the association have other hunters? Why would they exclusively force you to stay?”

“I’m important at my job, Sylus.” You point out, getting pouty yourself. However, you should be happy. You can see the distress in his eyes by the mere suggestion that you might have to stay for longer. “And since you won’t miss me around, I might just stay longer.”

“You’re more than welcome to.” He crosses his arms, not willing to let you win in this petty game that you have suddenly created. 

“Fine.” You frown, grabbing your bag from the bedroom and heading toward the door.

“Where are you going?” He questions as you begin to walk away.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room.” You announce, and you watch as he clenches his jaw; yet, he won’t say a thing. He nods. He’ll let you have your way.

You expect Sylus to be in your room within thirty minutes, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You know him enough to know that he’ll show up to your room eventually, you’re just not sure that you’ll be awake for when that happens. Your eyes are getting heavy, before you know it, you’ll be asleep.

Luckily, at thirty-one minutes, you feel a heavy weight settle in beside you. He’ll continue to deny that he’s upset. But he doesn’t have to admit that he’s upset for you to know– What difference will it make if he admits it?

“Are you asleep?” He whispers as his arm goes over your body, bringing you closer to him. You hum in response, quickly followed by a giggle from you. “Does that mean you don’t want to talk?”

“Will you admit that you’ll miss me?” You ask him as you feel his cold hand going under your shirt, looking for warmth. You nearly squeal at the cold hands, but you’re used to them. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, answering your question in the most unusual manner.

“Who’s going to warm me up?” He responds.

“Mephisto.” You joke, but he can’t find any humor in your words. He’s serious, yet you’re laughing.

“And who’ll keep me company?” He continues while your hand caresses his arm. He’s letting himself be soft, a pleasure that only you get to witness. He’d call it his weak side, but you think it’s his finest trait.

“I’m only one call away.” You remind him, but you understand that it’s not the same. You take his hand out of your shirt and turn on your side to look at him. He’s looking down at you with soft eyes, completely filled with worry.

“I want to see your face.” He says, and your hand goes to his cheek, pinching it. 

“Your phone has a camera, silly. You’re always calling me on facetime.” He’s finding issues with anything and everything, all which has a solution. Your lips land on the tip of his nose before you ask, “Is it because you’re going to miss my kisses and undivided attention?”

He stays quiet, and you peck his lips. You kiss him over and over again. You’ll do it until he asks you to stop, but Sylus is never going to stop you. As long as you’re all over him, he’s happy. 

“Kiss your hand whenever you miss me.” Your thumb caresses his cheek, and he looks at you with adoring eyes. You press your forehead against his, while his arm brings you closer to him.

“What if I’m missing more than just your kisses?” He asks, and your brows perk up. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s insinuating, but you choose to act stupid. You want to hear the exact words.

“Hmm… What do you mean?” You sit up, batting your eyelashes at him. A smirk comes to his lips, noting the mischief in your eyes. You get on top of him, knees on either side of him while his hands go to your waist.

“You know exactly what I mean, kitten.” He responds, his hands going under your shirt once again– This time, they aren’t looking for warmth; they’re being naughty and trailing up your skin. “What will I do when I need more than your kisses?”

“You have the internet.” You remind him, reaching into his pocket to pull out his precious phone. You input the password, one that so perfectly matches with your birthday, and open the browser on his phone. Before you can begin typing, he snatches the phone from your hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sylus’ eyes narrow as he stares at the tiny screen. You bite down your lip, suppressing a smirk. His eyes look back and forth between you and his phone.

“I was going to show you where you can go whenever you need a little bit more–” You begin, but he cuts you off. He’s almost offended that you were about to even suggest that.

“Why would I want to watch anyone that isn’t you, kitten?” He raises an eyebrow, and you feel your cheeks get warm at his comment. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head to look directly down at him. “Do you understand my frustration?”

“It’s only a week.” Your words bring little to no comfort to him. 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. It’s not just a week. “What else can I do? It’s my job.”

“I told you that you can always quit– But since you don’t want to do that… Nothing.” He ends up sighing. You’d almost feel bad for Sylus, if he weren’t overreacting. You’ve lost count of the amount of times the amount suddenly disappeared for days on end.

“You’ll survive.” You tell him, as your eyes land on his phone. An idea comes to your mind, but you don’t have the guts to outright suggest it. You peck his lips before you whisper, “If you tell me you’ll miss me then I’ll do you a favor.”

“Which is?” He questions, and he watches your eyes land on his phone. He doesn’t need to be told twice, or in this case, not even once. He moves your hair out of the way and kisses your forehead, lips moving down to the tip of your nose and then your lips. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Now you can admit it.” You joke, lips landing on his, more intensely than any kiss you’ve shared tonight. His breathing gets heavy, body temperature suddenly rising as he feels your lips on yours. The moment an opening comes to you, your tongue enters his mouth and presses against his own. 

His hands roam through your body, going under your shirt and landing on your tits. Fingers circle and lightly pinch your nipples while his teeth bite down your bottom lip before pulling away. Sylus can’t properly enjoy himself before you push his hands away from your breasts,

You grab his phone, opening the camera and beginning the video, before forcing him to take it. You smile at the camera before your hands lift up your shirt, putting on a show for the screen. Sylus’ free hand can’t help itself, quickly fondling your chest.

“Make sure you get my good angle.” You adjust the camera before your body moves down. You begin to kiss his lower abdomen, moving down until his briefs stop you. Your finger hooks under the waist band, pulling down and freeing his cock from its restraints. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a couple of strokes before you spit on it. Your head moves down, tongue circling the tip of his dick, earning a groan from him. He tries to keep the phone still, not wanting to look back at the footage and watch blurry footage, but it’s hard to keep still when he’s so sensitive. 

Eyes look up at him as your mouth wraps around his length, taking in as much as you can. You slowly bob your head, each movement earning a sound from the man. You’re putting on a show for him– Making a memorable video for him. It’ll be his most prized possession, yet the most confidential.

“Good job.” He praises, almost out of breath as your mouth gags on his cock. Tears well up in your eyes, his dick too much for you to handle. You’re trying to outdo yourself for the audience, taking all of him while you know that you can’t.

“You’re such a good girl.” He tells you while you take your mouth off his cock, spit coating your chin as you gasp for air. 

“Is it good, baby? Will you be thinking of this while I’m gone?” Your eyes are focused on the camera, not even bothering on looking at your boyfriend. Sylus would complain, if his eyes weren’t rolling to the back of his head. Your lips kiss the tip before your tongue circles around his cock again.

His voice gets louder as your mouth sets just the right pace. His breath gets caught up in his chest, slowly losing control. Your hand massages his balls as you watch Sylus’ face contort with pleasure.

Sylus moans your name as his cum hits the back of your throat. He groans as he empties himself inside your mouth. You take your mouth off his cock, making sure to swallow every last drop of his cum and sticking your tongue out so the camera can see how much of a good girl you are.

“Good girl, making sure to not waste a single drop.” Sylus says, his hand going down to your mouth and wiping the corner of your mouth. Your face goes up, lips landing on his own, which he happily receives. When he pulls away, he reminds you, “You have to complete the show, kitten.”

“Put the phone on the nightstand.” You tell him, and while he tries to find the perfect position, you take off your pants. His hands get shaky, desperate to continue. It’s the last time he’ll see you like this for a week, and he’ll make sure to enjoy every single minute. 

“Fuck– Fuck!” He curses as the phone falls, something that he’ll have to edit out of the video– Is he seriously thinking about editing his sex tape? He can simply fast forward, but that’ll just ruin his mood.

“Will you hurry?” You whine, getting desperate to feel him inside of you. You can’t wait for him to find the perfect position. Just as he settles the phone down perfectly, you push your panties to the side. You align his cock with your entrance, and slowly settle down on his length. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his cock fills you up.

“Fuck…” He mutters, out of breath as he feels your cunt wrap around him. As much as he loves your mouth, it truly can’t compare. Oh, he could cry knowing that he’ll only have his hand for a week. He’ll make do with what you’ve given him.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan, adjusting to his dick before you begin to move. You’re bouncing on his cock, setting a slow pace. His hands grip your ass while he lifts his face to bury it between your tits. He’ll make sure to enjoy his last few moments with you; it’s why you call him overdramatic, he acts as if he’ll never see you again. Though, right now you can’t complain about the way he acts. His tongue licks your cleavage before his mouth successfully latches onto your nipple.

Sylus moves his hips, moving much faster than you. You meet him half way, moans getting louder as his cock hits every right spot. Maybe you’re putting on such a show because you want the video yourself, you’ll definitely need it. You grab a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back which causes him to bite down before pulling away. The pain adds to the pleasure.

“You’re doing such a good job.” You talk to him as if he were a pathetic little pet. A tone of voice which he hates to admit he enjoys. “Are you my good boy, Sylus?”

“Yes.” He admits, sex brain getting the best of him– No, it’s something that he’d admit at any other time with you… Not with people around, but regardless, he’d admit it. “I’m your good boy, kitten.”

You smile, eyes darting directly at the tiny camera that captures the moment. Surely, he’ll deny that he ever said those words but luckily, you have an audience this time around.

“You feel so good.” He tells you, one hand going down to play with your clit. Your breath hitches, your hands wrapping to the back of his neck as your lips land on his. He’s met with pure carnal desire, a side of you that he rarely comes across with. A side that he thoroughly enjoys. 

“I’m gonna– Fuck–” You begin as you pull away, but you can’t finish your sentence. You begin to tighten around him, your orgasm rapidly approaching and taking over you. 

“Come all over me, sweetheart.” His eyes look down at his cock, watching as your pussy wraps around it. A sight that he’ll be thinking about for 604,800 seconds. His phone will do no justice. 

“Sylus– It’s so fucking good!” You’re practically screaming, surely making a spectacle of yourself. You’d make a great actress, that’s for sure. You throw your head back, mouth falling agape as pleasure consumes you.

“Good job, kitten. Good job.” He praises you as your orgasm consumes you and you make a mess all over him. He can’t help but grab the phone and practically show off to where your two bodies meet. It’s a sight that he never wants to forget about.

“Look at you, you made such a mess.” He clicks his tongue, but it’s a mess that he appreciates, especially with how your pussy feels around him. Your lips meet once again, while his thrusts become unregulated. 

“I’m gonna come inside you, okay?” He tells you, making you frantically nod in response. Before you know it, Sylus’ seed coats your insides. The man is unwilling to pull out until he makes sure that every last drop of his cum is inside of you– Though that’s hard as it drips out of your cunt and coats his cock. 

Sylus makes sure to get one last frame of your pussy, before panning the camera to your face. You smile at the camera, winking before you kiss the lens. That’s when Sylus decides to end the perfect video. 

“Is that enough for you?” You ask as you try to lift yourself up from his cock, but his hands hold you down.

“Let’s stay like this for a bit.” You swear you see a pout on his lips once again. He doesn’t want to let you go just yet.

“Fine.” You agree as his lips peck yours ever-so-lovingly.

“I’ll miss you.” He finally admits, and you smile before kissing him again. You had imagined the revelation to be more romantic… But this will make do.

“I love you, Sylus.”

“I love you too.”

[prettydaisygirl]

Ok so I am in love with Fire Chief James Potter rn.

Can I ask for a story where reader tells James that she's pregnant. Maybe she uses the fire station for help.

If not, totally understandable.

I love your stories so much. You are so talented!

okay so I know you literally just submitted this but as soon as I saw it my brain was like OOH so now here we are. I would give anything to have this man's babies, I'm just saying. I hope you enjoy this, my love! <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who tells James she's pregnant with a little help ✿ 532 words

cw: pregnant!reader, James almost has a heart attack, pregnancy announcement, pure fluff

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James is in the middle of a routine fire truck inspection when he overhears the call. His blood turns ice cold when someone calls out his address, and then your name. His mind freezes, but his body doesn’t, muscle memory immediately springing him into action. The entire station erupts into chaos, all units called to respond to the scene. 

They don’t let James drive, which is probably a good thing, but he’s the first one out of the truck. It barely comes to a stop before he’s out. He’s panicking, he has no information. And now that he’s here, he assumes the worst.

There are at least a dozen firetrucks and a few police cars and ambulances. There’s an entire crowd of people surrounding the front of his home, and they part for him easily as he steps between them. James isn’t sure why no one is moving. Why is no one doing anything? 

When he reaches the front of the crowd, he sees you. His body, fueled by adrenaline and terror, has him on you instantly. His hands are all over you, his brain jumbled and confused. 

“Are you alright, angel? What’s going on?” His hands cradle your cheeks and when his eyes finally land on your face, you’re grinning. His heart skips a beat, and his panic subsides just a bit. His confusion grows, though. 

“Hi James.” You say, and start giggling like a little girl with a secret. The tension in him shifts, now feeling like he’s out of the loop. That feeling grows when he looks around and everyone is staring at him with wide grins. He’s never felt more singled out in his life. 

“What’s going on?” He whispers, eyes finally returning to yours. You’re beaming, absolutely glowing with happiness, and the emotional whiplash from everything has him reeling. “I thought you were dead, I really did.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, but your smile and the tone of your voice make it obvious that you don’t feel sorry at all. “I just… had something to tell you.” 

“And it had to give me a heart attack?” He asks, a teasing tone to his voice and he runs a hand through his hair. He can still feels his heart calming down. 

“Well, I sort of did it on purpose.” You say, and then. “I’m pregnant.”

James’ heart stops, then speeds up again, arguably just as fast as it was before. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod, giggling excitedly, and show him a sonogram picture. His arms wrap around you, his face blooming into a smile that matches your own. He picks you up and spins you around and the crowd behind the two of you cheers wildly. 

James lowers you down and then places his forehead to yours, and he can’t resist placing a few chaste kisses against your lips. You blink up at him with wet eyes and he feels like he’s soaring, euphoric in a way he’s never felt. 

“I love you.” He says, and a tear catches his thumb when it finally falls from your eyes. 

“I love you too.” You say, and then James is picking you up again to cheer and celebrate with his team. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 4

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of death.

A.N.: Enjoy the 1st meeting.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

• ··········· • ············ •

Death was a definite thing. No matter where you were. Undercity, topside, mid-city. Death didn’t choose. It wasn’t picky. It plucked children from mothers and fathers from children. And it was cruel. As if losing a loved one wasn’t enough, it took the memories. Their voice is the first to go, then their face becomes blurry, and then you only remember what they were when a particular tune comes up or a smell drifts from the window. And then it hits you. Slowly and all at once. A person that had been filling that hole in your heart, and now they're gone.

“Mother?”

The woman’s gaze turned to you and softened, eyes starting to wet just as yours were. Her voice. You remembered her voice. 

“Madame Rainemour.” Caitlyn stood even straighter, almost backbreaking. “I don’t think interrogating a suspect is a contact sport, Miss Kiramman.” Her eyes steeled as she looked at the younger woman. “Where’s their lawyer? If I remember correctly, every prisoner has the right to have a representative to defend them. Where is it?”

Caitlyn's mouth opened and closed, eyes shifting around for an answer.

“Very well.” The older woman, your mother said. “They shall use the Rainemour's attorney as their defender, and until you have summoned a judge, they will be coming home.”

“Home? Judge?” Caitlyn suddenly snapped out of her stupor. “Madame Rainemour, this person is suspected to be entangled with Jin—the author of the attack. They have also assaulted several enforcers and attempted to escape the hospital we had placed them in. I don’t know who this is to you, but to us, they are a person of interest.”

“This is my child, Miss Kiramman. And I will not have you abuse your grief and your power chasing a shadow in hopes of getting to the light bulb.”

“Can we discuss this outside?” Caitlyn hid the surprise well, but her eyebrows shot up, and you had half a mind to not mumble, I told you so. Mostly because you didn’t think your brain was functioning correctly and any thought you would try to convey would come out a jumbled mess. “Uncuff them and will.” “I can’t uncuff them; they are a suspect. They have tried escaping once!”  “Caitlyn, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. I can have the family's attorney here in minutes. He will spin whatever case you have into the tightest knot he can. You’ll be untangling it for months. Or you can uncuff my child and talk to me, and we can find a better solution for all of us.”

You could sense Caitlyn’s frustration as she turned to the table, grabbed the key ring from her belt, and unlocked the cuffs.

“Thank you, shall we?”

They both left the room silently, and you crossed your arms on the table, resting your head in them. 

You realized how tired you were. Not just physically, with all the aching bones and bruises starting to make themselves noticed as the stress levels diminish a little, but also your mind is chaotic and exhausted. And you haven’t even stopped to properly think about this. This shift, the runes, the magic, your mother? This world…

“Hello.” 

You jumped from your curved position, placing a hand on your heart while turning your body in the chair to look at the owner of the voice.

A serious-faced Viktor stood against the wall, near the door. Leaning on his cane with two hands.

“Blue balls of Hextech Vik.” You exhale quickly. “You want to kill me; just boink me in the head with the cane.”

“Blue balls of Hextech?” His square eyebrows raised in confusion, and you realized the slip-up.

“It’s…huh… It’s…complicated… It’s a joke.” 

It was easy how quickly you had forgotten this wasn’t your Viktor. This was their Viktor. And this Viktor didn’t have the memories of your Viktor. All the jokes, the quips, the way you three could have whole conversations in silence.

“It is funny because Hextech does exist in a blue ball form.” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up. 

“How come they allowed you to be inside the room with a very dangerous criminal such as myself?” You pointed to your pitiful figure.

They didn’t get you a change of clothes, but they gave you some pants. So now you were sitting there, wearing a crimped hospital gown, gray pants that didn’t fit you, feet clad in dirty socks, bandages around your arms, and recently open wounds and bruises. You looked as menacing as a wet dog.

“They did not.” he simply said, shrugging and rolling his eyes.

You shook your head; of course they didn’t. Viktor did what Viktor wanted.

“Alright. I’ll remake the question.” You placed your arm on top of the wooden chair’s back and laid your chin on top of your upper arm. “Why are you in the room with a very dangerous criminal such as myself inside?”

“I have a conundrum.” He said fishing something from the inside of his white vest. A folded piece of paper that he handed to you. “Excuse the scratchiness of the lines. I did it on the trolley rides.”

You raised an eyebrow and unfolded the paper. It was definitely a Viktor sketch. You touched the lines on the paper gently, not even paying attention to what you were looking at. His neat cursive handwritten notes were scattered around a less neat sketch of a broken cog. It was made in pencil, and you assumed there were no erasers around since some of the sketch lines had been drawn thicker to hide previous mistakes. There were fingerprints, smudges, crossed-out words, and the little, neat hatching lines on the corner of the sheet he did when he was deep in thought. This was Viktor, your Viktor. You sigh deeply, doing your best to not think about the past right now.

You blinked the moistness out of your eyes and looked at the sketch. It was a broken cog, cracked in some places. There was a thin arrow pointing to one of the cracks.

‘Councilor Hosket, deceased.’ 

In the lower right corner, two dotted, parallel lines are drawn with a note pointing to it. 

‘No major damage.’

A little V drawn right next to the lines, near one of the cracks, had two arrows coming out of it. One arrow, thicker, went from outside the dotted lines to the inside, where another V was noted down, next to an interrogation point. The letters M J were also scribbled between the ‘no major damage lines.’

The other arrow was thinner and had another V next to a cross. 

‘Councilor Bolbok: deceased’ a line read next to the cross.

This wasn’t a cog. It was the table at the councilor chamber and the damage after the attack. You narrowed your eyes first, confused, but grinned a second after. Of course Viktor would have investigated the attack. Especially because you did tackle him out of what he figured out was the line of fire.

“I do not believe in luck. I believe in chance, but not luck.” He explained, leaning back into the wall, his golden gaze on you. “But I do believe the facts. Especially ones I can prove. You see, in all of the calculations I made, and I’ve been making them since I woke in a hospital bed.” He spat the last part with a palpable distaste. “Of the people who were in the path of most destruction, myself and Jayce were saved with mostly bruises and scratches. Jayce, I hypothesized, in an attempt to save Councilor Medarda, saved himself, pushing both out of the way.”

Sighing, you realized how much you missed his ramblings. He could have just said ‘I should have died, but I didn’t and I don’t know why.’ But here he was going on and on about the waves of destruction and the building infrastructure and how having a glass dome was just vanity and very unsafe. Excitedly talking with hands, always having one on the cane while the other moved through the air. His expression became animated, eyebrows raised and falling, his head bobbing around. And you couldn't help but smile softly at him.

Until he looked at you straight in the eyes.

“You're staring.” He stated, and you quickly moved your gaze elsewhere. Anywhere but him. “Sorry, old habit.” “It’s quite alright. I’m used to it. The cripple with the big words.” He stopped the sentence abruptly. “I don’t know why I said that to you. Anyway. My question is. Why did you push me out of the way?”

You searched your tired brain for a reason that didn’t involve time-jumping to save him from himself. Although if there was someone who would believe you, it would be him.

“Well, I knew about the attack… and I was trying to warn the councilors before it was too late.”

He frowned and shook his head, his eyes narrowing and widening as he thought about something.

“The quickest way to evacuate the Academy and the Council Chamber would have been to pull the fire alarm. You must have passed at least... He looked up mapping your hypothetical path to the chamber. “Four.”

“There was a rocket going straight to the Academy. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You answered, reverting to defending yourself.

His eyes narrowed for a moment, pushing himself off the wall with his shoulders and taking a step towards you. His cane and another familiar metal thump made you shift your gaze to his leg. He had already enhanced it. 

“But you were focused.” He said as he got close to you, so close you could smell the minty hard candy he kept in his pocket. He grabbed the paper from your hands, leaned down, hooked the handle of his cane on the table, and placed the paper on the table, the broken table schematic turned over. A small map was drawn surrounded by math equations.

You took the opportunity to look at his face up close. He looked less tired; the bags under his eyes were less dark but still present, his hair was still shaggy and long, but he looked…healthier, livelier. You dropped your eyes to his leg. Was it already eating him inside and pretending it wasn’t? Was this the calm before the storm?

“You are staring again.” You heard him, but this time you looked up at him. “You remind me of someone.” He searched your eyes for deception but found none.

He was about to speak again when the doors to the room burst open, and you both looked up and back.

Fuming was a mild way to describe Caitlyn’s mood as she strode to the table and slammed a pen and a paper down. You turned your body, watching Viktor grab his cane from the back of the chair.

“Sign this.” She barked. You looked back to watch your mother looking at you, her nose held high and a slight grin on her face. She nodded.

You read the paper in front of you. Father always said never to sign anything without reading it first. 

In sum, it was a bond contract. The council would let you go free, but aside from a hefty sum of money paid, you could not leave Piltover and had to be present whenever the Enforcers notified you for questioning. You must always be accompanied by a counsellor of your choosing, and you could reschedule it to your liking. If you were caught doing something illegal, you would be apprehended and shoved off to jail until further notice.

You almost didn’t finish signing your last name as Caitlyn pulled the paper under your hands.

“You’re free to go.” She hisses through gritted teeth.   • ············ •

The sky was still specked with the colors of morning when you stepped outside, closely followed by Viktor and your mother.

“I think this belongs to you, dear.” She grabbed your hand and placed the locket on your palm.

The metal was warm with her own heat, and your palm was cold and scarred, the soft gold contrasting with the rune that had appeared there. You stared at the familiar locket, silently.

Standing in the middle of a whole new Piltover, it looked the same; it smelled the same. You confirmed with your mother’s presence that it wasn't just a time jump. You were in a completely new universe.

And in the middle of it all, whoever the bigger deity was who had decided to do this had given you a very illegal and very cool new power. Magic. You weren’t dumb; you spent enough evenings in the Talis lab hearing both of the boys yapping about runes and magic. And you had spent enough time with Heimerdinger to know the use of magic was not allowed in Piltover. 

You were drowning in your heartbeat, but your lungs were working overtime.

Are you supposed to stay here? Are you going to go back? Do you want to go back? To the end of the line? To the place where everything ends? With Jayce on his knees and the Herald destroying everything you knew and loved. What if you stayed here and did something that could make it all worse? 

“Child?” The touch on your face sent a shock through your body, and you jumped back, eyes wide with fear.

The expression on your mother’s face softened, and she took a step towards you.

“Let’s go home now. We’ll sort this out after you take a bath and eat something.”

Her voice, her voice was like a song loved and forgotten. Every word she said was a stroke of a piano key flooding your senses with warmth and love.

Her eyes matched your own, but you guessed that. You used to roll them whenever someone told you you had your mother's exact eye color. You got a little angry that they remembered her that well and you didn’t. But they were right.

Her face hadn’t shown many signs of aging. Some crow's feet and laugh lines, but she looked beautiful. Graceful. Bright.

And you felt dishonest when you mentioned her as your mother, or when she mentioned you as her child. You weren’t. Not really. 

“I don’t think I am your child.” You whispered, sadly, after a second. 

“I know, sweetheart.” 

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @angelsukiipls @casey8522 @moons-lighttrail @buttermilktea11 @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @hazzawillian

[sillyuin]

I'm all yours

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, very domestic fluff.

Pairing: Mingyu x gn!reader.

Warnings: Reader is ill, barely proofread, Mingyu husband material.

- Yuin's note: I forgot I'm self-aware and wrote the most delulu and self-indulgent thing I'd ever write. An ode to my fellow carats who are also getting through sickness.

You didn’t hear the door open, the cheerful voice of Mingyu was the only thing perceptible beyond the pain you were feeling, and even thought it supposed to make you happy, it was difficult to smile. It was much easier to rest your head on his shoulder, wrap your arms around his waist with the little strength you could have, and brush your lips against his neck with a gentle kiss.

“I'm here,” Mingyu responded by hugging you gently, your body trembled slightly and felt cold to the touch. “How was your day?”

“Bad…” you whispered, your voice breaking. “It’s been… the worst…”

The words got stuck in your throat and your mind went blank; the physical pain was so strong it prevented you from speaking. You felt helpless—why was it so hard to just say that your ear hurt? Or was that really all that was bothering you?

Your trembling hands clung to Mingyu's sweater in a hug so tight it almost hurt, while you hid your face in his chest to keep him from seeing your eyes fill with tears. But what started as a weak sob soon turned into an intense wail, impossible to ignore.

“Hey, y/n,” Mingyu patted your back to try to get your attention, but the more he tried to soothe you, the more futile it became.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered between sobs. “… I’ve felt so … alone.”

Mingyu patiently led you to the sofa, where you both sat down. Seeing you cry so inconsolably broke his heart; hearing your trembling, fragile voice expressing all sorts of sad things… It seemed so unfair that only you were going through it.

However, watching you catch your breath little by little was quite comforting.

You told him how your day had gone while he held one of your hands and gently stroked your cheek with the other. Physically, you felt terrible, but the contact of his skin against yours made everything a little more bearable, as if the pain were not that important…

“My neck hurts all over,” you indicated where it hurt with your finger, and he frowned, as if he somehow understood what you were describing. “I don’t think the medicine is helping…”

“This is the second time this year…” Mingyu sighed, frustrated. “Maybe you should change your treatment.”

“Again?” you complained. More than stressed, you were starting to feel depressed. “I’ve lost count of how many pills I’ve taken…”

The truth was he didn’t quite know what to say; he was worried, his mind a jumble of questions. All he could do was hugging you and that was all you needed in that moment.

You had spent the day alone while he was out at work, feeling upset and very sad, but it was better to take the moment to forget a little about all the negative thoughts attacking your mind.

Mingyu seemed to be the only remedy at that moment, and you clung tenaciously to that.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk to the doctor,” Mingyu pulled away a little and patted your hair. “For now, I'm all yours. Tell me what you want and I'll do it.”

You lowered your gaze shyly, wondering whether to say what was on your mind, but you felt encouraged by hearing Mingyu’s laughter. He knew you so well; there was nothing you could hide from him.

“What do you want for dinner?” His face was only a few centimeters from yours, and you started to feel a bit shyer.

“Pizza…?” you lifted your face slightly, giving him puppy eyes.

“Weren’t you on a diet?” Mingyu raised an eyebrow, but your pouty face was more convincing than him. “Alright, but only this time.”

About twenty minutes later the doorbell rang, announcing the delivery. You both sat down at the dining table and ate together while he told you about his day at work, chatting and laughing as if you hadn’t seen each other in ages.

Having Mingyu by your side was one of the best things that had ever happened to you because no matter how terrible the day had been or how sad it was to be ill; you could always have his company and comfort at the end of the day, and that made even the bad things worth it.

After dinner, you both sat on the living room couch to watch a movie, a warm blanket covering you as you searched for something to watch. Suddenly, he stopped what he was doing to focus all his attention on you.

“y/n, how do you feel now?” he tilted his head slightly while smiling.

“Better,” you replied, a little livelier.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay,” he turned his gaze back to the TV screen, holding the remote as he started scrolling through the channels. “Let me know if there’s anything you want to watch.”

“Actually…” You took the remote and turned off the TV. A surprised Mingyu was ready to object and defend himself, but he froze when he felt your head resting in the nook of his neck, one of your legs wrapped around his. “… I just want to hear you.”

“Shall I tell you about when I almost set the kitchen on fire because I was drunk?” Mingyu said casually, his hand resting on your waist.

“I was there, remember?” It sounded more like a tragicomedy than anything else. “The worst ramen you ever made.”

You both laughed softly; you were exhausted, and the night grew heavier while the dim light from a nearby lamp made everything feel more intimate, cozier.

“I love your voice,” you said lazily, your body nearly collapsing on top of him. “Sing for me, Gyu.”

In the silence of the living room, under the warm blanket, you finally managed to rest peacefully without thinking about the pain that tormented you. In the distance, you could hear his voice, tired yet charming at the same time, as you closed your eyes, feeling the warm beats of his heart against yours.

[thelunaticself]

MORNING DEW

john price x reader

hushed feelings and watered down numbness. your husband is here for all of it.

a/n: i tried my best but it's a bit short @callmecoke

cw: reader has bad thoughts, comfort, bad eng

Lately, your flowers haven't been doing well. Thin petals sag downwards, refusing to hold on the droplets of water you meticulously give them everyday. Your efforts are all in vain. The more you try, the more crinkled yellow spots appear. 

Maybe you're not really saving them.

You think as you pluck out a petal and tear them into small pieces and drop it on the grass beneath. There are footsteps approaching from behind. Heavy and grounded. Just like him.

“Honey, you've been at it for hours. Let it go.”

John hunched over to your kneeled figure on the ground, giving the backyard a quick scan over before quickly focusing on you. You reach out to the flowers again but large hands engulf them in a tight warm hold. He leans over until his back touches yours and wraps his jacket over your cold body in the bleak fall evening. John drops his voice low enough to make that rumbling in his chest that he knows you like.

“Tell you what. Dinner’s ready and I even made that dessert you always ask mum to make.”

How do you even tell him you could barely finish half of it last week when your mum sent over a package? The guilt is still sitting heavy in your chest ever since the garbage bin snapped shut and now your husband is desperately pleading with his wife to come inside to have dinner. You don't deserve any of this.

You turn around to kiss his jaw and he pulls you up, patting away the dirt on your knees.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You are alone. No John Price. Something you ought to be used to by now. Normally, you find all sorts of things to keep occupied. However, the open book on the nightstand has been left to rot there for the entire day. You could only take a glance or two before the letters turned jumble. Your thoughts are too loud. Stupid nagging voices that won't let you do anything. It terrifies you more than it should. What if those soon to be uttered out of your mouth, or worse action? What would your husband think when he goes home all weary, only to find his limp wife? You don't need to imagine the latter.

The bedroom door softly creeks open and the familiar slumped shoulder, shuffling steps soon fill the room.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, baby.”

John kneels on the bed to hug you tightly. Big burly arms wrapped around your torso, soft stomach pressed against yours perfectly like slotting in a puzzle piece. You don't hug him as tight as you normally do. He only snuggles his face in your neck and tightens his hold. 

“Come take a bath with me, baby?”

You honestly do need one. 

The bathroom feels less cold with him. In fact, if anything, you have never felt warmer. Nestled between his bulky thighs, you rest your back on his soft hairy pudge. His hands are gently massaging your scalp, fingers running through the soapy, wet hair. The satisfying scratch and the cooling shampoo quickly lull you into a dull hazy state. For the first time in many weeks, you sleep straight through the night. 

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You wake up not in the bathtub but to the sound of the morning birds, and the cozy feeling made by the mix of John’s embrace and the sheets. His steady snores threaten to make you fall asleep again. Your droopy eyes stare at the window leading straight to the garden. The soft lights threads through the half closed blinds, hitting the bed, on his arms and tiny specks of dust can be seen. Outside, sits a pack of fertilizer that he enthusiastically told you about on the phone last Friday. 

“They know their stuff, trust me. I've seen the biggest pumpkins they have in their yard. Anyways, gotta gather back the team. Love you, sweetheart.”

The fertilizer can only help the plants somewhat get their strength back. The wilting spots are still there and you don't know how to get rid of them. You wish they were as lively as they were the day their roots first touched your backyard’s soil. But you know John would do anything to see the green returns to the leaves. And there is nothing you wouldn't keep trying for him.

[kismetlotts]

cw: sexual content

Colleague Simon Riley who you banter with all the time. You weren’t scared of him or intimidated by him like everyone else and he found that different; intriguing. You’d seen him kill people so effortlessly, watched him make decisions that would keep people up all night but nothing put you off. There was something there on your end that drew you in- he had no clue what it was until one morning Johnny decided to enlighten him.

“Aye Ghost has everyone tinklin’eir pants’!” He’d laughed, the two of them were walking towards a helicopter preparing for their mission together, his hand pushing Ghosts shoulder trying to get something out the man but failing as usual. Johnny can talk for days, meaningless rambling, life stories, ranting, joking- god the guy doesn’t shut up. He was nearly as bad as you and in his head he was sure you two were distantly related. Two of the most annoying people being two of the most closest people to him.

“Aside from bonnie, eh’ she’s wet for other reasons.” He’d chuckle out, arm still bumping into his shoulder while he laughs loudly, but Simon froze. His whole body hot and stomach swirling surely he must’ve heard wrong. Even if he heard right, it’s Mactavish. He’s not exactly great at reading people more so knowing something like that.

“What?” Simon asked his voice dark and gruffly. Johnnys eyes met his and his cheeky smile fell of his face. Eyes scanning Ghosts for a moment before stopping in shock, mouth open slightly.

“Ya didn’t know? You ave’ her wrapped round your finger! Don’ try mess with me every’ne knows it’s obvious- she’s even gon’ told me tha’.” And Simon just felt lost. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He’d never really been with a woman or exactly cared to, his life was hectic as a youngster and being in the SAS it’s not often he engages or talks to a woman other than yourself. He didn’t see you in a romantic aspect: he’d never really thought of it. You’d always just been you to him, the girl who annoys him, he’d never thought about being with you. Or maybe you were just attracted to him, maybe you just wanted to fuck him- He didn’t know. He didn’t know much about feelings.

“She said herself that she gets wet over me?” He asked again just to be clear. His way with words were cut to the point and open, hearing Simon say ‘gets wet’ so fast and easily was enough to make Johnny cringe internally but he nodded. He told Simon about that night- what you had said, what you wanted. He went over everything thag happened while you two were hanging out. You and Johnny were kind of close and as much as Johnny talks, he didn’t take the Scott man for a liar. Simon spun around on the spot, telling Johnny to continue on with the mission and take another recruit before heading for the offices, catching a glimpse of you sorting through papers.

He slipped into the room quietly, walking up behind you as you spun around reaching for something. Jumping as he looked down at you, silently.

“- Oh my fuck! Simon! You scared me you idiot.” Your heart pretty much jumping out of your chest as you huffed. You’d already been so stressed out with all this paperwork given to you- this wasn’t even your job but of course you’d help out where needed. Simon just looked down at you more, eyes squinting below his skull mask as he looked over you. You shot him a glance, then another one, then another one until you were about to ask what his problem was but Simon spoke first.

“Do I make you wet?”

“….Sorry?”

“Do I make you wet? Like horny?” You were fucking gobsmacked and you knew exactly what had happened and you swore to god were going to fucking murder that mohawk wearing, secret sharing dickhead. And Simon was no better, how can someone just go up to you and ask you that? Your back ran cold and your face burnt hot- words coming out in a jumbled mess.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And instead of talking he took a step forward, cornering you in and making you step back. Not realising what was happening yourself until you were against the wall, looking up at him with them eyes. So wide and innocent, shining in the light, but fabricated with a need. A desire.

Everything in your vision blurred beside Simon, it was like you were back in bed. Lost in your dream world, slipping your hand into your panties, circling your clit imagining he was in bed with you. Imagining you him so close to you. Your pussy throbbed and you could feel the wetness of your panties already, still looking up at him as you blinked. Simon saw it now, the look in your eyes- it really was obvious. His eyes dropped down your body and back up at your eyes as he took a step back himself in disbelief.

“Fucking ‘ell, I do don’t I?” And what could you say? Lie? That would make the situation bigger than it needed to be with either you being found out as a liar or Johnny. You couldn’t admit it could you? I mean the two of you were close but he was still your Lieutenant. You could be in a lot of trouble- fuck if he wanted, you could probably lose your job. A sigh left your lips as you wracked your head for ideas. Excuses, explanations- but you had to be honest with him, it was the only way.

“Look! It’s not like romantic- I’m not like into you like that at all. I just- Okay I just find you attractive. It’s like if you were looking at some hot naked woman, you’d get hard wouldn’t you? I cant help what my body does!” Simon stood still, staring at your legs which only added to the moment. Only added to the aching need you felt

“I’m not naked. I ain’ sexy and I wear a mask for a living ‘nd kill people, you find that attractive, do ya?” Yes. You did and you didn’t know why yourself. You knew what he meant by it and he knew you didn’t find killing people attractive so instead of getting defensive you stayed quiet. You found him attractive, his voice, his height and the mask added to your intrigue. He watched as you remained quiet taking a deep breath and tilting his head to the side.

“So you want to fuck?” His voiced asked slightly deeper and you let out a laugh, back still pressed against the wall as he moved in closer.

“Jesus Christ Simon you cant just ask someone that-“ His hands met your body as he began to trace the fabric of your clothes, running his fingers over your skin slowly because he was starting to see something in you. Something sexual and he fucking liked it. He licked his lips underneath his mask, smirking as he locked eyes with you again.

“Just take my chances then?”

[bekolxeram]

Everyone decides to be sad about Tommy spending the holidays alone today. I just want to say, I hate you all. Especially @mmso-notlikethat with this post. As payback for making me cry my way into insomnia, I wrote this on my phone instead of sleeping.

By the time he knocks on the door, Tommy still has no idea what to expect. “Wear something nice, we’re celebrating tonight,” that’s the only instruction he’s received from Evan, his boyfriend once again. Tommy can’t help but smile at the mere thought of finally allowing himself to say that name.

He has a burgundy dress shirt on with a pair of light grey slim fit pants. Simple, but elegant, hopefully properly dressed for this undisclosed commemoration. March is not known for its holidays, so what’s the occasion that calls for such festivity? They did meet last March at the cruise ship rescue, maybe that was it? Or perhaps Evan is having some sort of career advancement? They’ve been back together for just a few weeks, there’s simply not enough time for Tommy to catch up on Evan’s ever so eventful life. To that, Tommy silently mourn the time they’ve lost, due to his own cowardice.

“Hey — Hey,” Evan takes a step outside of the door to greet Tommy with a quick peck on the lips. Tommy lets the younger man drag him into the loft without much reaction, because he’s still confused by the sight in front of him: Evan in his usual navy blue button up, dark jeans and… a Christmas hat?

Inside the loft is a jumble of sparkly festive decorations. To his left, he sees “Happy Birthday Tommy”; to his right, “Merry Christmas”; and deeper into the living space, “Happy New Year”.

“Jee and Mara helped setting these up,” Evan says while taking half of a roast turkey out of the oven. “This one is from Bobby. He said half a bird is enough for the two of us, if we don’t want to suffer through leftover for the next 7 days.” He then sets the tray next to some roasted vegetables and a casserole. “The casserole is from Chimney, but I’m pretty sure it’s Maddie’s recipe. Hen got you a cake. I think she said something about being sure you would like it. We can have it for dessert. Oh, and the champagne is from…”

“Eddie, because he can’t cook.” Tommy cuts in.

“Exactly!”

“Evan, what’s going on here?”

Evan steps closer, taking both of Tommy’s hands into his own, “You told me the other day that you spent your 40th birthday alone… I only realized later that you were probably on your own for the entire holiday season, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year, Valentine’s Day. I know it doesn’t come close to the real thing, but I was thinking maybe we could make up for a few key moments that we missed.” He dims the lights in the loft with a remote control and fiddles with something on the dining table. Suddenly, the whole room is lit up with colorful patterns and twinkling stars. “I couldn’t get any firework around here, so I borrowed this star projector from Christopher.”

“Oh… Evan,” Tommy sighs, eyes already hazy with tears.

“I’m not asking you to move in with me or to make major commitments. I’m not asking for anything in return at all. This is… a promise, from me to you. No matter what happens, what becomes of us in the future, I’ll be there when you need me, we all will.”

Evan says earnestly, with utmost conviction in his tone. The clarity in his eyes reminds Tommy of that day at the café terrace, almost a year ago. “I just want you to know, Tommy, you’re no longer alone.”

A few drops of tears escape Tommy’s eyes, but before he can respond, Evan pulls out a mistletoe from his pocket and dangles it over their heads.

“You have to kiss me now.” Evan says with a cheeky grin. Tommy waits no time to capture those smiling lips with his own, kissing him with all the love and gratitude in his heart.

“I love you, Evan. I’m so lucky to have you.” Tommy pulls him into a warm embrace.

“I love you too.” Now it’s Evan’s turn to tear up.

Tommy pulls back a little and asks, “hey, would you mind if we celebrate Valentine’s Day first?”

“Oh, you mean you’re interested in the Valentine’s Night activity?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.”

“Come upstairs. I’ll show you.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i've realized recently that the source of my frustration with malleus (and i do like him) comes from the story not acknowledging the responsibility he has for his own level of isolation. it's like that story of a dog sitting in a cage although it's finally been opened, not leaving because the cage is all he knows (which is prominent in other stories as well; trauma shapes us. i those stories tho we are shown explicitly that the actions of the characters are wrong: riddle shouldn't be emulating his mother, idia should try to go on living despite the loss). with malleus though we have the story explain to us that his cage is a super special one, which is why he can't get out (which is also true for jamil-kalim, for instance, but they are both encouraged to process their cirumstances emotionally, even if they can't change them practically). and like. that's not entirely true? obviously malleus is under a lot of stress due to having to monitor his emotions and his royal status, but it's not the whole issue (at least imo). throughout the majority of vignettes and early main story content he actively engages in anti-socializing behavior (disappearing on people, not taking them seriously enough, not putting in enough effort into understanding them), so then seeing him be so upset not to be invited... feels strange? why is he expecting others to recognize his loneliness and keep reaching out to him when he isn't reciprocal?

and in itself i don't think it's a problem either. i do think this kind of behavior is typical for some people and i partially empathize with it as well. the problem is that the story treats him as being right instead of showing how his trauma impacted his way of thinking, leading to him making the wrong choices. clearly recognizing since childhood that you are a danger to others while also being brought up as "the chosen one", the only living relative of the ancient and powerful family, has some impact on the conceptualization of the world and others in it as different from you, weaker, not to be trusted and sometimes not to be understood. malleus has a very good reason to think of others as below him: in magical strength they are. it explains his thinking, but it shouldn't excuse it.

so i really wish there was at least some story bit showing malleus actively reaching out (how idia's ceremonial robes shows his attempts and how his mode of thinking prevents him from successfully connecting with others despite his efforts) and failing to do so successfully due to his own mechanisms rather than the comedic "woe is me" bit it often evolves into. i feel like his inability to understand technology (particularly the phone: complex, multi-purpose, neither durable nor stationary) can be seen as the metaphor for him not understanding people: rather than appreciate the things it allows him to do, malleus constantly bemoans how fragile and therefore useless it is, even though we know he can use technical appliances as long as they are straightforward enough and can take care of his gao-gao kun as long as he cares to see it as important enough, given to him by his (almost) equal. and so i wish the story highlighted that it's his responsibility, not the phone's to figure it out.

being "the chosen one" is difficult and isolating, but at a certain point you HAVE to try to leave the cage on your own. you can't be staring out the window longingly for the rest of your life.

sorry for jumbled sentences; i struggle to word this thought better, but i wanted to share it with you regardless, because i find that you are neither needlessly negative nor forgivingly positive in your outlook on the treatment of the characters in twst.

[This ask sort of goes along with my “Why I don’t like Lilia anymore” response!]

Thank you for your feedback and expressing your (very detailed) thoughts ^^ I've previously expressed similar frustrations with Malleus doing little to help his own situation.

I understand that Malleus has had a lonely upbringing (and honestly his behavior has been largely enabled by his caretakers and handlers), which would come to socially stunt him. His immense power and frightening reputation certainly doesn't help his situation either. Malleus being twisted from THE Maleficent explains the running "joke" of him always being left out of group gatherings. A lot of this is learned helplessness. Learned helplessness can quickly devolve into willful ignorance. It eventually gets to a point where it feels unrealistic and grating. This is especially because the narrative tends to frame Malleus's loneliness as purely the fault of others and their inability to understand him... even though I think it makes complete sense that others would not like him??

These people have no understanding of who Malleus is (beyond the name and title) or of his background. From their perspective, all they see is someone who constantly ghosts them, dismisses them, and doesn't reach out to connect despite their own multiple attempts to do so. They email him, send letters, visit him, conduct group searches, etc. all in an effort to fetch him. "What are we supposed to do," Azul questions, "begin every meeting by searching for Malleus? This is HIS problem."

Malleus gets defensive and deflects when Lilia calls him out for using excuses for not being at dorm leader meetings. "Are you questioning my intentions? You of all people? Humans often fear us creatures of the night. Many avoid our company out of sheer fright. It was you and Grandmother who taught me that. And you were both right. It's not my fault I don't attend such gatherings. The humans who fear me for no good reason are to blame." Though Lilia chastises Malleus for this way of thinking, the narrative will ironically go on to almost weaponize Malleus's loneliness as a means of making everyone else around him look as though they're lacking empathy when Malleus shares a fair bit of the responsibility for continuing to not respect his peers' time. Why are his peers not granted the same amount of leniency as Malleus is? It seems grossly unfair. It's always Malleus's classmates who are putting forth the emotional effort and labor to contact him, but almost never the other way around. The onus is, for some reason, always on them and never on him 😭 even when he must be aware this is a repeated issue??

On the rare occasion where Malleus is proactive, he turns others off by making arrogant comments and/or refusing to truly take the human perspective to heart. Malleus is putting forth little to no effort to resolve his own social conflicts with others, which only further perpetuates the problems and misunderstandings. I'm not saying that this is easy or that it should be easy for him, but the fact of the matter is that Malleus is granted several opportunities to engage with his peers, yet he squanders most of them, even when he is provided advice + wisdom from Lilia and corrections from his classmates.

Those that shun Malleus are frequently treated as though they are in the wrong for their perspective, and that’s so frustrating. The game never outright says “X is a bad person for being afraid of Malleus or getting upset at him for showing up late!” But it’s pretty clear how Twst wants us to perceive them from how often they explain away or justify every instance of Malleus failing to socialize. He has a messed up sense of time, everyone is so scared of him, he doesn’t want to break invitation etiquette, etc. These all feel concocted to make us feel bad for Malleus and want to take his side. I really dislike that so much of his appeal rides on these “woe is me” tactics.

Not once does the narrative suggest that others are correct for feeling anything negative towards him or even slighted by the inconveniences he causes. It’s in Malleus’s favor, forever painting him as “just misunderstood”. Malleus is frequently depicted as a victim of circumstances, and presented as someone we (the players) should pity and want to uplift because "no one else sees him like we do". He is left stunted and his loneliness is retooled to be a "moe" trait to the players, or used as a punchline to a joke. I honestly think this is the main issue with Malleus's character writing: he's not ALLOWED to seriously be held accountable for anything he says or does because 1) his character development has to be held off on until book 7 and 2) he has to be kept as the player’s “special friend”, therefore few of his other classmates can change him or get to know him intimately. And Malleus’s Very Real Issues are often relegated to a “haha isn’t he so cute and pouty?” or “oh no, he’s ANGY” moment in order to endear him to the player. His writing constantly feels like it is struggling to balance actually making sense and making him silly just for the sake of appeasing the audience. This is endlessly frustrating, and not even the only instance where Twst does this. (Another example is how Silver’s legitimate health condition is marketed as part of his appeal.)

One moment that really rubbed me the wrong way was at the end of book 7, when Lilia… apologized to Malleus for not realizing Malleus was lonely???? I was so shocked when Lilia dropped that line. It shouldn’t be anyone else’s responsibility to read Malleus’s mind, especially when be fails to properly communicate his thoughts. Maybe Lilia feels responsible for him, or maybe the point is that Malleus struggles to convey his emotions in a clear and concise manner (as his post-OB backstory shows us). However, when this moments comes after years and years of Malleus not taking accountability for his words and actions, it really does feel like an affirmation that Malleus is never in the wrong (even when senators aren’t hovering to literally tell him he did nothing wrong); it’s actually everyone else around him that’s responsible for not paying enough attention to his wants and needs. That… feels so incredibly off to me 😭 All characters should be allowed to make mistakes—but when the universe acts as though the mistakes Malleus makes aren’t actually mistakes, it’s basically the same as absolving him of them without asking that he put forth the same amount of effort to reflect and improve as an individual.

The irony is that there are loud Malleus fans on the English-speaking side of the fandom that will defend his actions by blaming those around him 💀 literally by deflecting and pointing fingers at the senators, at Lilia, even saying the other OB boys are “worse” than Malleus just so he can come out of book 7 “clean” and having done no wrong. (That last point particularly unnerves me because it lacks empathy for the others in the cast and minimizes their experiences. How would you feel if someone was talking down your trauma and saying you’re “worse” than another traumatized person??? Not good, I bet. We shouldn’t be saying person A’s trauma is somehow worth more or less than person B’s.) This is another way in which Malleus is enabled and encouraged to never change, because few people (whether in-universe or in the fandom) call him out for his “oopsies” and make him self reflect and grow.

I find your technology comparison interesting 🤔 It suggests that, given the right scenario, Malleus can learn to socialize with others, just like he can learn to play with a virtual pet. The issue is… what WILL it take to get him to that point?? He has already been granted many chances, has a handful of open-minded classmates or those that are not scared of him (Ace, Deuce, Jade, Floyd, Kalim, Rook, Cater, even Rollo), and Lilia there to help him out—but none of these have proven to be significantly useful to Malleus’s social growth. The end of book 7 seems to imply that nearly losing Lilia and literally having a part of him cut off is what it will take to get him to see the other side?? That feels so unnecessarily extreme and implies even showing Malleus some simple way to understand engaging with humans wouldn’t have helped him?? We needed to scare him into actually valuing putting forth all this effort into better understand other races??? Am I to understand that Malleus did not view connecting with others (50% of which is in his hands) as an important responsibility until he literally almost brought about a cataclysm and nearly permanently killed a loved one?? I… don’t think that’s intended, but that’s partially what I’m walking away with 💀

“[…] it’s his responsibility, not the phone's, to figure it out.” This point makes me think of when Malleus fries his phone with lightning, thereby making it impossible for him to receive text messages. In that case, he’s the one that damaged his phone. The fact that he did not get the intended message isn’t the phone’s fault when he was the one that shot lightning at it. Therefore, it is also Malleus’s job to repair said phone so it can work again. This should also be true of his connections… and I’m REALLY hoping this is what book 8 may cover.

[drdemonprince]

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[luveline]

Can I request an Eddie and Roan, where she goes to Wayne's house and Eddie and Reader are there talking with Wayne but also planning what to get Roan for Christmas?

eddie and roan ♡ fem!reader

“Got it?” 

Roan nods and hops up the last step to Uncle Wayne's while you and Eddie follow behind her. You're carrying a big Christmas cake held tight to your chest while Roan's father insists on carrying the drinks, an eighteen pack of glass cokes, enough to keep Wayne going for the next two weeks at least, less with help. 

“Uncle Wayne!” Roan calls as she opens the door. It swings wide and hits the wall. She doesn't care. She's about to see Wayne for the first time in almost two weeks, and she missed him like crazy. Eddie almost got sick of hearing her ask when he'd be feeling better. “Uncle Wayne!” 

The second shout is much more desperate.

Wayne appears in the curve behind the kitchen doorway to smile at her. “Hello, my chicken.” 

Eddie snorts and slams the cokes down on the sideboard with a jumble of clinks. Wayne is a great dad, but he never called Eddie anything so saccharine. Bud and babe was about as good as it got. Roan gets all the sweet stuff, chicken and gorgeous and baby girl. It doesn't quite make Eddie jealous —nothing feels as secure in parenthood as knowing someone else loves your kid just as much as you do. Wayne would die for Roan without question. He can call her chicken if he likes. 

Roan barrels across the carpet in her Mary Jane's and slams into his legs. He pulls her up into his chest, giving her hair a smattering of quick kisses, her dress bunched by his hugging arm. “It's so nice to see you, honey, I missed you!” 

She grins and makes a pleased, almost feral sort of sound as she kisses his cheek. “I missed you too! We missed our sleepover!” 

“Yes, we did. So I get you for two days, yes?” 

“Yes!” she shouts, looking over her shoulder at you and Eddie to confirm. 

Eddie holds up his now empty hands, though they don't stay that way for long as he takes the cake from you. “No arguments here.” 

Roan laughs and squeezes herself under Wayne's chin. He wraps her up and keeps her, assessing you and Eddie with suspicious eyes. “How are you both doing?” 

Eddie brushes past Wayne to put the cake on the table. Wayne isn't really asking Eddie; they know too much about one another having spent the last decade together, first by sharing a wall and now working side by side at the shop. Eddie's sure Wayne's sick to death of his complaining by now, but you're deserving of some sympathy for sure. 

“She's getting better. Aren't you, sweet thing?” Eddie asks you. 

“I'm fine,” you say, shooting Wayne a smile. “It was probably the same thing you had.” 

“Yeah? He take care of you?” 

“Always does. He's never let me down.” You cross your arms over your front. “But how are you doing?” 

“I know you missed her,” Eddie interjects, “but if you're not feeling up to it, she doesn't have to stay all weekend.” 

Wayne raises his eyebrows to protest. Roan beats him to it, yanking herself away from his cuddling to glare at the suggestion. “Dad, you said!” 

“Said I'd see if he was up to it, yeah,” Eddie placates. 

“I'm up to it.” Wayne gives Roan a soft smile. “We'll be good, right? Watch TV, eat hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, ‘n’ dinner. Dad's just being silly.” 

Roan leans back into the hug, relieved, and Wayne pulls her head to his chest, covering her ear subtly. “Thought you needed to get some things? You know, from Santa?” he whispers, ‘Santa’ mouthed without sound. 

“Yeah, if we knew what to get her,” Eddie says, brushing his hair behind his ears. “Kid's impossible. Asked Santa for a baby sister and a pet turtle.” 

“What's wrong with that?” 

“Wayne–” 

“The turtle, I mean.” He nods at you apologetically. 

You aren't offended at the idea of a baby sister being an easy gift, and you laugh at his correction. “We don't have room for the tank, I already checked.” 

“She got the measuring tape out and everything.” 

“What?” Wayne asks. “Put it outside.” 

“It's not that easy,” Eddie sighs morosely. “They're very particular creatures.” 

“It’ll suit you nicely, then.” 

You laugh again. Roan wriggles to be put down, curious at the sound, though she wasn't as deafened as it seemed. “Santa will bring the tank, guys, that's how Santa works, and the turtle. We just need to move the couch,” she says simply. 

“Where will we watch TV?” you ask. 

“Here?” Roan suggests. 

Eddie nudges Wayne in the side. “Looks like I'm moving back in after all.” 

Coats are taken off, shoes stacked in a corner. Wayne makes everyone a cup of coffee and a sandwich, even Roan, though her coffee is milk with just a splash of coffee that she begs for but doesn't touch after the initial sip. Theories for where they might house and care for a pet turtle are shared through crumbs and foam moustaches, Wayne with a lap full of grandchild, and you with an armful of Eddie. He keeps turning to you to scan your face for signs of fatigue or sickness, eyes lingering, his hand resting and rubbing at the top of your thigh. 

“We'll have to give up our room,” he suggests to you with an air of defeat. Despite his sombre tone, love lines his gaze. “When the turtle gets huge and wants to go back to the ocean, we'll have to fill our bedroom up with a swimming pool.” 

Roan sits back guiltily. “Well, maybe not like that. Can the turtle sleep with me?” 

“That could be fun. We'll get you a water bed,” you say, to Eddie's delight. He chokes on a handful of chips and needs to be whacked on the back lest he asphyxiate, and while you're still laughing at your own joke and his reaction, you pat him more gently on the back before passing him your full coke. “Here, handsome.” 

Wayne's pretty sure his nephew's found his soulmate. “What about a tortoise instead?” he asks Roan, attempting to spare you both. 

Roan pouts at her Uncle, confusion furrowing her thin brows. “What's the difference?” 

“Couple hundred dollars?” Eddie asks. 

Wayne kicks him under the table, but never hard enough to hurt. “Nothing much, chick. I'm sure Santa will figure it out.” 

[marlynnofmany]

A Feat of Minor Daring

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

If you have to wait around for a client to bring you something to deliver, waiting on a landing pad with spectacular scenery is not a bad way to do it. Most of the rest of the crew was inside the ship — shuffling the boxes from our other client of the day, and doing any number of other mundane things — so it was just Paint and me enjoying the alien landscape. Their loss. 

I was appreciating the views, while Paint was really there for the smells. I kept pointing out particularly vivid splashes of color among the sea-anemone-shaped trees, while Paint caught whiffs of enticing things. 

“Ooh, what do you think that sharp scent is?” Paint asked when a cool breeze gusted past. She pulled her heat scarf closer. She was also wearing a heat sticker plastered to her scaly chest, which seemed like overkill to me, but I wasn’t a coldblooded lizard alien. I just had a sweater for the chill. 

“Your guess is better than mine,” I said, sniffing the air. “I’m going to go with ‘some sort of plant.’”

A cheerful jumble of musical notes chimed from the treeline where winged fauna hid among tentacle-branches. It sounded remarkably like several ringtones going off at the same time. I was about to ask Paint if she thought it was animals imitating tech, or maybe just a coincidence of evolution, when wild flapping heralded an explosion of feathers across the clearing. 

Colorful bird-things soared over us, their wings a riot of fiery shades and their bodies lined in speckled back feathers over bright blue scales. It was a glorious streak of color, and they sounded like a pile of phones all ringing at once. I had to grin at the sight. 

Paint just said, “I think they’re the source of the smell. How lovely.”

Then a straggler flapped out after the others, and I stopped grinning. 

It was trailing a plastic bag caught around its foot, just like the ones still causing trouble for animals on Earth. The poor thing must have been scavenging in town. By the time it collapsed halfway across the clearing, I was already moving, tugging my sweater off and sneaking up on the bird.

Paint squeaked, “What are you doing?”

“It needs help,” I said, keeping my voice low. The alien bird was breathing hard from the effort of fighting that much extra drag, and hopefully no additional problems. It hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Why is that your responsibility?” Paint hissed in concern. “It could bite you! You don’t even have scales, and you’re not wearing an exo suit! Why did you just take off your soft armor?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” I murmured. “But somebody’s got to.” I eased forward and took a long-legged jump to land with one foot squarely on the bag, then tackled the bird to wrap it in my sweater.

It, unsurprisingly, objected. And it was stronger than it looked.

“What are you doing??” Paint repeated. “You’ll get hurt!”

I fought to get a hand around the bird’s head and keep it from pecking me anywhere important while also holding its wings in. It did its level best to accomplish fight and flight at the same time. It even regurgitated a splash of food, which I managed to barely dodge. It smelled unpleasantly fishy.

But I got the bird’s head pinned down in a way that hopefully didn’t restrict its breathing, and I ended up crouched over the thing using my legs to keep its wings folded. My other hand was doing the important job of preventing it from wriggling free. That didn’t leave any hands for removing the bag.

“Paint! I need your claws!”

“What? No!” She sounded more than a little panicked.

“Just get the bag off its foot!” I said, jerking my head back to where the bag rustled behind me. “Then I’ll let it go!”

“That doesn’t look safe!” Paint insisted.

The bird bucked and thrashed. “It’s not going to get any safer! Come on, it needs help!”

Paint hissed a string of what were probably swear words as she darted forward and approached the talons. I couldn’t see what she was doing from my angle, but I heard the rustle of plastic. I wanted to ask how it was going and give pointers, maybe suggest stepping on the bag to hold it tight, though I didn’t know if that would help or not. I kept quiet.

“Got it!” Paint leapt back, holding up the torn bag in triumph.

“Great!” I said. “Does its leg look injured? Did the bag dig into it or cut off circulation as far as you can tell?”

Paint stepped forward gingerly, then shook her head. “No, the scales look fine.”

I let out a breath. “Extra great. Okay, stand back.”

Paint scampered over to stand by the ship, taking the bag with her, while I got my feet under me. In as smooth a motion as I could, I jumped sideways and rolled away, trailing my sweater. I would have preferred to stand and exit with dignity, but this was faster. Dignity wasn’t worth getting pecked in the knee.

In a whirlwind of feathers, the scaly bird scrambled into the sky. I sat up to watch it go. While I expected a dramatic arc into the distance, it only got as far as the biggest amoeba-tree. I worried that it was injured after all. Then I saw the cluster of tiny beaks that reached up as it landed.

I grinned all over again, watching the reunited family greet each other. A rustle of plastic told me Paint stood beside me. I looked up at her. “We did it.”

She watched the nest with wide eyes, clutching the bag. “We did. And it mattered.”

“It always matters.” I got to my feet with a wince, hoping that wasn’t going to be a bruise on my hip. “Thanks for helping. That was a deed well done.”

Paint was still staring. “Do you think it will have enough food for all the hatchlings? After spitting some at you?”

A glance told me the bird was feeding its young in the time-honored vomity fashion. “I hope so,” I said. “Scavenging for more might lead to another trash adventure, though maybe this was a learning experience.”

Paint stood up straighter. “Let’s check the species database and see what it eats,” she said. “That smells a lot like the canned fish I’ve been saving. We can put it out where they’ll find it.”

“A fine plan,” I told her. “Let’s get cleaned up first so we don’t leave bird germs in the kitchen.”

We’d only taken a couple steps toward the ship before Eggskin met us at the door with concern on their scaly face. “Kavlae said there was some sort of commotion outside, and someone might be hurt?” They brandished the medscanner.

Before I could answer, Paint held up the crumpled plastic bag. “We saved a creature that was trapped in this!”

Eggskin cocked their head, clearly about to ask why, but Paint was still talking. She gave a dramatic recounting of the whole affair. Eggskin turned on the scanner and checked us both for contamination while she talked. Clear. (Whew.)

“…And now it’s safely up in the nest with its hatchlings, and it wouldn’t have made it up there if not for us, and they would have starved and died, and we saved all of them!” Paint said, waving the bag. “It always matters! Now where’s the can opener? I want to leave them some of my fish.”

Eggskin blinked. “Third drawer on the right, where it should be. Unless someone’s misplaced it again. Put that in the biohazard bin and wash your hands.”

“Got it, thanks!” Paint was gone in a rustle of plastic.

Eggskin looked up at me. “Is ‘pack bonding’ contagious?”

I laughed. “I couldn’t tell you. But it always matters. Would you mind keeping an eye on that nest over there while I go change clothes? I’ll wash my hands too.”

Eggskin sighed. “Please do.”

They stood outside the ship watching the distant family of scaly birds, wearing an expression like they were trying to figure something out. I smiled and left to get cleaned up. I’d check the species database afterward. Maybe I had some food they’d like too.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[whimsywilde]

Astarion's Mirror

I couldn't get this out of my head after seeing the idea mentioned somewhere. (A TikTok comment maybe?) I haven't written fanfic since DAI. How am I back at this again? I'm not 100% satisfied with it but if I fiddle too much, I'll lose interest and it will disappear in the WIP folder. lol Enjoy!

Thank you Larian Studios and Neil Newbon for this incredible, beautiful, heartbreaking character!

Recommened Listening: THE FEELS by Labrinth

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“Astarion…” she paused, hesitating, uncertain if the thought that had just danced across her mind would actually work. Sometimes she forgot he was a vampire. His lack of burning up in the sun tended to put his condition out of her mind. The mirror in his hand, however, had brought it back in stark relief. But… what if?

“As adorable as you are when thinking, I can’t help but feel there was more you wanted to say than just my name.” He smirked at her.

She resisted the urge to fall back into their playful banter. “What if you could see yourself… I mean, sort of.”

“What?” It was more of a whispered plea than a question. “How?”

“I’m not sure if it will work. But, the parasites… they’ve let us see into one another's minds before. It makes sense that we could see more.”

She hadn’t really been looking at him while she spoke, her eyes focused on some invisible point in the distance. Turning her attention more directly to him, his expression caught her off guard. She’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“We don’t have to. I’m not even completely sure it would work. I’ve never really tried to use it before. I just thought….”

“Would you try?” He interrupted, his voice still unnaturally hesitant, absent of the bravado she was used to. “Please.” It was almost an afterthought but may have been the most sincere she’d ever heard him.

She smiled tightly, worried now she’d be unable to connect that way, before closing her eyes and reaching for that alien presence within her mind. She hated the feeling of the cold shiver in her skull as she consciously connected to it and then, taking a breath, eyes tightly shut, reached out to where she felt she’d find Astarion. 

At first the connection was light, barely perceptible, like cobwebs in the breeze. After focusing on it for a few seconds, reaching out to it with uncertain hands, it seemed to expand. With her eyes still tightly closed, it was the tide of emotions slowly rolling up in the shore of her mind that hit her first. The anticipation, hopeful expectation, fear and worry. She resisted the urge to retreat from the intensity of his feelings and the jumbled, wordless thoughts that came with them and, again, focused past them. After several seconds, she was surprised to suddenly find herself looking through Astarion’s eyes at herself. She stilled to allow the image of herself solidify in her mind. 

Her eyes opened slowly. She allowed her gaze to linger near Astarion’s feet as gained confidence in the connection. The impatience he was feeling rushed to greet her through the bond.

“Look at me.” It was something between a command and a plea.

She opened her mind to him as completely as she could, wanting him to know that she had no motivations behind her actions and lingering gaze other than to allow him to see himself clearly, to be a mirror. She took a deep breath, centered herself and began to slowly lift her eyes up his body. Her gaze was gentle and curious, more that of an artist studying their work, rather than the lusty intensity of a lover. She followed the narrow slope of his hips up his chest and across his shoulders, her eyes lingering for mere moments before moving on. As she reached his neck, there was a brief glance to the scars that had made him the creature he was, before following his perfectly coiffed hair around his face. 

Part of her still wanted to tease him, to play. They’d been having fun, taken next to nothing seriously while they traveled and fought together. Even when she allowed him to drink from her, always standing since him hovering over her had felt too intimate, she typically pushed him away afterward with a joke on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes. It was easy and had been so natural to keep him just close enough without letting him in. The intensity of his feelings pouring into her now was more than she bargained for and she had a moment of regret for offering to even try. She didn’t want to feel so much. It left her vulnerable. Opened her up to much more than she wanted to be aware of. Her eyes had frozen at the base of his throat. Why couldn’t she bring herself to look up? She didn’t like the answers her heart was trying to give. His fingers curled lightly under her chin, lifting her face upward, pulled her attention back. 

Her eyes snapped up to his suddenly and he gasped. The light from the campfire flickered and flashed across brilliant crimson. My eyes. Those are my eyes. His thoughts came through their link in sharp clarity. Her attention refocused on allowing him to see his face after so long in the dark and allowed the intensity of what he was feeling to drown out her own heart. She didn’t need to exist for this moment. She was giving this gift and she allowed herself to fall back within to the place of an observer. With her surrender, it allowed him to direct her eyes across his features. He took himself in fully and they stood in hushed stillness, eyes and minds locked together. 

With their minds so fully blended, she almost didn’t notice her hand absentmindedly reaching out to rest lightly on the side of his face. He didn’t pull away. She used her thumb to pull gently at his bottom lip, exposing his fangs to her gaze. 

They passed several seconds that way before her hand dropped, her vision swirling and darkening. She felt her body sway heavily and would have fallen if Astarion hadn’t caught her. Her head was pounding while her stomach churned. She sent up a silent prayer, to whatever god may be listening, that she wouldn’t vomit.

Astarion supported her body against his gently. When she tried to push away from him, he lifted her carefully and carried her to her tent, laying her down on her bedroll. 

“You pushed yourself too far. You need to rest,” he scolded. She wanted to protest; to throw out some snarky remark in an attempt to catch him off guard so that they could go back to the superficial game they shared, but she couldn’t seem to measure out enough strength to respond. Sleep was quickly overtaking her. She was never sure if he’d actually turned to look at her before leaving the tent and whispered a strangled thank you or if it was just part of the fevered dreams of the night.

[multifandomthoughts]

Spy, Sniper and Medic with a southern reader

Author’s Note: big thanks to @deathsimage for help with some of these, as they are southern themselves and were able to give me a perspective on what it’s like in the south!

Spy

First of all, all three of the mercs absolutely adore your accent. They think it’s adorable and fits you very well. Spy might have a harder time deciphering some of the idioms or phrases you use than others, however.

Finds your stories of you playing in the dirt catching frogs adorable. However, the thought of him doing that makes him grimace and shudder. Too messy for him. When and if he trusts you enough, he’ll tell you about his own childhood, which will different, still entails shenanigans.

Can’t help but laugh every time you get mad, as your yelling becomes a jumbled mess to him. He shakes his head as you scream phrases like “What in tarnation, I damn near broke my neck!”

In response to you teaching him southern phrases, he teaches you some easy French phrases. You do your best to incorporate them into your vocabulary, and when Spy hears this, he melts internally.

Sniper

Is super enthusiastic about you being from the south and doing all sorts of outdoorsy things as a kid. It means that you wouldn’t be opposed to doing outdoorsy things like camping or catching fish with him.

Tells you about his own childhood, and it’s a bit similar to yours. You bond over shared experiences and memories. Sniper has definitely had a lot of experiences with Snakes, so hearing you wrangled them as a kid impresses him.

You and him have very similar accents so you exchange some idioms with him. You laugh at all the different silly phrases you learn from each other.

You imitate each others accents every so often, bursting into laughter when it sounds particularly accurate. It’s all in good fun and you always make sure that it’s seen as such.

Medic

Is immediately interested in how much time you spent outside as a kid, and wants to do experiments determining if it had any impact on your immunity.

Wrong pronunciation? Wrong pronunciation. He feels comfortable around you because some of the words you say sound different due to your accent, and he’s aware that his accent can do the same.

He also thinks it’s adorable that when you get mad that your accent comes out, just like his does. You giggle at him when this happens, and he does the same for you.

For funsies, he teaches you German words that do not have any direct translation into English, like Backpfeifengesicht (face that begs to be slapped) or Dreikäsehoch (three cheeses high, measurement) so that you two can exchange insults towards the others without being caught.